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

one tank for a period of weeks or months and then, without warning, moved to another tank. However, the period in which you were together, however short, saw extraordinarily deep friendships forged in the intense heat of battle.

Manfred saw Lieutenant Basler joining Lieutenant Stiefelmayer and Captain Hummel nearby on the ridge. He drew Gerhardt’s attention to this.

‘To be honest I don’t know why we just don’t send those three to fight the Tommies on their own. They’d kick them out of Egypt in no time.’

‘Our Supermen,’ said Manfred grinning but there was an underlying respect, too. They were commonly considered to be the outstanding tank commanders in Regiment 8.

As darkness fell, they headed back towards their tanks. Manfred helped prepare food for the rest of the crew. When they’d eaten, Kummel returned from a meeting with all of the battalion commanders. The news was positive.

‘It looks like the British are in full retreat. We could continue to chase them but Rommel wants that we take Benghazi first. I suspect he wants us to have a harbour closer to Egypt to land more supplies and reinforcements.’

‘Who holds Benghazi now?’ asked Manfred.

 ‘The South Africans are there and in some of the outlying towns.’ Kummel looked up at the clouds rolling over the darkening sky. One by one they all did.

‘Let’s hope the weather holds,’ said Hubbuch.

-

‘Let’s hope the weather holds, he said,’ sneered Manfred a few nights later. The tank erupted into laughter. ‘Why didn’t you keep your big mouth shut?’

Hubbuch’s response was drowned out by the fury of hail, wind and sand buffeting the exterior of the tank. The weather had worsened to an alarming degree. Travel through the rain-sodden sand was proving impossible. Their skin was stinging courtesy of the moments each of them had been exposed to this particularly nasty sandstorm.

The mist of sand caked their clothing and bodies making it as physically an uncomfortable few days as Manfred could remember. An added element to the irritation of their skin was the drop in temperature. All wore their overcoats throughout the days and nights of travel towards their objective. The one positive in all of this for Manfred was that for once they were not leading the assault on Benghazi and the outlying towns.

One by one they heard of the towns falling. First Er Regima fell early morning on the 28th January. Manfred and the 15th Panzers waded through the sandy morass to arrive that evening.

The next morning, they heard that Benghazi was under siege.  The news brought with it a temporary abatement in the poisonous weather they’d suffered over the last few days. In the distance, Manfred listened to the sound of the shelling, expecting at any moment that Kummel would arrive and order them forward.

It wasn’t until midday that the order came and by then the large coastal city had fallen. The news was greeted by conspiratorial smiles between Manfred, Siefers and Hubbuch. They’d formed a close bond united by the cynicism of Hubbuch towards the heroic ‘Sigmund’ Kummel, and ‘Wotan’ Cramer.

The sky remained ominously dark as the 15th Panzer trundled along the rocky path that led to Benghazi. It wound around the hilly jebel country surrounding the coastal port. Manfred sat on top of the tank and looked around.

‘How could the Tommies not defend this?’ he asked Kummel whose eyes, as ever, were fixed to binoculars and scanning the horizon like an anxious meerkat.

‘Be thankful that they couldn’t or wouldn’t, Brehme.’

The road leading into the city was somewhat better and they progressed more quickly. Finally, the sea came into view and the white buildings of the city shining against the dark grey of the sky.

The order came for them to stop near the edge of the city. The tanks grouped themselves into a hedgehog position while the support echelon drove into the city in search of stores the Allies would have stockpiled for any future push. Manfred sat beside Siefers and watched the convoy of trucks push ahead in search of supplies. Siefers handed Manfred a cigarette.

‘What will we do now?’ asked Siefers.

Manfred looked up at the dark clouds overhead and replied, ‘Well, I, for one, will not be going to the beach.’

10

100 miles south west of Tobruk, Libya: 28th January 1942

The overcoat was providing little protection against the biting cold wind stinging the faces of those on the ridge. Danny was hungry, too. Their food supplies had dwindled over the last two days and the rationing was barely enough to cover a poor breakfast never mind a full day. Sand whipped up into Danny’s face to add to his misery.

He gazed out at the arid expanse through a pair of borrowed binoculars. About a mile away he could see a vast number of dark shapes. They had been stationed there for a day and had not moved.

Danny heard feet crunching over the rocky incline. Fitz joined him at the top.

‘Are the Italians still there then?’

‘See for yourself,’ replied Danny handing him the binoculars.

Fitz took the field glasses from him but, in truth, they were unnecessary. He could see the encampment clearly without them.

‘The lieutenant’s getting windy again,’ said Fitz.

To be fair, they all were. Hunger and cold were gradually chipping away at their willpower. They were still a hundred miles away from Tobruk and the only clear road was blocked by the Italians. They couldn’t risk the desert as the rains had made much of it impassable. They were as stuck here as if they were in quicksand.

Danny stepped down carefully from the incline. There was no brew waiting for him, only silence. It would be hours before they had anything to eat. In the meantime, he had a pint of water to last him through that day. Discussion on their options had long since faded.

The wind was growing stronger now increasing the chill and discomfort felt by all. Danny looked around at the beaten faces. They’d travelled over one hundred miles in two days, stopping often and for long periods to avoid enemy