Chapter 698: Burning Harbor
About two hours later, Montgomery, as the supreme commander of the British forces in North Africa, personally delivered a speech: “As the supreme commander of the British forces besieged in Alexandria, I must make a painful decision for the future of the men under my command. I declare that the 9th Army Group will cease resistance and surrender its weapons to the German-Italian joint forces opposite us.”
Supported by his aide, he nearly fell to the ground, but he persisted in finishing his speech: “You are all the bravest of warriors. It was my own inept command that led you into this encirclement. To avoid a greater tragedy, I have decided to sacrifice my personal honor and issue this humiliating and sorrowful order. I hope my decision will not bring shame upon my country. I hope my decision is the right one.”
Subsequently, the various British units ceased their resistance, and scenes of German soldiers guarding groups of British soldiers walking out of their positions with their hands raised were everywhere. Most of the Indian soldiers surrendered readily. After all, it had been a great feat for them to simply huddle in the trenches and make a show of support for the British these past few days. Now, hearing that they had a chance to live, they were naturally very eager.
Then came the German tanks and armored cars, surrounded by reporters, driving into the burning port of Alexandria. Dust-covered German grenadiers, clutching their weapons and riding on a motley collection of vehicles, swayed as they entered this important port, a symbol of British rule in North Africa.
A grand victory parade began immediately. German infantry, formed in squares and shouldering their rifles, goose-stepped towards the fruits of their victory. On both sides of the road they marched along were listless British soldiers, escorted at gunpoint by German soldiers, walking to the hastily constructed prisoner-of-war camps.
According to the previously negotiated agreement, British officers were allowed to carry their personal luggage and could be interned with their adjutants. All were also permitted to wear their ceremonial swords to soothe the psychological trauma of surrender. According to the terms, soldiers from the British mainland could return to their hometowns to participate in labor reform nearby, rather than being sent to Poland to be treated as slaves.
As for the Indian troops who had left their homes to fight for the British, a small portion were to be sent back to Europe to enrich the racial composition of the concentration camps. The majority were to remain in North Africa to serve as forced labor for the construction of a new railway running from Tunis to the Suez Canal, for a long ten years.
Rommel’s convertible staff car rumbled through the army, preceded and followed by armored cars and tanks. There was also a captured British command vehicle, nicknamed “Mammoth” by the Germans, as well as many headquarters guard vehicles. Trucks were filled with German grenadiers, who watched the British junior and mid-level officers on both sides with cold expressions.
Most of the defeated looked dejected, but the victors weren’t in much better shape. Their bodies were covered in sand and dust, the paint on their vehicles was cracked and peeling, and soldiers sat atop some of the tanks. It seemed every single one of them was exhausted.
“Compared to them, I think we look more like the dignified victors. At least we know to shave every few days,” a British division commander said sarcastically as German soldiers marched past him. “These Germans seem to care about nothing but fighting.”
The German grenadier division commander standing next to him, accepting his surrender, heard the translation and sneered, then retorted, “The reason we won is because we know that having a beard doesn’t affect combat effectiveness. While you were shaving, I had plenty of time to empty my magazine at you.”
Despite the sarcastic remarks, the surrender process was completed very smoothly overall. Compared to the cruelty of the battle, the bloodshed of the bombing, and the brutal slaughter, the scene had a rather medieval, chivalrous spirit. The two sides shook hands civilly, chatted about the weather, and then had a dignified cup of tea together to discuss the problems that had arisen in the recent battle.
Rommel’s convoy passed many squares of British prisoners and then stopped in front of the administrative building in the city center of Alexandria, which had been almost completely reduced to rubble. He did not get out of his car immediately but stood up in it, looking down at Montgomery, who was standing motionless in the distance, waiting to be taken into captivity.
This was the first time the two men had met face to face. Although they had seen each other countless times in newspapers and intelligence reports, this was their first real meeting. For some reason, Rommel felt that this man had once been a high wall blocking his path, one that he could not climb over.
He pushed open his car door, jumped out, and, surrounded by his staff and guards, walked up to his old rival, Montgomery. He meticulously raised his arm in a German salute. “Heil Führer. It is a pleasure to meet you, General Montgomery. If I remember correctly, this is the first time we have met. It is a great honor.”
