A Matter of Confusion

[Wing]

The desert wind thrummed against the sides of the JU-52 transport, making the aluminium hum. Inside, the air was uncomfortably cold despite the bright, scorching light of the sun and the baking sands thousands of feet below, and Hans Speidel felt himself shivering even in his standard Wehrmacht overcoat. He found himself feeling grateful that he had not yet been outfitted with a tropical uniform despite the obvious heat of the desert--it was far too cold in the air to wear anything besides his usual coat.

After glancing at his watch, Hans rifled through the papers sitting in his lap once again, peering over his spectacles at the official-looking documents--his orders for his term as chief of staff to Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, the famous Desert Fox and commander of the Afrika Korps. Everything seemed fairly straightforward. He was supposed to report to Rommel's headquarters, which were currently somewhere in the desert, and take up the regular duties of a chief of staff, a position that he frequently found himself in. And yet something didn't feel quite right. He had heard no news of why, exactly, he was being sent on such short notice, and some people, including the pilot of the Junkers 52, had seemed surprised by his visit. As a generalleutnant being sent to take up an important role on the staff of Erwin Rommel himself, he had unconsciously been expecting more of a welcome.

"Landing in two minutes, sir," the loudspeaker from the cockpit crackled. Hans sighed with relief and folded his orders along their original creases, stuffing them back in his pocket and casting about for his luggage, which had been rather unceremoniously dumped on the seat opposite his and had shifted a bit in flight.

When the landing gear of the awkward-looking bomber touched ground, Hans was already unbuckling his seatbelt. The Wehrmacht corporal who had been assigned to him as a temporary batman opened the hatch when the pilot indicated that such an action was now safe, and bright, hot sunlight poured into the belly of the JU-52, causing the generalleutnant to squint as he dropped the short distance to the ground and looked around at the short runway and unremarkable row of tents a hundred yards away. Home sweet home...or was it?

[Qualerei]

"What do you mean, Oberstleutnant Speidel is coming ? And who is he, to begin with ?!" Hans-Ulrich von Luck und Witten, usually known plainly as Colonel Hans von Luck, was staring with exasperation at the young lieutenant who just brought him news of an incoming new officer.

"I'm sorry, herr Oberst", the young lad replied uneasily. "I was just notified by the officer in command of the airport that a plane is approaching with this officer onboard. I know nothing more."

Hans had not been notified of the coming of any high-ranking officer any time soon, so this was unexpected, to say the least. In Africa, they didn't need a Lieutenant Colonel. Soldiers, supplies, fuel, that they needed, and naturally, that they didn't get. Had this Oberstleutnant Speidel been sent to explain in person to Rommel why the promised fuel tanks were still nowhere in sight ? Highly unlikely...

Eventually, Hans shook his head and gave up his guesswork. Why bother, when he would probably be told all too soon what it all was about ? Besides, someone needed to go fetch this officer, and since he most likely was the only one to have been notified of this arrival, he would have to do it.

"All right, lieutenant", he sighed. "Go and be sure to tell the Generaloberst about this. Tell him I'm going to the airport now."

He didn't wait to look at the lad clicking his heels and strode to his car while cursing under his breath. He had work to do, and little time to spare for such nonsense, and he didn't even have one man to blame for this whole ordeal...

Well, maybe one. But he daren't even think about it.

He nodded to the driver, who snapped to attention, but Hans motioned for him to be at ease.

"Hello, Jurgen. Take me to the airport, will you ?", he commanded shortly, as he sat on the frontseat, at the right of the driver.

"Yes sir !" Jurgen was very disciplined. Maybe a bit too much for Hans' taste, but at least the sergeant had the uncanny ability to know whether Hans was in a mood to talk or not. This was a "no-talk" time, and the colonel leant back in his seat, actually glad to just sit and think about nothing for a few minutes. He was up since four in the morning, and although by now he was more or less used to it, he still felt the strain.

The ride to the rough-and-ready airport took about fifteen minutes, and Hans was starting to drift in a pleasant state between sleep and awareness when the car, coming to a stop, roused him awake. With resignation, he stepped out of the car, and noticed at once the plane that just arrived. This Oberstleutnant shouldn't be far, then... Hans cast a look around, and eventually found him.

