A Captain gives the orders for the honour guard to present their arms, as the Commander of the Army approaches in his staff car. I am the poor sod who is to receive him, and he is furious. "Good god, that has been a hell of a ride." Indeed, it had been. After the detached Motorcycle Coy of the Blackshirt-Division had spotted enemies blocking the road to Tobruk, the General and his staff had to leave the road and drive through the rugged terrain at the coast, barely making it to Tobruk in time. "I hope you have overseen the regrouping at Sollum and the advance of 10th Besaglieri while I have been absent?" he says, looking at me a little more relaxed. "Yes sir. Everything has gone as planned, and we are quite positive that we can delay the enemy for a bit now. Furthermore, the Besaglieri have reached Tmimi, and Sirte Division has rerouted to save our rear. Their scouts have advanced quite a bit, but no enemy has been found operating in the desert."
"Where the hell are they then? Why is their operation so sluggish? I would have expected them to be way more... aggressive after the successes of the first half-week." The general strokes his beard, a gesture quite familiar in the Army Staff, as it appears. "Anyways, Maggiore, I am afraid I have wronged you in kicking you from my staff. Mangiavi and you are again very welcome in our ranks. I would say this matter is settled now." He turns to his staff. "Gentlemen, we will move to the heart of the Fortress, and we will either defend it until help comes or until each and every one of us is dead. Long live Italy!"
< Message edited by HvonMoltke -- 3/2/2019 5:57:50 PM >