Before Alex’s plans could be put into action or any wholesale reorganization undertaken, he found himself confronted with a further Axis assault. Von Arnim, without warning Rommel, his new Army Group commander, gained permission from Kesselring to launch Operation Oschenkopf, a three-pronged attack to push the British back in the north. The main central strike force was to seize the railway station of Sidi Nsir and the valley westwards that led all the way to Beja, while in the north another assault was to drive the British back from Green and Baldy Hills towards Djebel Abiod; an attack further south was directed towards Medjez el Bab. All this offensive effort would be focused on 5th British Corps front.
Oschenkopf was launched on 26 February and in the centre immediately came up against stiff opposition from the 5th Hampshire Battalion and 155 Battery of the 172nd Field Artillery Regiment from 46th British Division. Both had only recently arrived in Tunisia and this was their first engagement. They were twelve miles further east from the rest of the 128th Brigade, who were holding positions at Hunt’s Gap, the mouth of the valley and the last defensive position on the road to Beja. All day long this tiny British force held off the full might of a German armoured corps, which included Tigers, Mark IVs, German paratroopers and infantry equivalent to three battalions, in a last stand that was every bit as remarkable as that at Outpost Snipe during Second Battle of Alamein five months before. But by nightfall, the position had been overrun. All the British guns had been destroyed, although they had fired to the last man and to the last round. Nine gunners made it to safety along with 120 men from the 5th Hampshires. The rest had all been either killed or wounded. Although reports on the number of enemy tanks knocked out vary, it was certainly a significant number and the action forced the Germans to delay any further advance for forty-eight hours. And in that time, the British were able to hurriedly bring up more reinforcements.
Further south, the Herman Göring Division had launched its attack on Medjez and Bou Arada, where both the 17th Field Regiment and 1st British Parachute Brigade were based. Early on the 26th, the 2nd Paras heard intensive fighting away on the left flank where the 3rd Battalion were positioned. By nine, they were coming under fire themselves and Colonel John Frost could see large numbers of infantry advancing down the slopes opposite them. ‘We took up our places at the command post with a feeling of alarm, noted Frost.’ He knew his men were ready, however. They had built up large stocks of ammunition, were dug in properly and their defensive fire-plan had been coordinated with the supporting French artillery. Moreover, his men were fit, fresh, and knew exactly what they had to do, and although the different companies were necessarily spread out because of the wide section of front they’d been ordered to hold, the gaps in between were covered by machine guns and mortars. The German and Italian attacks got nowhere. ‘The situation at nightfall,’ noted Frost, ‘was that we with our French supporters were intact and sound in every way, but the enemy were scattered about in front of, and between, our forward company positions.’ During a long day of fighting, the 2nd Parachute Battalion had suffered just one man killed and two wounded. During the night, Frost listened with satisfaction to the sound of grenades and Stens cutting apart the still air as his raiding party went hunting for prisoners. By dawn, they had over eighty Italians in their hands. Of the enemy there was no sign. A day later, Frost’s men handed over their positions to the Americans.
A few miles north of the Paras, the 17th Field Regiment were supporting the infantry of 38th Irish Brigade. They too found themselves mainly faced with an assault by Italian infantry supported by German Panzers. Here too, after some initial success, the enemy were forced back. The British gunners also had ready a carefully prepared fire-plan. Helping to direct this fire was David Brown, who had spent the day at the battery observation post. At one point, the regiment had managed to get twenty-one rounds from their 25-pounder guns in among the advancing infantry in the space of ten minutes, no mean achievement. ‘We’ve had a lot more action in which we were pretty successful,’ wrote David a few days later. His wife had been sending him newspapers, and although any kind of news or mail only rarely reached them, he had heard about the Russian success at Stalingrad. It had given them all a great lift.
While the thrusts on Bou Arada and Medjez had failed, von Arnim had not yet given up on his major assault towards Beja, and on 28 February his forces set off again from Sidi Nsir towards Hunt’s Gap. Facing this latest onslaught were the battered 2/5th Leicesters.
After being overrun at Thala, the 2/5th Liecesters had been reformed into two companies and were then sent to Beja on 25 February to rejoin 46th British Division. There, they were to be given a chance to refit. After a long overnight journey, they had arrived to the welcome news that they were being given seven days’ rest at Teboursouk. It was not to be, however. By mid-morning on the 26th, news began reaching them of the latest German assault and so the Leicesters were hurriedly sent up to Hunt’s Gap. Beja had to be saved at all costs as it commanded the Allied lines of communication and supply to the entire northern front.
Despite the grim news, there was one cause for optimism, however. ‘For the first time, while waiting in Beja that day,’ noted Peter Moore, ‘we saw impressive Allied air activity. Waves of medium bombers, British and American, flew over escorted by fighter aircraft, British Spitfires and Hurricanes and the American twin-boomed Lightnings.’ One of the Spitfires Peter saw zooming overhead was that flown by Bryan Colston, for 225th Squadron was now in action every day bombing enemy airfields as well as ground forces. On the 28th, Bryan flew no less than three sorties during what he called a ‘big bombing day’ over the German forces moving towards Hunt’s Gap. Along with 241st Squadron, they dropped 64,000 pounds of bombs between their first and last missions. Despite facing heavy flak, it was, says Bryan, ‘a bumper day dive-bombing the Hun’.
