Hauptmann Reinhardt snapped to attention and stamped his heel in the most appropriate manner when facing a Feld Marshal. “Fat Albert” Kesselring shifted in his chair and reached out a pudgy hand for the folder that the Hauptmann was carrying. “Vell, how bad is it, Hauptmann? How many did ve loose?”
Reinhardt swallowed hard, trying to put a good spin on the material he was handing over. “Vell, sir. The British positions near El Alamein are in disarray, our first wave of bombers did a lot of damage to one of their forward bases. We predict it will be nearly useless for the upcoming battle.” He carefully eyed Kesselring, who was listlessly leafing through the reports and photos. “The really good news, sir, is that the British are evacuating Cairo. Our agents report many fires outside of the British HQ buildings, they think they are burning their records. As vell, the Port of Alexandria is crammed with ships, many are being loaded as we speak.”
Kesselring starred at the Hauptmann as if he was a naked Valkyrie. “Vhat are you saying? Ve hafe won the air battle?” Falling back into his chair, Kesselring was obviously stunned, he had no expectations that the Luftwaffe could overcome the stiff resistance over El Alamein.
“Ja, it appears that the P-40 fighters were no match for our fighters or even those of the Italians. Many were shot down before they could get at our bombers.”
“So, could we attack the Port again? Sink those ships?” Urged on by the positive reports so far, Kesselring was evisioning himself striding triumphantly down Unter der Linden towards Hitler and the inner circle of Nazidom.
“Uhhhgh, no sir. Vhe don’t hafe enough bombers left … The British fighters did take a considerable toll …” The Hauptmann was edging towards the door in the hopes of getting out with only half of a report.