The new officer was a man of average height, with round glasses and a round face - much different from von Luck's own angular features. His uniform was much too warm for the ambient temperature, and the poor man was already sweating profusely, although it was January. But then, Hans remembered all too well his own arrival in North Africa. He had felt like he was going to liquefy in a matter of minutes.

The colonel walked to Speidel, and saluted smartly. After all, the mere fact that the man's arrival was a bother was no reason to be rude.

"Herr Oberstleutnant", he said. "I am colonel Hans von Luck. I was just notified of your arrival. May I ask what the reason for your coming is ?"

He realized that this might sound a bit bold. He had spent too much time with Erwin, probably - the man's boldness was rubbing on him...

[Desert Stallion]

Fritz Bayerlein rubbed wearily at his tired eyes. He had come in from a trip to the front lines with Rommel less than half an hour ago, and sand had gotten everywhere. It had not helped that the British artillery had opened fire on them, and they had been stranded out in the open for almost an hour. Typical desert day with the general, and it concerned him that he was getting used to it.

He peered down through gritty eyes at the paperwork on his small desk, tried to focus, and found he could not. So he sighed and leaned back in the creaky old chair. Sweat dripped down his brow, and as he began to pull out his handkerchief, a young lieutenant came through his door. One of von Luck’s boys, I think. The man clicked his heels together sharply and saluted.

Fritz returned the salute and leaned forward. “Yes, Lieutenant? Is something wrong?” He saw the faint confusion in the boy’s eyes.

“No sir. At least, I do not believe so, sir,” his young voice squeaked a bit. “I was sent from Colonel von Luck, about a new lieutenant colonel arriving here from the airport, eh, Oberstleutnant Hans Speidel, sir. He was the former chief-of-staff of the military commander in France. He’s coming here, sir.” He stood rigidly at attention, waiting for Bayerlein’s response.

Rommel’s chief-of-staff stroked his chin thoughtfully. A new lieutenant colonel? Here in Africa, coming to Rommel’s headquarters? Curious. Another Berlin lackey come to make more excuses about our petrol and supplies? His lips curled subconsciously with distaste. And why had Army Headquarters not been notified of this?

He raised one sharp black eyebrow in question, but he knew the man standing before him had nothing more to say. Curious indeed. It’s not often that officers drop from the sky without warning. He stood and stretched his back, waved at the young officer. “You are dismissed, Lieutenant. I will alert General Rommel.”

The young man saluted again and neatly spun on his heel, disappearing out as quickly as he had come. Bayerlein turned to the next door in the small house, and gently knocked.

“Come in,” called the strong voice of Colonel-General Erwin Rommel. The Oberstleutnant slowly swung the door open and stepped into the small room. Rommel was hunched over a table filled with maps and papers, his eyes inches from the markings. His hand was clutching a pencil, and he was making short notes on the map. He glanced up briefly at Bayerlein, who shifted from dusty boot to boot.

“I have some news, of…an interesting development, sir.”

[ErwiiRommie]

"The British have given up and surrendered? Or is Berlin finally going to send that fuel and reinforcements promised?" Erwin Rommel replied irritably without looking up from the map spread out before him. For the last several weeks his entire army has been on the retreat across the deserts of Cyrenaica only after it had penetrated and driven back the British in Egypt. Fuel and ammunition had been the only thing that kept his beloved Afrika Korps from going any further and reaching Mersa Matruh.

But he was determined not to let this minor setback defeat him and his men. With or without reinforcements he was going to meet and attack the British. He knew and saw the signs of an overextended army and the British were going to be ripe for the picking within the month or so. The only real question is now how far east could he go before his panzers ran out of fuel again?

He squinted at the markings on the map which consisted of topography lines of the area around Halfaya Pass and El Agheila. The latter location would be the British's next objective, this much was obvious but unless they brought up their supply train they would not get very far after that. And even then his weakened army could drive back an overextended and exhausted force. Inwardly he smiled as a counter-attack formulated in his mind's eye.