The Leicesters moved up through Hunt’s Gap that night, ‘B’ Company moving to Frenchman’s Hill, while ‘C’ Company took up positions at Montaigne Farm, ahead and to the right, and began digging in. This time, they had been thoroughly briefed about their role, which was to be purely defensive, and so they were determined to establish their positions properly. Dawn proved what good positions they were. Ahead, Peter could see a long valley of swaying grassland, a mile or so wide, protected either side by long ridges of high, mountainous hills. The single-track railway from Sidi Nsir passed beneath them, while to the left of their position the road wound its way up from the valley. Montaigne Farm, a cluster of white, flat-roofed buildings, was perched on a gently curving spur that strutted out into the centre of the valley. From there, the Leicesters had commanding views. More importantly, so too had the 25-pounders and heavy 5.5-inch guns digging in behind.
At first light, Peter saw and heard the approaching enemy, and recognized the now unmistakable square-shaped hulk of the Tiger Mark VI with its 88-mm gun. Artillery fire and the new heavy British Churchill tanks repulsed this first attack, but from then on, and for the entire week the Leicesters spent at Montaigne Farm, the men in their slit-trenches suffered a particularly uncomfortable time. Peter was already becoming familiar with the various different types of shellfire. With normal artillery, they had learned that whenever they heard the report, they should count to ten and then brace themselves for the rushing scream of the descending shell. Mortars were even more frightening. They would hear the tung, tung, tung, tung, tung of five mortar bombs being dropped down the mortar, then would wait six or seven seconds until they whistled down upon them, counting each explosion and praying they would not be torn apart by a direct hit. The 88s, on the other hand, fired and arrived almost simultaneously. ‘This was easier to bear than the long-drawn-out wait for the indirectly fired gun or mortar,’ noted Peter. During that first day at Montaigne Farm, Peter managed to find the time to scrawl a note to his parents, who had recently sent him a parcel of socks, soap, writing paper, and pyjamas. ‘There is absolutely no need to worry about me,’ he assured them, ‘because we are living very well and having a fine time.’
Under a hail of high explosive and jagged shards of white-hot metal, Peter and the Leicesters held firm. The Germans reached the ground directly in front of them, but got no further despite repeated infantry and armoured assaults. It was during the defence of Hunt’s Gap that Peter suffered what was his worst day of the entire war. From first light, the terrible sound of mortars being loaded drifted up to their positions. Peter was sharing a slit-trench with Sergeant Ragg, and the mortars appeared to be falling almost vertically from the sky. Sustained mortar bombardment and shellfire rained down on them with increasing intensity all day. Whenever he thought they were being given a respite, the tung, tung, tung of the mortars began again. They couldn’t move. They simply had to stay where they were and endure the repeated and relentless wait for each bomb and shell to explode. ‘By the end of a day of this form of torture,’ wrote Peter, ‘crouched in your slit-trench, awaiting the coup de grâce, you are literally gritting your teeth, clenching your hands together and tensing your whole body to avoid giving way to involuntary shaking.’ It was obvious that later they could expect another infantry assault and, sure enough, as darkness fell, flares were sent up which showed the Germans readying themselves to attack. The artillery sent down a withering barrage, however, after which one of the officers spoke through a loudhailer demanding the Germans surrender or face another heavy blast of artillery. The Germans turned down the offer. The guns boomed again, the ground trembling as the night was ripped apart by the ear-shattering din of fire. After this, the chance to surrender was offered again, and on this occasion, thirty Germans walked in with their hands up, while the rest withdrew. The Leicesters were learning that when stout hearts occupied properly dug-in positions and were supported by plenty of well-trained artillery, it was very difficult for the enemy to break them.
After ten days of continuous action at Montaigne Farm, the Leicesters were relieved by a battalion of the Hampshires. They were delighted to be away from there, not just because of the intensity of the enemy attacks, but also because the battlefield around them had become littered with dead cattle, goats and pigs, and the smell had been appalling. Their respite was short-lived, however. After one day out of the line at Beja, they were hurriedly sent to help stem the northernmost enemy attack. In the early hours of 11 March, without having had any kind of chance to recuperate, they took over the positions of the 3rd Parachute Battalion on some high ground among the dense cork-oak forests near Temara. On their right was Colonel John Frost’s 2nd Parachute Battalion, who had already helped repulse two major enemy assaults since reaching the Cork Wood four days before. The contrast with the rolling grassland of Hunt’s Gap could not have been starker. Stukas and Focke-Wulfs roared and swirled above them, while the sound of rifles and machine-gun bursts could be heard from the forests around them. ‘It was like jungle warfare,’ says Peter.