“It is also a great honor to meet you, General Rommel! But this is not the first time our paths have crossed. Our forces fought at least once in France.” Montgomery’s hands trembled slightly. Rommel could see that the British general who had propped up the North African front was actually in very poor physical condition. The blow of defeat and the crisis facing his country had placed immense pressure on him, and the burden on his shoulders was heavier than Rommel’s own.
He took a deep breath, signaled his aide to hand over the 9th Army Group’s flag to a German officer on Rommel’s side, and then continued, “On behalf of the 9th Army Group, I surrender to the… German Wehrmacht’s L Army Group, which you command. I now hand over this battle flag, which symbolizes the honor of our unit. I hope that General Rommel will treat this, your trophy, with respect.”
Rommel held up a hand to stop his own aide, who was about to step forward. He then stood at attention and said to General Montgomery, “Your Excellency! Your forces fought my army from the vicinity of Tunis all the way to Alexandria. As your opponent, I fully acknowledge your outstanding ability in combat command, and I fully acknowledge the fighting strength of the British 9th Army Group.”
He pointed to the flag still held in the hand of Montgomery’s aide, then looked Montgomery in the eye and continued, “Therefore, Your Excellency, General Montgomery, I, Erwin Rommel, General of the Army of the German Third Reich’s Wehrmacht, request that you personally hand this flag, which represents the honor of all the men here, to me. All units, attention!”
At his shout, all the German soldiers snapped to attention. Although their attire was indeed not very presentable—some were wearing scarves, some had sand all over their boots—they all stood straight, their presence imposing. The British prisoners of war on the other side also straightened their backs. In that moment, they seemed to have found their souls again. If they had found themselves a little earlier, perhaps they could have fought Rommel’s troops in the ruins for another month.
Hearing Rommel’s words, a glimmer of light finally returned to Montgomery’s eyes. He now had almost nothing left. The country he had fought for his entire life now wished him dead, dismembered. But to receive the affirmation of a former enemy was a very precious comfort for a defeated general.
And so, Montgomery straightened his uniform, took the 9th Army Group’s flag, which he had once cherished so much, from his aide’s hands, and lightly brushed the yellow decorative tassels on its edge. Very solemnly, he walked up to Rommel, stood at attention, and handed the flag to his opponent, who was dressed in the service uniform of a German general.
The surrounding reporters accurately recorded this rare moment. This was the first time an army group-level unit had surrendered to German forces since the beginning of the war, and the first time a general of the highest rank had surrendered. And so, the flashbulbs flickered incessantly, and with a popping sound, the interviewers continuously pressed the shutters in their hands.
“You are even better than I at encouraging soldiers and inspiring their courage. You are a born general, and a born star. When you stand there, many admirers are willing to die for you,” Montgomery sighed, truly admitting his defeat. The cards in his hand were too few, so few that he was powerless to change the situation he faced.
If he could have known the Rommel of another timeline, they would surely have become the closest of friends, because they both shared the same tragic ending: neither had enough strength to realize their strategic intentions, and both ultimately failed in their efforts. One was good at attacking, the other at defending. And so, the Rommel of another timeline was defeated on the path of offense, while the Montgomery of this world lost in his defensive positions.
Rommel stood beside him, watching the troops rumble out of the city in the distance. One after another, the swastika flags of the Third Reich were hung on the surrounding buildings that had not collapsed. While striking a handsome pose for the reporters, he said to Montgomery beside him, “That is because you have not met our great Führer. Compared to him, you would know that my skills are merely superficial. Standing by the Führer’s side, I even have a feeling that I have achieved the goals I could not achieve in my entire life. Standing by his side, I am truly invincible.”
As he spoke these words, behind Rommel, the entire city was still emitting black smoke, and in some places, huge fires were still raging. All of this told people one thing: it seemed that the Führer, far away in Berlin, could truly make one invincible. The proof was this burning harbor.
Published: 2025-09-19T07:04:10.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2026-02-27T18:43:08.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c698-burning-139242191
Advance chapters at Nightjar Reads · nightjarreads.com