Perfect.

As if remembering that his chief-of-staff was in the room with him, he motioned Bayerlien over to the table and straightened his short and stocky form. "I had received word a few minutes ago that Halfaya had surrendered. But the British have overextended themselves and no doubt are exhausted from the long chase across the desert. Conditions are improving in our favor. They will have to rest soon and allow their supply line to catch up with their main force. When they do we will be ready for them.

"Now... this interesting news you mentioned?"

[Wing]

As Hans' vision slowly began to recover from the sudden blinding light of the desert, he noticed a tall figure striding towards him, the decidedly tropical uniform the man was wearing identifying him as a Wehrmacht oberst. When the newcomer had saluted him and he had done the same in return, he listened closely as the man introduced himself.

"Herr Oberst. I am Colonel Hans von Luck. I was just notified of your arrival. May I ask what the reason for your coming is ?"

Hans blinked, raising an eyebrow at the brusque statement and the strange question. Wouldn't they have learned of his arrival beforehand? And didn't this Hans von Luck know who he was, and what role he was supposed to be taking? Either security was very, very low standard in the desert, which he doubted, or they really had not been expecting him and a mistake had been made along the way. But it couldn't be a mistake. Rommel was too important for the people in Berlin to mix this up.

"Oberst von Luck, it's a pleasure," Hans replied, ever-polite despite the situation. "But I'm afraid I'm a bit confused. I've been sent here from France to be assigned to Field Marshal Rommel's staff."

The Junkers 52 was taxiing to a hangar down the runway, and the sun was glinting off its metal skin and enhancing the rays' brightness to a painful level, so that looking at the airplane meant temporary blindness. Hans was already feeling uncomfortable in the sun as it was, and he shifted impatiently from foot to foot, wishing for shade. "But perhaps we could discuss this inside, Herr Oberst?" he suggested. "I have my orders with me--I'm sure everything is in order."

[Qualerei]

"Oberst von Luck, it's a pleasure," Hans replied, ever-polite despite the situation. "But I'm afraid I'm a bit confused. I've been sent here from France to be assigned to Colonel General Rommel's staff."

Hans' upper lip curled slightly as he thought with a mix of annoyance and amusement that someone had obviously made a mistake. Now, to know whether the mistake was about the orders or merely the transmission of the information... Meanwhile, it appeared Erwin would be getting a new staff officer. Well, there certainly would be a way to use Speidel to the Afrika Korps' advantage, and if anyone could find it, that would be the Desert Fox.

Lost in his thoughts, Hans didn't notice the other officer's obvious discomfort, nor his fidgeting ; but Speidel was quick enough to drag him back to reality.

"But perhaps we could discuss this inside, Herr Oberst?" he suggested. "I have my orders with me--I'm sure everything is in order."

"Ah - yes, certainly", von Luck nodded, trying to look at least a bit contrite. He knew all too well how harsh the sun could be, and it wouldn't do if Speidel had a sunstroke. "Please follow me to the car, I'll take you to Headquarters... well, we call it that at any rate."

As the two men started to walk in direction of the staff car, near which Jurgen was patiently waiting, a cigarette in his mouth. When he saw the two officers coming, however, he quickly put it out and stowed whatever remained of it in its pack. There was a shortage of everything, and even cigarettes were smoked sparingly. Hans feigned not to notice the slight break of regulations - in times of war, he had other things to do than discipline a good soldier because of such petty matters. The soldier saluted sharply and opened the door for Speidel and von Luck.

Now that they were both seated, Hans decided it was time to inquire further about these orders.

"We weren't notified of your arrival, I'm afraid", he explained. "Actually, I didn't know you were coming until twenty minutes ago. Someone probably just forgot to forward a phone call or something. Please don't let that deter you, and welcome to Africa. It must seem very different from France, no ?"

[Desert Stallion]

Conditions were improving, well, that was very good news indeed. Bayerlein felt a slight twinge of humor at the way Rommel could flip from subject to subject so quickly. “Well sir, the British have not surrendered, not that I know of, and it’s just as likely that no fuel has arrived-” He stopped himself, reprimanding. No, you should not criticize Berlin in front of your commanding officer so often. What must he think? Bayerlein knew Rommel thought the same about Berlin, but still…He needed to support, not depress, Rommel.

