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patrols. Night drives were frequent, but progress was paralyzingly slow. Yet they were so close. Tobruk was a matter of hours away. Yet one thought hung in the air like a nasty odour: was it still held by the Allies?

Danny watched Fitz scramble down the rocky slope clutching the binoculars. His face was a mask.

‘Are they moving?’ asked Blair, a little too hopefully.

‘No, but I think there’s a sandstorm coming this way,’ replied Fitz. ‘It might be an hour or two.’

‘Great,’ said Blair in a whisper. ‘That’s all we need.’

Danny looked at Fitz and then Gray. Both were frowning.

‘Isn’t this an opportunity?’ asked Danny.

Gray shot Danny a look. Danny shrugged in reply. There was a palpable sense of nervousness in the camp, much of it stemming from the silent inertia of Lieutenant Blair. He was, once again, caught in his own world of despondency. Rather than communicate this, he chose silence. In the vacuum that followed, tensions escalated. Buller’s temper was increasingly frayed. It was manifest in his humourless jibes at the Welshman Evans and, less vocally but certainly through eye-rolling gesture, at Blair.

Buller was listening and saw the exchange between Gray and Danny. He glared at Blair. The lieutenant’s eyes were fixed on the small campfire. Seconds passed and no response was forthcoming from Blair.

‘It’s worth considering making a run for it if the sandstorm comes this way. It’ll give us cover,’ suggested Gray.

Blair didn’t move and, instead kept staring into the fire.

‘Sir?’ pressed Gray.

‘I heard you, sergeant,’ said Blair dismissively.

More silence followed this. Buller stood up. Gray turned sharply towards Buller. The eyes of the Liverpudlian were filled with rage. He ignored the glare of Gray and spoke directly to the lieutenant.

‘We can’t just stay here and starve.’

It wasn’t just what he said. The tone strayed beyond insubordination. This was close to mutiny.

‘Corporal,’ said Gray. His voice was raised and there was an edge to it. This stopped Buller for a moment. As little as he thought of Blair, he had a high regard for the sergeant. It was too late. Blair shot to his feet, face red and eyes blazing.

‘Have you something to say, Corporal? Say it.’

This stopped Buller immediately. However, his anger had not gone. He looked at the lieutenant.

‘Sir, both Shaw and the sergeant have made a suggestion. You haven’t responded.’

Blair stepped forward and stood inches away from the tall Liverpudlian. He glared up at him and said, ‘Do you agree with them?’

‘I do,’ replied Buller before adding, ‘sir,’ a moment or two later. The delay was enough to further inflame the lieutenant.

‘You disagree with my decision?’

This was very dangerous territory now for Buller. Recognising it as such, Gray stepped in.’

‘Sir, what Buller is saying is that we don’t know what your decision is.’

Blair turned slowly to Gray. This was a different proposition and Blair knew it. However, anger was still coursing through his veins. And fear.

‘I think I know what Buller is saying, sergeant. Am I to understand that you all support this foolish idea of heading into the teeth of a sandstorm?’

Silence followed this question. Finally. Gray spoke.

‘Yes, sir. We do.’

Then Buller nodded and said, ‘Yes.’ The others followed suit. Impotent with rage, Blair stood and looked at the men who were effectively conducting a mutiny. He spun around and walked away from them. All eyes turned to Gray.

‘Start clearing up. Whenever the storm reaches the Italian camp, we’ll start towards it.’

‘What about the gun, sir?’ asked Danny. ‘It’ll slow us down.’

Gray studied Danny for a moment and then nodded.

‘Disable it.’

-

An hour later Gray came down from the ridge. He asked Buller if the gun had been put out of operation. Buller looked crestfallen at having had to do such an act of vandalism. Gray’s attention shifted to Blair. The lieutenant was sitting alone in the truck, waiting.

‘He’s been there for the last half hour,’ said Danny.

Gray didn’t react to this. He pointed to the truck which was the order for them all to board. The sky had darkened considerably now although it was still only early afternoon. The wind had whipped up and sand was now beginning to sting their skin enough to remind them that the next few hours would be deeply uncomfortable never mind enormously risky.

The men trooped up to the top of the ridge and looked at the approaching hell. A brown wall was approaching the Italian camp. It was at least a thousand feet high. Danny took the binoculars from Gray. He could make out Italian soldiers scurrying around trying to batten down anything that could get carried away or destroyed in the maelstrom.

Then they skipped down the hill and boarded the truck. Blair sat mutely sullen in the passenger seat. Gray ignored him and jumped into the driver’s seat. He started the engine.

‘Ready?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. Everyone pulled a scarf over their faces and the truck set off over the rocky ridge onto the road. The wind was blowing strongly. A mile ahead they could see the brown-orange leviathan beginning to engulf the Italian camp. Any guards still outside would be forced under cover.

Danny wrapped his overcoat around himself tightly. He pulled his beret low over his head. The scarf he wore around his neck to protect him from the sun now became like an outlaw’s mask covering everything except his eyes. They drove slowly forward. It was evident that Gray was as concerned about maintaining direction as he was speed. The sound of the engine was soon drowned out by the high-pitched whine of the wind.

The truck pitched along unsteadily. The turbulence rocked them while at the same time throwing up scurrying grains of sand. What at first were thousands of individual particles soon became like a thin fabric of sand, stinging their faces. Underneath the mask, Danny found the hot air oppressive. Visibility declined to a few yards and the sky disappeared under the angry dust blanket. The sand transformed into lashing sheets of larger, coarser grains.

Danny and the others ducked down

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