The Germans were ready. Their Italian stooges were ready. So were the British and their Free French allies. Over the grey Libyan Desert the air quivered in the peak heat of the early hot season. The heat made men and machines thirstier, and the desert was stingy with water. Metal in the sun was too hot to touch. But for the moment no khamsin was blowing, no dreadful sandstorm to grind up men and machines. And it was not too hot to fight.
Thrice before, the Axis had struck eastward across North Africa, twice...
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