For several days, he watched and listened as the battle in front of them grew ever more intense. He was particularly in awe of the Paras. ‘They were superb,’ he noted, ‘aggressive and enterprising soldiers and officers who fought with tremendous élan and made us feel very pedestrian in comparison.’ During the fighting, Frost’s Paras had managed to capture so many German machine guns that each section now had an MG 34. The sound of these weapons ripping through the forest made Peter think the enemy were doing all the shooting. It was slightly unnerving.
The Germans attacked heavily again on 16 March, aiming their blow at the French battalion on the left of the Leicesters. The Frenchmen were soon overrun, and once their position collapsed the Leicesters and then the Paras found their own positions enveloped in turn until they too were forced to pull back, Frost’s men covering the withdrawal to three bare hills some four miles west, known as the ‘Pimples’. Peter Moore and his men began taking up their new positions on ‘Leicesters’ Pimple’ in heavy rain during the night of the 19/20 March. Spirits were low as they began hacking once more in the dark into the hard, wet rock. At first light Peter’s heart sank even further when he realized just how vulnerable they were. ‘It was the highest feature in the area, completely bare of trees, scrub and rocks, just closely cropped turf,’ noted Peter. It was impossible to dig in properly. To make matters worse, they were told they had to defend it to the last man.
Having successfully covered the withdrawal from the Cork Wood, Frost’s men were placed in reserve while fresh infantry battalions were brought up to the Pimples. The new arrivals came under heavy mortar attack, as did the Leicesters. For much of the day, Peter could barely move. ‘We could only lie on our stomachs and pray,’ he noted. Sure enough, the enemy attacked again that night. Peter was very conscious of ‘No More Withdrawal’, but after ‘C’ Company HQ was overrun, it was clear this was an impossible order. Chaos ensued as the Leicesters began retreating down a narrow track leading away from the Pimple. Peter had no idea what was going on, but then grenades started exploding all around him and ahead he saw some German soldiers charging towards him shouting, ‘Hände Hoch! Hände Hoch!’ ‘There was nothing for it,’ he wrote. ‘I was on my own. I turned and fled down the track, firing my revolver as I ran.’ Safety lay on the far side of a fast-flowing flooded river. Reaching the water’s edge, Peter heard a voice say, ‘Who’s that?’ It was Tony Cripps, commander of ‘C’ Company. Both agreed the river would be too cold and the current too strong to give them much of a chance. There was, however, a bridge a short way upstream, and so, inching past German troops, they crawled along the riverbank, frequently stopping and desperately holding their breath as enemy soldiers passed within feet of them. Once they reached the bridge, they couldn’t be sure it wasn’t already guarded by Germans, so in the darkness they strained their eyes and listened intently. Since neither of them could see or hear anything, they agreed to take a chance and hope for the best. The risk paid off. Tiptoeing across the bridge, hoping they wouldn’t suddenly be exposed by the glare of a flare, they reached the other side and soon afterwards found the remains of the battalion. Both Peter and Tony felt bitterly disappointed that Leicesters’ Pimple had fallen without a fight. ‘At the time I felt ashamed of what I regarded as my own performance in not fighting to the last man last round, as we had been ordered,’ says Peter. ‘I did not question then the right of my commanders to put us in what I later realized were impossible positions. I was only aware that I was fighting for the honour of my regiment and that I had let it down.’
But Peter was being hard on himself. Moreover, the attack marked the limit of the German advance. The next day, the 1st and 3rd Paras managed to push the Germans back and retake the Pimples. Sedjenane might have fallen, but the more important Djebel Abiod had been held.
Peter had seen little of the RAF, but despite the continued bad weather they had done much to support the defences of both Hunt’s Gap and Djebel Abiod. Throughout this time, 225th Squadron had been busy. On 6 March, Bryan Colston had taken off on a Tac/R in poor weather and low cloud. His Merlin engine was already sounding below par when he dived on some enemy trucks. Flak opened up and he was hit in the tail, although this did not prevent him banking hard and turning back to strafe two German staff cars with his cannons. ‘I shall never forget one German machine gunner who continued firing at me as I attacked,’ noted Bryan. He could see the man, crouched over his gun; and saw him keel over too, raked by Bryan’s bullets. A very brave enemy,’ he added. But Bryan’s Spitfire had now been hit in the engine as well. It was a nerve-racking journey back. The damage to his tail had affected his elevators and rudder, but worse was the rising oil pressure in his engine, and he wondered whether he would be able to make it back to Souk el Khemis. ‘Had difficulty in the circuit,’ he recorded in his diary, ‘but landed safely. The aircraft was completely u/s.’ This was extraordinary understatement: with damaged controls and an engine that could have seized at any moment, landing the Spitfire was, to put it mildly, very dangerous indeed.
Rommel had been scornful of von Arnim’s efforts, and particularly irritated to discover that fifteen of the nineteen Tigers that had gone into action had been lost – Tigers that would have been infinitely more effective in the open terrain of southern Tunisia.