Crusader (A Novel of WWII Tank Warfare), Jack Murray [top romance novels .txt] 📗

o’clock.One thousand yards, HE grenade. Free fire.’

Werner fired.

‘Damn,’ said the gunner. The round had overshot the target.Seconds later the scout cars disappeared over the hill all in one piece. ‘Yougot the distance wrong, sir,’ shouted Werner into his microphone.

‘You missed, not me,’ pointed out Peters. ‘My pet poodle couldhave hit them from here.’

‘Can we get him to mark the distances in future, then?’ respondedWerner before gleefully switching off his mic as a string of obscenities eruptinggood-humouredly from the turret.

Manfred laughed but he could feel the tank beginning to accelerateas Lang pressed his foot down on the accelerator. Already Major Fenski wasracing ahead and over the crest of the hill. The engine whined as the tanktrundled up the hill. Seconds later, they had reached the ridge and were nowflying downhill. Manfred’s mouth dropped open at what he saw.

-

Around two kilometres away was a camp consisting of dozens of lightyellow soft-sided supply trucks. They were stationary like cows innocently grazingin a field.

Manfred was transfixed by the sight of the Tommies transfixed bytheir arrival. He saw the kettles boiling on top of the campfires, he saw thecups in their hands; he saw the breakfast rolls fall to the ground as the full weightof comprehension dawned that they were drinking tea while the might of theAfrika Korps descended on them like a malevolent fog. Manfred could barelysupress his laughter. It all seemed so easy.

Some of the Tommies had woken up though. Fenski’s tank was withina half a kilometre of them when the echelon erupted into life. Vehicles beganto tear off in different directions.

‘Don’t fire yet,’ ordered Peters.

The air was already singing with gunfire. Dust fountains eruptedin front of the tank and a percussive rhythm of bullets echoed around theinterior of the tank. An utterly futile gesture thought Manfred.

A nod from Werner and the breech block clanged as the first shellwent in. The firing started. Manfred was aware of explosions happening allaround him but by now he was too busy loading cartridges into the cannon.Werner was firing at the escaping vehicles counting off his hits and ignoringhis misses.

A louder clang on the armour of the tank suggested heavier weaponswere now engaging them.

‘What’s that?’ shouted Werner.

Peters responded, ‘Tanks to our left. They’re too far away to dous much damage.’

‘Do you want me to get closer?’ asked Lang.

‘No,’ ordered Peters, ‘Maintain course.’

The tank was now nearing the middle of what had once been theBritish artillery park. Manfred risked a swift glance through his periscope.Smoke obscured his view. Burning vehicles lay strung out everywhere that wasvisible.

‘Lang, faster,’ shouted Peters urgently. ‘Cramer and Fenski arealone in the middle. We need to get near them to support.’

Manfred looked ahead and saw the two tanks fifty metres ahead. Behindthem and the burning vehicles was the cloud of dust kicked up by the Britishvehicles disappearing into the distance. Manfred felt an overwhelming sense ofelation. Something that transcended relief. Conviction. The feeling ofvulnerability that had taken root after the loss of Overath and Kastner wasdissolving rapidly in the face of a second triumph in the space of twelvehours. The sense of elation lasted barely a minute.

‘Sir,’ shouted Fischer, ‘Major Fenski’s been hit.’

All at once the atmosphere inside the tank changed to shock.Manfred felt like he’d received a blow to the stomach. How could this happen? Ithad been a rout. Like going on a hunt.

‘Can you confirm this, Fischer?’ said Peters. His face betrayedthe concern he felt for a man he’d served under since their arrival in NorthAfrica. Werner sat in mute disbelief. Silence fell on the tank.

Fischer listened intently on the wireless. The shooting outsidewas dying down. The remnants of the British echelon had been scattered acrossthe desert. Finally, Fischer turned towards everyone. Peters and Werner duckedtheir heads down into the hull.

Fischer nodded slowly.

‘Yes, sir. It’s confirmed. The major is dead. Lieutenant Fodersalso.’

Manfred looked at his watch. It was not yet nine o’clock. Totensonntaghad begun. It had claimed its first lives.

Many more would fall that day.

 31

 

 

South east of Sidi Rezegh Airfield, Libya, November 23rd,1941

It was around midday when the regiment halted to rearm, refuel andreorganise following the death of the battalion commander, Major Fenski.Manfred could see the regiment commander, Hans Cramer standing with the othersenior officers and troop leaders in a conference.

‘Who will take over?’ asked Manfred to no one in particular.

‘Kummel,’ said Werner with complete certainty. ‘He’s good.’

Manfred nodded. Kummel was known as the ‘Lion of Capuzzo’following his heroism during the summer. His tank had been decorated by thesoldiers with a roaring lion. Manfred looked at the dark-haired captain with aRoman nose. He was moving towards them accompanied by his lieutenants. Work onthe tanks stopped for a few moments when Kummel arrived.

‘I’ve been asked by Lieutenant-Colonel Cramer to take over fromMajor Fenski as commander of the First Battalion. I would like us all to payour respects for a few moments to our fallen comrade.’

Silence fell on the First Battalion. Manfred glanced around him.Men were openly weeping. Was this really for the loss of Fenski or out of fearfor what lay ahead? Somewhere in the distance the Second Battalion was workingto re-equip their tanks. Manfred wondered how Gerhardt was. Would he be feelingthe same apprehension? In the distance Manfred could hear artillery fire. ThenKummel continued.

‘Our orders from General Neumann-Silkov are clear. The enemy mustbe defeated decisively today. We believe the enemy lines will be quite deep.The attack will be on a wide front. The First Battalion will have the honour ofleading this attack. The second line will be composed of the infantryregiments. Because of the likely depth of the enemy positions, they will stayin their vehicles until we have breached the front line.’

A sadness crept into the eyes of the captain and he looked aroundat the men of his battalion. He knew many of them would die over the course ofthe day.

‘Expect the enemy to be resolute. We must be stronger. Expect themto be brave. We shall be lions. They will fight to the last man. We shall makethem. And remember, we do not go into battle alone. We will be accompanied