Chapter 89
Chapter 89
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Toward Africa (2)
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Indochina Expeditionary Force Commander Baek Dong-seok handed off all the preliminary preparations to his staff the moment he received His Excellency's orders and flew straight to Cairo.
Cairo was home to Eighth Army Commander Lieutenant General Richard O'Connor and Middle East Command Commander General Claude Auchinleck.
Baek Dong-seok exchanged greetings with the British generals and discussed how they might cooperate going forward.
"For starters, the African theater is basically no different from the sea. Tanks and trucks are our warships here. The very concept of a front line doesn't mean much."
Baek Dong-seok understood well that the desert itself held no value as land.
"The most critical resource is water. Without it, no army can hold out."
Securing drinking water made inland operations incredibly difficult.
Even if they seized wells, operating in the desert where proper roads didn't exist carried massive risks.
"So, you're saying we have to stick to the coastal roads."
That was the summary of what the British generals were saying.
It would essentially turn into a single-axis operation.
Baek Dong-seok caught on to why the British generals were explaining the battlefield environment.
'They're basically saying forget independent command and let's move together. Why the hell should we?'
Baek Dong-seok had no intention of doing that.
"What about landings, then?"
"Landings?"
"We already control the seas. A sudden strike on their rear at someplace like Tripoli or Benghazi could split their front in two. Not a bad idea, right?"
The British officers looked flustered at his words.
Not because they hadn't thought of landings, but because things weren't going according to their plans.
'Who the hell decided to use us as their second division?'
Baek Dong-seok had no plans to yield.
It was operational authority His Excellency had worked hard to secure.
How could he squander it carelessly?
Baek Dong-seok's bold stance left the discussions in limbo for the time being.
The British tried probing him for a few days and sweet-talking him into compliance, but it was no use.
'His Excellency trusted me enough to send me here. I can't let these limey bastards get the better of me.'
The British generals realized this Korean general was no pushover.
"General Baek is tighter than a miser's fist. How are we supposed to talk him around?"
"The War Office wants it this way, but this is getting stifling."
Auchinleck had no choice but to report to the War Office that they'd have to recognize the Korean army's independent operational authority.
On December 9, 1942, just as the two sides' differences were nearly resolved, the Italians invaded Egypt from Libya.
Both the Koreans and the British were caught off guard by the audacious assault.
"The Italians are barely holding their own on defense—why the hell are they doing this? What did those bastards eat wrong?"
To explain the reason, we need a brief look at Rome's situation.
Italy's ruler, the Duce, had been backed into a corner by the outbreak of the Anglo-Italian War in August.
The Yugoslav occupation forces were taking thousands of casualties every month from guerrilla attacks, and the Turkish expeditionary force, cut off from supplies, was on the verge of withering away on the spot with its 300,000 troops.
On top of that, the Ethiopian garrison and North African forces were slowly starving under the blockade by British and Korean naval power.
Over a million troops were on the verge of evaporating without accomplishing a thing.
If he stayed idle, his downfall was only a matter of time.
The Duce needed a trump card to overcome the crisis.
He begged for German support as his way out.
If the Germans intervened, he calculated, they could regain some control of the Mediterranean seas.
Germany reluctantly dispatched the 10th Air Corps, with these words:
"This is the last time. Don't forget that."
The intervention of the German 10th Air Corps produced immediate results.
The strangled sea lanes to Libya suddenly opened up.
Ships transiting the central Mediterranean were at least somewhat safe during the day, if not at night.
With some breathing room, the Duce's confidence swelled a bit again.
Wasn't the root of his army's peril the Allied navies rampaging in the Mediterranean?
That was a valid point.
So the solution was simple.
Drive the enemy navies out of the Mediterranean.
How?
'Seize the Suez Canal, and they'll have no choice but to hightail it out of there.'
That wasn't entirely wrong.
At the very least, the Korean navy would have to retreat through the Red Sea considering their logistics.
That way, even if he couldn't save Duke of Aosta and the East African forces trapped in Ethiopia, he could secure the lives of the Libyan and Turkish expeditionary forces.
And that was it?
Conquering Egypt would also restore his tarnished prestige.
A glory-hungry figure like the Duce couldn't just pass up such high odds.
