El Alamein, Jack Murray [best autobiographies to read .txt] 📗

cloud there was a serious risk of getting lost even with the flags they’d laid out. This made the journey of thirty miles a much longer affair as Captain Arnold was not prepared to take chances on the smallest of details. That Arnold was leading was, at least. Confidence in Blair was almost non-existent.

After a couple of hours, the truck drew to a halt. Arnold climbed out and quickly convened a conference with Blair and Barrett. The result of the conference was clear when Blair walked back to the jeep. Behind him, Barrett took off in the infantry jeep.

‘The oasis is a mile north east from here, towards those hills in the distance,’ explained Blair, pointing. ‘Barrett has been tasked with reconnaissance. I think there’s time for a brew up.’

This was always music to Danny’s ears even though it was usually his job. Light was just beginning to fade. Barrett would need to be quick. He didn’t know the lieutenant well, but he always struck Danny as dependable. Like Blair he was young and most likely from a public school. So many of the officers seemed that way to Danny.

Having grown up in the country and gotten to know the family of the lord of the manor, he was curiously unresentful about this. A Liverpudlian like Buller, on the other hand, was never likely to accept how the class system dictated the ranks within the British Army. In his view, the Germans were a professional army. They were not organised like a cricket team with demarcation between the gentlemen and players.

Of late Danny had begun to wonder if Buller was not right. He’d witnessed how men of the sort he would have looked up to had led them into the murderous fire of the enemy. Men like Arnold and Blair, at least, exuded a professional authority. Even Captain Aston in the tank regiment had enough sense to question the point of cavalry charges with tanks. Danny wondered if the captain had survived Operation Crusader. He suspected the answer was yes.

Danny took a jerrican and filled it with around three inches of sand. He poured petrol down a stick into the sand and stirred it so that it had the consistency of porridge. Striking a match, he threw it on the petrol and sand mixture causing a small explosion. He placed a second tin, full of water, on the flame and prepared the brew. It lacked the ceremony of Japanese tea-making that Fitz had once talked about, but it was a welcome break from the toil.

The sound of a jeep returning broke into Danny’s thoughts. He heard Blair telling them to follow him over so they could hear, first-hand, the results of the reconnaissance.

‘Well?’ asked Arnold.

Barrett jumped out of the jeep and reported what he’d seen.

‘There’s a company of infantry at the oasis. At least two hundred men. I don’t think we can overpower them, sir. I didn’t see any guns or tanks but they have a couple of nasty looking half-tracks with mounted machine guns.’

Arnold nodded as if he’d expected this. He seemed remarkably sanguine given the odds they were facing.

‘To be expected, I suppose. Did you see if they had petrol?’

‘Yes, sir, lots of it,’ replied Barrett with a grin. ‘It’s not fenced off. Just sitting there. Stacked very neatly, too.’

‘At least that’s something. How is it guarded?’

‘They have set up a picket at four points, sir, replied Barrett. He used his stick to draw and rudimentary map in the sand. ‘The guards are here and here, around forty yards from the main group. The supplies are here, right beside the oasis. There was a hill about fifty yards from where the pickets are stationed. We were able to get a good view of the layout from there. I left Johnson behind to keep a check on how frequently the guard changes.’

Arnold nodded while studying the rough map.

‘Good work, Barrett. A direct assault is clearly out of the question. However, they won’t be expecting us, that’s for sure. Very well, here’s what we’ll do.’

6

Antelat, Libya: 23rd January 1942

The sound of explosions grew louder with each passing minute, or was it his heart? Manfred felt his skin prickle with each blast. Even Beer, who was normally blackly composed looked on edge. His hands gripped the rail as the tank bumped along. The frequency of the fire suggested there was one almighty battle going on. Kummel unerringly read the mood of his crew.

‘It sounds like there are a lot of tanks. No wonder the 21st wanted help.’

He peered into the telescope just as the voice of Cramer crackled over the radio.

‘Attention. Orange 2. Attack enemy tanks on the left.’

‘Remind me, who is Orange 2?’ asked Beer.

‘Stiefelmayer,’ cut in Kummel, swung the telescope to see what Cramer was looking at. He gave a low whistle. ‘Interesting.’’

This was too much for Beer. He stared through his own sights and let rip a volley of oaths. Manfred watched as two flank panzers peeled off. In the distance he saw an enormous number of dark shapes. These were the British tanks. The British were probably too far away to do much damage.

‘Eleven o’clock. Engage enemy armour,’ called Cramer. Hubbuch responded without waiting for Kummel’s order. The tank immediately altered course.

‘How far?’ asked Kummel.

‘A kilometre?’ suggested Beer.

‘Yes,’ agreed Kummel. ‘Bring us a little closer, Hubbuch.’

The tank was moving forward towards the mass of British tanks. Manfred glanced at Beer and received a nod in response. In a moment, Manfred had reached down and opened the breech. Hubbuch, meanwhile brought the tank to a halt.

‘AP armour piercing,’ said Kummel, his eyes fixed against his telescope. ‘Fire.’

Manfred loaded the cartridge. Beer pressed the electronic firing button.

‘Short,’ announced Kummel. ‘Up fifty. Reload new range and fire.’

The angle of the turret gun was immediately altered by Beer. Manfred opened the breech and quickly loaded another armour-piercing shell. Beer pressed the firing button again.

‘Yes,’ shouted Kummel. ‘Right on target. Up another twenty-five. Reload.’

Exhilaration swept through Manfred. After a month of