Chapter 164: Unexpected Gains
Three days later, the main force of the British Army advanced rapidly toward Riyadh without encountering any meaningful resistance.
To raise public morale and prepare the political ground for the upcoming Indian independence negotiations, The Times, acting under the guidance of the British government, reported on the Middle Eastern war for the first time.
The war, in those printed columns, became less a military campaign and more a grand imperial performance.
Aircraft filled the sky. Armored vehicles and infantry columns occupied small towns one after another. Photographs of Saudi flags being lowered were used again and again, as if each one proved that Britain remained the empire upon which the sun never set.
In the newspapers, defeating these desert rebels seemed no more difficult than brushing dust from a sleeve.
At the same time, at Haifa Port, inside the logistics duty room, two soldiers stared at the quiet signal board and chatted idly.
"Counting the days, isn't a large batch of cargo supposed to arrive today?"
The other soldier scratched the prickly heat on his back and cursed under his breath.
"Who knows? Those shipping companies are probably running their ships at the lowest possible speed to save fuel. It's so damned hot here I barely piss anymore. Everything comes out as sweat."
Amid their complaints, the telegraph suddenly rang.
The operator, who had been leaning back in his chair with his legs crossed while listening to the soldiers joke, lazily tore off the message strip.
It was an urgent telegram from St. Lal Shipping Company.
His face turned pale in an instant.
Before the two soldiers could ask what had happened, a sharp crackling sound came from behind them.
Crack, crack!
It was the sound of flames biting into timber and crates.
When they turned around, several military warehouses were already blazing.
Fire rose in violent columns, swallowing ammunition, food, fuel, and medical supplies alike.
Everything was over.
The next day, the unrest that had supposedly been pacified erupted again.
With the main army deployed toward the front, the British garrisons left behind in the cities were completely unprepared. The riots spread through Haifa and the other port cities like dry grass catching fire.
Streets were blocked. Transport routes were cut. Warehouses were attacked. Drivers vanished. Local laborers refused orders or disappeared into the crowd.
The urban unrest directly crippled the movement of supplies.
For five consecutive days, not a single truckload of food left Haifa or the surrounding port cities.
But for General Keel, this was not yet the most urgent problem.
The Navy had sent him an even worse report.
Several sea routes had been mined. Until the mines were cleared, the major shipping companies refused to take the risk of entering the affected waters.
More importantly, the Navy used this as an excuse to claim that the submarines responsible for laying the mines were still lurking somewhere in the Mediterranean. To guard against unknown threats, the aircraft carriers would no longer provide close air support to the army.
"Sir, should we order the frontline units to return and support the ports?"
Keel rejected the suggestion without hesitation.
The 16th Infantry Division, the unit closest to Riyadh, was less than a hundred kilometers from the Saudi capital. The Saudi Army had been retreating for days, abandoning positions one after another.
In Keel's eyes, this was clearly a sign of collapse.
Saudi Arabia was like a dying patient clinging to its last breath. If the British pulled back now because of supply pressure, all their previous efforts would be wasted.
Organizing another offensive would take more time.
And Keel no longer had time to waste on the Arabs.
London had already sent him a clear deadline. The end of August was the final limit.
Only half a month remained.
Even the newspapers had already declared that an inevitable victory would be achieved by the end of August.
If that victory did not arrive, the British Army would become a laughingstock.
Keel could not bear such responsibility.
"Order the 16th Infantry Division to continue advancing," he said coldly. "If they take Riyadh, I will personally apply for medals for them."
At the front, the 16th Infantry Division had already stretched too far from the main force.
They had less than a week's worth of supplies left. Worse still, their water reserves were in critical condition.
Because no one could determine which wells had been poisoned, the division could not obtain reliable water locally. The entire unit's drinking water would last five days at most.
Divisional Commander Penken Bull had originally intended to shorten the line and consolidate his position, but a direct order from headquarters forced him to continue pushing forward.
He had expected to strike sand.
Instead, he struck a wall.
The scattered Saudi troops had regrouped. Their resistance was fiercer than ever before. Five villages changed hands in a single day. Often, the British recaptured a village during daylight, only for the Saudis to launch another attack under cover of night and seize it back.
After two days of grinding combat, the division was still trapped in the same area.
Because of the division's weakened firepower and sluggish support, Vorbeck quickly detected its vulnerability.
From the pattern of movement, he concluded that this British division had become detached from the main army.
An opportunity like this could not be missed.
He immediately diverted a regiment from the Saudi First Elite Division, which had just reached the rear of the British left flank near the Arabian Plateau, and ordered it to strike the 16th Infantry Division's rear.
One of its companies headed straight for Shakar Town.
Late at night, in Shakar Town, inside an operations room filled with yellow sand, Penken Bull clenched a telegram in his hand and cursed aloud.
"Has the Navy gone mad? At a critical moment like this, they moved the aircraft carriers away? Without air superiority, the 16th Division has suffered more casualties in the past few days than in all the previous fighting combined!"
He slammed the telegram onto the table.
"Tell General Headquarters this. If there are no planes in the sky tomorrow, and no trucks or supply camels on the ground, I cannot attack again. I will not sacrifice an entire division to satisfy Keel's pursuit of personal glory."
His voice grew harsher.
"If we continue fighting like this, casualties will only rise."
The adjutant nodded and wrote everything down in his notebook. After recording the message, he stood and left the room, heading toward another wooden hut where the communications equipment had been set up.
What he did not know was that, in the darkness beyond the town, two Saudi scouts were watching him through binoculars.
They had been awake for two days, yet their eyes remained bright.
Between their teeth, they chewed another type of medicine sent from Germany. The bitter taste kept their minds sharp and their bodies strangely alert, as if fatigue had been locked somewhere far behind them.
One scout slowly pulled out a white flag.
In the darkness, it was unnervingly conspicuous.
He waved it gently.
A moment later, a red flag flashed in the distance, signaling receipt.
In the blink of an eye, two platoons moved under the cover of night and began enveloping the town from both sides.
Penken Bull knew nothing of it.
He had just prepared to lie down for a short rest when a sudden burst of gunfire jolted him awake.
He rushed to the window and looked out, trying to see what had happened.
An Arab soldier suddenly appeared before his eyes.
Penken Bull's pupils shrank.
"How can Saudi soldiers be here? Has the rear been breached?"
Shock and fear struck his heart at the same time.
But the thought lasted only a moment, because the Saudi soldier outside the window had already smashed his way in.
Penken Bull reached for his pistol, but two soldiers rushed forward and pinned him firmly to the ground. A cold knife pressed against his neck, and in that instant, he truly felt death standing over him in a foreign land.
The instinct to survive overwhelmed all pride.
"I am the divisional commander!" he shouted. "You cannot kill me! I am useful. Very useful!"
Unfortunately, the Arab soldiers did not understand English.
They thought he was still trying to provoke them.
A rag was shoved into his mouth.
Just as the soldiers were about to cut his throat, an officer arrived and stopped them.
He looked at the prisoner's distinctive uniform, then shook his head.
"Do not kill him. Take him back."
The soldiers nodded.
They bound Penken Bull's limbs tightly with rope, covered his head with black cloth, and dragged him into the night.
The next morning, Keel was still asleep when hurried footsteps woke him.
He opened his eyes in irritation, ready to lash out, but the moment he saw his adjutant's anxious face, the anger froze in his throat.
His heart sank.
"What happened?"
The adjutant swallowed hard.
"Sir, the 16th Division has been surrounded by the Arabs, and their operations command post has lost contact."
.....
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