“So what then is this news?” Rommel repeated, twisted the map slightly under his hands and looked down, his attention still held by the latest battle events. Bayerlein craned his neck a little and observed the new pencilings, smiled. The Desert Fox was on top of it all, with or without Berlin. There was not a general in the war who could compare-

“Ahem.” Rommel cleared his throat, jerking the aide back to the present. The Oberstleutnant blushed faintly with embarrassment at being caught off-guard.

“My apologies, sir,” he scrambled for the recent information and straightened up. “We have a new Lieutenant Colonel arriving here from France, former chief-of-staff of the French military commander. His name is Hans Speidel.” He awaited his leader’s response.

Rommel looked up briefly. “A new Lieutenant Colonel? From France and not Berlin? Odd…that’s a new approach on Berlin’s half.” He waved a hand as if the news were unimportant, and perhaps it was. “No matter, we can handle them from France just as easily.”

“Indeed, sir,” Bayerlein grinned. “Indeed we can.”

“Is he here to discuss reinforcements?”

Bayerlein frowned. “Actually, we had no word of his arrival until the plane landed.” An absurd little thought entered his head unbidden-What if he’s a spy?-but he shoved it away roughly. That was ridiculous. “Shall I contact Berlin and inquire as to the nature of his visit?”

Rommel now had all of his attention on Bayerlein.

[ErwiiRommie]

The Generalleutenant raised an eyebrow at his chief-of-staff. "He didn't inform you as to why he was here?" Rommel turned away from Bayerlein and strode back to the table with the maps and scattered papers. From previous dealings with officers sent from Berlin, they had always mentioned why they were in Africa. They always mentioned they were here to tell him that Berlin was doing everything they could to get him new supplies and reinforcements and then left with promises he knew would not be kept.

The fact that his headquarters had not been informed of the Oberstleutenant's arrival told him that Berlin either wanted this officer's purpose here kept secret or there was a miscommunication somewhere along the line. It was easier for him to believe the latter. The Generalleutenant sighed softly and grabbed his cap off of the back of a chair.

"Have Berlin contacted and find out," he said, placing the peaked cap and readjusting the British googles until they were firmly snug against his visor again. Rommel started for the exit and motioned Bayerlein to follow. "Meanwhile... let's meet this Oberstleutenant and see what he wants."

[Qualerei]

Soon enough, the staff car brought Hans and his guest to Headquarters, and Jurgen opened the door for them. Both men jumped on the ground, with the ease of field officers who were used to some action. Although, Von Luck mused, in France there wasn't exactly an open front. The British were still far away from the French shores, across the Channel, and all the Germans had to fight was sabotage and the Resistance - not a clean war, it was. Hans had half expected to be sent there, because of his knowledge of the French and English languages, but in the end, he was rather glad to serve under Erwin's orders. His friend was sometimes hard to live with, but he was a good commander at all times. And speaking of the devil... The colonel general strode out of his tent, followed closely by Bayerlein.

"Ah, here they are", Hans said to Speidel with a smile. "Come and meet the Desert Fox." Von Luck couldn't keep a hint of pride from his voice.

Both officers walked forward, and Rommel stopped when he saw them. When he came close enough, the colonel saluted sharply. Von Luck might be friends with Erwin, but when in duty he behaved like any other officer, and he was careful not to be too casual with his superior officer. Only when they were alone, or with close friends, did he allow himself to call Rommel by his first name. The rest of the time, he used his rank.

"Herr General", he said formally. "Let me introduce you to Oberstleutnant Hans Speidel, who had been sent here from France."

Behind him, Speidel had saluted as well, and was politely waiting for Rommel to speak first.

[Desert Stallion]

Bayerlein eyed the newcomer with an inward sigh…With one scrutinizing sweep of his eyes, Rommel’s chief-of-staff took in the new sight. The trim figure tucked away in a formal uniform, the rounded face with the large, owlish glasses, the eyes squinting in the bright sunlight; his entire aspect spoke of a man used to the calm, easy comforts of civilization. I can just see that one listening to opera, he thought wryly.

