Three Kings

Twenty Italian tanks had managed to break into the lines of the Kings Rifles, but they soon realized that they had no supporting infantry and that the rest of their brigade had been stopped by the artillery fire, well behind them. One British Sergeant took out his pistol and leapt atop an enemy M11/39 tank, rapping on the turret hatch, which, to his surprise, was immediately opened by an ornery Italian Lieutenant.

“Hello mate,” he said calmly. “You and your lads might want to give it up now before those 25 pounders get you bore sighted.”

There was the Lieutenant, sitting behind 30mm armor, with a 37mm main gun and two 8mm Breda machine guns bristling from his upper turret, and he was facing a single British Sergeant with a revolver. He could have slammed his hatch shut, which he should never have opened in the first place, and gunned his engine to continue his attack, but instead he just climbed out of his tank and surrendered. The Sergeant single handedly captured three of the twenty tanks in the lines with nothing more than his sidearm. Seven others were knocked out by the artillery, and the rest turned and fled.

The incident was symbolic of the entire battle, where this vastly superior Italian force seemed not to have the slightest idea of how it should fight the enemy tormenting them in the desert. When this attack failed, the Italians decided to wait for further orders from behind, where Electric BeardBergonzoli was furious that his escape to Tripoli should be blocked by such a small British force.

Darkness put a merciful end to the chaos of that day. A few British fuel trucks had finally made it all the way from Bardia, and the rest of the tanks that had joined the action were able to refuel. The Division, if it could still be called that, now could count nineteen tanks in the 2nd RTR, and a division reserve of 10 cruiser tanks. The men passed a sleepless night, cold, with the threat of rain on the crisp desert air.

To the north, Bergonzoli was also busy organizing his last attempt to break through at dawn the following morning. He would execute a small flanking maneuver, turning east off the road, and charge in with the last of his tanks, a force some 60 strong. Once they had tied down the British tanks and guns, his infantry would push on up the road, where he hoped his sheer numbers would overwhelm the 2nd King’s Rifle Battalion, still dug in and huddled over tins of Bully Beef and cold water.

The next morning, Brigadier J.A.L. Caunter would organize the defense, setting out his 19 tanks to receive the enemy when they discovered whatBergonzoli was up to. “Blood” Caunter, as he was called, was a man who never flinched from a tough job. When he went fishing, it was not for carp or herring, but sharks, and he would later write a book about angling for the most dangerous sharks he could find in British waters. Now, however, he was angling to catchBergonzoli’s armor by surprise, and the last tank battle of the campaign was about to be joined near a small rise, studded with the blanched white sandstone dome of an old Arab mosque.

The British called it “the Pimple,” and it would be a landmark for their well rehearsed battle maneuvers. Blood Caunter had the advantage of experience, grit, and good radios in his tanks to coordinate his movements. Even though the enemy outnumbered him three to one, the Italians had no radios, and had to rely on flag signals from one tank formation to another to coordinate their attack.

But on they came, flags fluttering as the first wave of thirty tanks led the attack. Caunter had a bugler take a quick swig from a canteen and sound “stand to,” and the British crews leapt into their well positioned tanks, waiting for the enemy. They would get in the all important first shot, trying to even the odds before the Italians could rush in at close quarters and overwhelm them with sheer numbers. Eight Italian tanks brewed up in the first wave, whereupon Caunter executed a smart backward withdrawal, placing his tanks below the line of the low ridge he had been on.

Thinking they finally had the enemy on the run, the Italians blundered forward, some units stopping near the mosque to await further orders by flag as to where they should go next. Those that saw the signal to move ahead ended up being sky-lined on the ridge, andCaunter’s tanks savaged them again, sending them reeling back towards the mosque.

At this Caunter sent in his reserve of ten cruiser tanks. “All stations, tanks left and attack the pimple. I repeat, tanks left and attack the pimple!”

The cruisers swept away, the tracks churning up the dust and sand as they wheeled in a well coordinated turn, storming in and taking the last ofBergonzoli’s tanks in the flank, smashing up an already badly disorganized formation. It was the final straw, and the Italians had had enough. They were not going to break through at BedaFomm, and would soon be herded back to become prisoners for the long duration of the war.