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

Knightsbridge. You can tell the type of people, leading us, can’t you? Won’t be for long. The Colonel suggested we’d return to our battalions by Easter.’

‘When do you leave?’

‘Tonight.’

There was a hint of sadness in Fitz’s voice. He, Buller and Evans would have to go their separate ways. Danny realised at that moment how war was not just a clash of opposing armies but also a coming together of disparate people within an army. They formed units and within those ad hoc groupings, deep friendships were forged in the heat of battle. But war had a habit of tearing these apart. They drank to a future that would see a victory over Nazism but more than that, they drank to the hope that they would all meet up one day in England. And drink some more.

-

Captain Stanton barely glanced up when Danny entered his office. He was scribbling on a sheet of paper. He made a signature with something of a flourish and handed it to a lance corporal. He dismissed the lance corporal and finally turned his attention to Danny.

Stanton was, like so many of the captains he’d encountered, surprisingly young and unsurprisingly from another social class. His hair was the colour of the sand and thinning around the temples.

‘Shaw, thank you for coming. Sit down.’

Danny sat down facing Stanton and decided there and then he would never wear a moustache. Stanton had a thin moustache that was probably an attempt to look like a David Niven or Ronald Coleman. It made him look like Anna Neagle in panto. His soft, feminine features were unlikely to be disguised by such a limp attempt at facial hair.

‘We’ve located your regiment. They are in the Quassassin Camp which is near the Suez Canal. It would be fair to say that many of the people you knew in the regiment are no longer there. Like yourself, they were dispersed amongst other regiments following the encounter at Sidi Rezegh.’

Stanton, who’d been studying a piece of paper while he spoke, looked up at Danny at this point.

‘Were you part of that?’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Danny. He felt his heart lurch as the faces of Phil Lawrence and Sergeant Reed came to his mind. Stanton could see the colour drain from Danny and he nodded. His voice changed from the rather clipped business-like tone to something more sympathetic.

‘That was quite a show, I gather.’ Danny nodded but did not trust himself to speak. Sensing this, Stanton glanced down at the sheet in front of him and continued. ‘A number of the regiment have been transferred to the Third Royal Tank Regiment. Perhaps a similar transfer might be of interest to you? I’m not sure there’s much choice. They’re badly understrength and it looks like Jerry is going to take another crack at us.’

Stanton handed Danny a sheet of paper. There was a list of names.

‘These are some of the people who’ve been transferred.’

Danny ran his eyes down the sheet. His eyes lit up when he came to one of the names.

‘I’ll go, sir,’ said Danny.

Stanton looked relieved and smiled, ‘That’s the spirit, Shaw. You’ll leave for Egypt in a few days. 3 RTR is at Beni Youseff undergoing a refit and taking new tanks and men.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Thank you, Shaw,’ replied Stanton. He emphasised ‘you’. Danny left the office and wandered down towards the harbour. It was a bright morning. White buildings were scattered like shells on a beach. The harbour area was unusually quiet. Many of the Royal Navy vessels had departed leaving a just few fishing boats bobbing about on the deep blue Mediterranean. Fitz, Buller and Evans had already left while Tom and Bert had returned to the outer perimeter. He strolled along the sea front and stared at the sea. A fresh breeze caressed his face. It seemed so peaceful. How much longer would this last, he wondered.

For those few moments he escaped the flow of time. His mind cleared itself of any thoughts of the future or memories of the past. Instead, he let his senses take over. He drank in the blue of the sea, listened to the coughing engines of cars and vans and the cry of the birds overhead. A fishing boat chugged out of the harbour. It looked like there were three generations of fishermen on the little vessel. He recognised the life that they led: its simplicity, their unvarying routine and he envied their freedom. He watched them sail out until they were barely a speck on the horizon.

-

A light drizzle fell on the garrison, but few seemed to notice. Soldiers were rushing between the dozens of vehicles lining the road for as far as the eye could see. It looked like an army on the retreat. While the sun sulked behind the steel grey clouds, Danny walked with Tom and Bert Gissing towards the truck that would carry him back to Egypt and his new regiment. It was an oddly British level of noise, somewhere between loud murmur and an embarrassed grumble.

‘So this is it, then,’ said Tom.

‘Again,’ pointed out Bert.

The two brothers laughed but there was more than a tinge of sadness. Nearby the motor of a truck was idling as a dozen men made ready to leave Tobruk.

A sergeant made his way through the crowd of soldiers and began to bark orders. He added, rather unnecessarily, that they were a horrible lot. Danny rolled his eyes.

‘I can see this is going to be a fun trip.’

Danny turned to the tall figure of Bert Gissing. They shook hands. Anything else would have been uncomfortable despite the genuine warmth between them.

‘Keep your big head down,’ said Danny.

‘And you. I doubt they’ll get any nearer you than I ever did,’ said Bert with a grin.

‘I mean it, Bert. And look after this dreamboat.’

‘The girls of England will demand it, Danny-boy,’ laughed Tom.

The two brothers looked at each other as the sergeant’s tone became angrier due to the realisation that he was being ignored. Engines began to