"General Giovanni Messe, I'm putting you in charge of everything. Go make it a glorious show."
The Duce steeled himself and delegated full authority to the most capable general he'd personally scouted.
But General Giovanni Messe, handed this critical mission, couldn't hide his bewilderment.
"No, Duce. You want our forces to launch a preemptive strike? We're short on supplies just for defense as it is. You know our situation full well."
"Come on! Don't we have 250,000 troops in Libya? The enemy has barely 30,000. On paper, it's a sure win. Why are you so scared? Even if the British are well-trained, that numerical edge gives us plenty of chance."
The Duce talked big, but he didn't actually think conquering Egypt would be a piece of cake.
Hadn't the French taught him that overwhelming numbers didn't guarantee victory?
When facing a great power, Italy had always underperformed disastrously.
The Duce knew that too, but this time he had to make it work.
His fate—and Italy's—hung on this attack.
"Understood. We'll give it a shot. But you need to give us time."
"Ah, of course. Can't argue with the experts in uniform."
The Duce agreed to give Messe ample preparation time.
Three months passed that way, and then the Duce spoke up again.
"How long do you intend to make me wait!"
He could no longer endure the dying gasps from the Turkish expeditionary force starving away or the accusatory glares back home.
"No, our forces aren't ready yet."
"Enough. It's time to move out."
Messe had dragged his feet because he didn't want to attack, but with things at this point, he had no choice.
"Total assault."
General Messe led 80,000 available Italian troops across the Egyptian border.
The Allied forces were thrown into disarray by the sight of the Italian army charging in grandly, kicking up clouds of dust.
But the reality wasn't all that impressive.
Yugoslav occupation, Turkish invasion, Ethiopian War, Spanish intervention—the Italian army's modernization had been disastrously delayed.
Of the 80,000 invading troops, only one battalion was mechanized.
And even those were mostly outdated old trucks.
Most of the "modern Italian" invasion force was crossing the desert on foot.
"It's hot. How much longer do we have to march?"
"Water! Give us some water!"
As a result, the invasion force stalled out before advancing even 100 km.
There weren't enough trucks to bring drinking water and supplies from the rear ports for 80,000 expeditionary troops.
If their supply lines stretched any further, the Italian army was doomed to self-destruct without a fight.
Attacking Suez with an army like this was a pipe dream.
Messe halted the advance here and dug in defensively.
Retreat was the best option, but with the Duce urging them onward, he doubted it would be allowed.
The British command, oblivious to Messe's predicament, sat down with Baek Dong-seok to discuss countermeasures.
"Defense is our best bet for now. Buy time until our Korean vanguard arrives."
Baek Dong-seok insisted on defense in the strongest terms.
This wasn't just his personal view; it followed His Excellency Yi Seong-jun's instructions.
"Keep the British from attacking the Italians no matter what. Touch those guys, and the whole world will see they're just water balloons that could pop with a single needle."
"Yes, Your Excellency. I'll make damn sure it doesn't happen. I'll grab O'Connor by the ankles if I have to—British forces won't lay a finger on the Italians."
Baek Dong-seok even spread false rumors among the British.
"Intelligence from our Korean side says the Italians you see aren't all of them. We shouldn't provoke them with a rash offensive until reinforcements arrive. Launch an attack now and make one mistake, and those bastards will come at us like rabid rattlesnakes. That'd be a disaster."
"Well, the Italians are cornered, that's true. No point poking the bear."
The British agreed there was no upside to tangling with the Italians right now.
In that case, they might as well launch their attack around late winter, once they were fully reorganized.
'The Soviets and Germans are busy tearing each other apart anyway. Give it a little time, the German air force will head back to Russia, so what's a bit of patience?'
In the big picture, Italy was fated to lose anyway.
The British figured delaying the attack briefly wouldn't hurt.
Baek Dong-seok was quietly pleased with the British reaction as he crunched the numbers to hog all the glory.
'His Excellency wants us to score as many points as possible off that Italian punching bag. To do that, we need to strike first—before the British.'
If he casually offered Korean forces for a show of force recon, the British wouldn't refuse.
Then they could smash the Italians and rack up the points.
Baek Dong-seok huddled back with his staff, waiting only for that moment.