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

‘Better go, kid,’ said Tom trying to smile. ‘You won’t be too far away from what I hear.

‘Just down the road,’ agreed Danny. ‘I’ll see you soon hopefully. As soon as I have a day off I’ll pop back.’

‘Yes, you do that. Bye. Take care.’

Danny shook hands with his brother then picked up his kit bag and threw it onto the truck. In one swift movement he jumped onto the truck and swivelled over the back. Within moments the truck was on its way forcing a couple of soldiers to have to run and catch it up much to the amusement of the others in the back and onlookers. Danny watched Tom and Bert for as long as he could and then they were gone.

-

A day and a half later, the truck arrived at a camp near Beni Yusef just south of Cairo. The camp stretched for miles. Hundreds of vehicles were lined up in neat rows. Among them Danny could see the familiar shape of the Crusader tanks and even some of the new tanks he’d heard about but not seen before. Their official name was the M3 but they were unofficially known as the Grant.

Even from a distance, Danny could see how much bigger the gun was. At last they would have something that would match the German Mark III and IV tanks. He felt empty rather than elated. For so long he and the other tank men had been fighting with inferior tanks. It had taken too long to learn the lessons from defeat. So many men had been lost in this unequal fight.

 It was late afternoon when Danny climbed down from the back of the truck. There were at least a hundred men disembarking at that moment. Danny’s body ached all over from the long drive. He stretched stiff his stiff limbs. All around him were young men who’d grown up, like him, in a matter of months. The sounds of joints cracking were like rifle shots at midnight.

‘Bloody hell,’ said one boy to Danny. ‘When did I grow old?’

‘The moment you arrived here,’ replied Danny with a half-smile.

The sergeant, who considered them a horrible lot, appeared not to have changed his opinion much on the trip from Tobruk. He shouted at them in a tirade that was only intelligible when he swore. Which was quite frequently. The gist of his request was that they should stand in ranks. The soldiers wearily complied despite the high decibel urgings of the sergeant.

‘Hope I don’t have him after today,’ whispered Danny.

‘Hope you do,’ laughed the boy.

The two boys lost out on the battle to be in the second row and reluctantly stood at the front, in the centre. This was always likely to be a prime target for the martinet sergeant. So it proved. An inspection turned into something of a bath for several of the young soldiers at the front as the sergeant stood inches away and yelled at them for the most minor of offences.

‘What are you smiling at?’ demanded the sergeant to young man who’d probably seen action a dozen times in the last few months.

‘Nothing, sir,’ came the sullen reply.

‘What?’

The young man was clearly a heartbeat away from rolling his eyes. Instead, he repeated what he’d said at a similar level of intensity as the sergeant. The sergeant walked past Danny glaring malevolently before continuing to the end of the line without any further casualties. A corporal approached the sergeant and handed him a clipboard.

‘Answer up when your name’s called.’

For the next few minutes, the sergeant went through a long list of names. By the end Danny and a few of the others were shuffling. This brought a further wave of disapprobation from the sergeant.

‘Ten shun.’

The men responded in a single movement. As they did this, two officers appeared to inspect the new arrivals. The sergeant saluted them dramatically. The first officer returned the salute and then ordered the new arrivals to stand at ease.

Danny estimated him to be in his mid-thirties. Yet he was already a Lieutenant-Colonel. His clean-shaven face was certainly younger looking than many of the senior officers he’d encountered. In this regard, he looked more like a captain. He walked up the line not so much to inspect the new arrivals as to allow them to inspect him.

‘Stand at, ease,’ screamed the sergeant.

‘Thank you, sergeant,’ said the Lieutenant-Colonel wearily. ‘Stand easy, men. My name is Roberts. Welcome to your new regiment. You’ve come to replace men we’ve lost. Some of you are new to this war. Some of you will have already seen action; seen men die. Over the next few weeks, you will train like you’ve never trained before. You will hate me, the sergeant and every senior officer on this regiment. But you will be ready to face the enemy. You’ll sweat blood, believe me, but it may just keep you and your comrade’s alive.’

Roberts finished on this note and then began an inspection of the men before him. He stopped every few soldiers and said a few words to the man before him. Coming before Danny, he asked, ‘Where are you from?’

‘Sixth Royal Tank Regiment, sir.’

Roberts nodded. There was a sadness behind his eyes. An understanding that both recognised. The moment passed then he replied, ‘Well, you’re in the 3 RTR now.’

-

As they would not be assigned their tanks and responsibilities until the next day, Danny had some free time on his hands. He started his search. Spotting a few mechanics working on a truck, he went over to chat. They sent him to a sergeant standing over by a Crusader tank. The sergeant pointed him towards the other end of a long line of tanks.

Walking along the rows of tanks gave him an opportunity to spy the Grant up close. The new gun was certainly impressive, albeit strange. It was not actually part of the turret. Instead, the usual thirty-seven millimetre gun occupied this position. The bigger gun was lower down