That’s the way they always are, never understanding what it means to really work out here. He will promise help and then run back to his French Chateau, back to his wine and his soft bed. Bayerlein met the man’s eyes calmly, and dipped his head slightly in greeting. This Hans Speidel looked confused, but nodded back, wiping sweat from his brow.

I bet he’ll be glad to get out of here again. Bayerlein stood just behind Rommel as Speidel and Von Luck approached. Both men saluted and Von Luck stepped forward.

“Herr General”, he said formally. “Let me introduce you to Oberstleutnant Hans Speidel, who has been sent here from France.”

Bayerlein was extremely interested in why Speidel was here, but he patiently waited for Rommel to answer Von Luck.

[ErwiiRommie]

“Herr General”, he said formally. “Let me introduce you to Oberstleutnant Hans Speidel, who has been sent here from France.”

Bayerlein was extremely interested in why Speidel was here, but he patiently waited for Rommel to answer Von Luck.


"Dankeshoen," Rommel replied and turned his piercing gaze toward the newcomer. He quickly returned the mans salute and placed his hands behind his back, studying him. "Willkommen to Afrika, Herr Oberstleutnant." He noted the younger man's discomfort in the scortching and sweltering heat, something he and the rest of his Afrikaners had gotten use to and did not bother them as much. But this new officer has only been here for a few minutes and although Rommel would rather see the messenger suffer for the bad news he was about to deliever, it would not do to be a poor host despite his grievances with Berlin.

"Come," he motioned for them all to follow. "Let's get out of this heat and somewhere a little cooler. You can then explain to me why my promised supplies and reinforcements are not with you, Herr Oberstleutnant."

[Desert Stallion]

Bayerlein chuckled inwardly at the general’s words, looking forward immensely to yet another Berlin Lackey-Roast. Hans Speidel opened his mouth to start his rehearsed speech (likely on the soon-to-be-arrived supplies), but as he processed the words “supplies” and “reinforcements,” he hesitated. “Actually, sir, I’m not sure what-“

“You can explain inside,” the general repeated with a wave of his hand. Then he turned to re-enter the small desert hovel that was currently serving as Army headquarters. The small party turned as one and followed after him. Bayerlein nodded a cheerful greeting to the cool-headed Von Luck, who grinned back. The two men drew together, and Von Luck leaned in close.

“So what trouble has he been into today?” the tank commander asked with a conspiratorial wink.

“The usual,” Bayerlein replied. “We spent a good portion of our time at the front cloud-gazing to the lovely serenade of British artillery overhead.” Von Luck laughed. “Sometimes I wish I’d gotten a commander with a better sense of self-preservation.”

“For your sake or his?” Von Luck asked as they entered the first room of two.
Speidel was listening with one ear, his birdlike eyes growing ever larger. Obviously, these tales sounded dubious to him, but then, they always did to people who didn’t know Rommel.

“Mine mostly,” Bayerlein joked. “He’s too lucky to ever worry about it.” Truthfully, inside, he was more concerned for Rommel, just like every man in the Afrika Korps. They all regarded him with a fierce protection, and no matter how hard Rommel fought the occasional babying, they’d taken good care of him. Since he won’t do it himself, Bayerlein thought with a wry smile.

He looked pointedly at Hans Speidel when the man had turned away, and questionly glanced at Von Luck, who shrugged. He knew no more than Bayerlein did. “He claims to have been assigned to the General’s staff. It’s got to be a mistake,” the younger man finally offered.

Staff? Bayerlein was half-amused, half-angered at Berlin’s constant bumbling. Well, if such was the case, all would be cleared up very shortly, and Speidel would be merrily on his way back to France with fond-er- maybe not-so-fond regards from the Desert Fox. Anyhow, that was how Bayerlein hoped it would be…

They entered the second room, Rommel’s war room, and gathered in a semicircle around the table. Bayerlein pulled a corporal aside and ordered a round of water for the occupants. It wouldn’t do for Speidel to fall over from heatstroke.