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

grin appearing on his face. He watched as Manfred’s body contorted in an effort to find some relief against the itch.

‘Don’t,’ warned Manfred, spying the direction of Beer’s gaze. ‘It’s not funny.’

Of course, this was as likely to stop the torrent of laughter that followed as a hand shielding against rain. The whole tank erupted at Manfred’s discomfort, even the normally serious Kummel.

‘If you keep on like this, I will leave the tank,’ said Manfred in the manner of a dissatisfied worker handing in his notice.

The sand rattling against the tank was drowned out by the sound of five men laughing as they headed towards war.

-

Around ten in the morning, having travelled thirty kilometres, the tank was woken up by the clump of a tank gun.

‘Who was that?’ shouted Kummel into his mic.

The voice of Lieutenant Stiefelmayer replied calmly, ‘That was me. British tanks sighted.’

Kummel looked through his telescope but could see only the backs of the tanks belonging to the 4th and 8th Panzer companies. It was too hazy ahead as the sandstorm rendered the British tanks indistinct shapes.

‘How far?’ asked Kummel.

‘Seven hundred metres,’ replied Stiefelmayer. There was more gunfire as the rest of the 4th and 8th Panzers opened up on the enemy tanks.

Hubbuch raced the tank up to the others but Kummel held his hand up. They would allow the others to fire.

‘Two hit,’ came Stiefelmayer’s voice. ‘No, three.’

This brought a cheer inside the tank and a ‘well done’ from Kummel. The tanks pushed forward. Within minutes they were at the point where they had intercepted the British tanks. There were eight burning tanks but no sign of any others.

‘What can you see?’ asked Kummel on the mic.

‘Sand,’ came the reply from Stiefelmayer. ‘They’re gone. I can’t see anything now.’

‘Drive on,’ ordered Kummel. ‘We have to reach Saunnu to block off any Allied retreat from Agedabia.’

The engagement was over and already forgotten in the minds of the tank crew. Only the next objective counted. Manfred settled down and tried to make himself comfortable. Another few hours’ driving on the road lay ahead. The heat of the tank, now in excess of one hundred degrees, meant they were all thirsty. But there was to be no break.

3

22nd January 1942 – nr Saunnu, Libya

It was just a handful of black specks at first in the clear late afternoon sky. You could see them before the cackling engine stretched your nerves to breaking point. The column stopped on the order of Captain Arnold. He didn’t have to say battle stations. They already knew the drill.

Arnold was around thirty years of age and seemed as if he’d been born to be in the army. In fact, he had been. His father and his grandfather had both been lifers. There was never any question of where young Arnold, or Arnie as his friends in the ‘Mess’ knew him, would end up. He took to this sort of command easily. Men followed him willingly. He made them feel like schoolboys playing pirates again.

For over five weeks they’d been a scourge to German supply columns; contributing to the slow strangulation of the Axis forces during the Crusader operation. However, with each raid, the element of surprise diminished. Arnold stood in the front of the jeep with binoculars pinned to his eyes.

‘Yes, it’s Jerry all right. I wondered when they would find us.’

Corporal Barnes gripped the steering wheel nervously.

‘I suppose we’ve had a good run, sir. It was bound to happen.’

Arnold felt a sudden rush of fear surging through his body. Against the echelons they ran into, Jock Columns were deadly. They always stayed clear of tanks but the risk from air attack was a constant waking worry. It was a big desert. The chances of being found by air were remote. The vast emptiness was their salvation and their nemesis. It looked as if their month-long run of luck was coming to an end. They were no longer on their own.

Instinct told Arnold that the prowling Luftwaffe patrol would see them. Arnold waved his arms. This was the order for the column to disperse so as to make life difficult for the approaching planes. No one was in any doubt that they were German.

Danny held onto the side of the vehicle for dear life as it tore away from the column. Sergeant Gray drove like he was at Le Mans. Within half a minute they were a few hundred yards from the rest of the column. He drew to a halt inside a small depression.

‘Emergency action. Don’t worry about the pedestal,’ shouted Gray.

Danny, Corporal Buller and Fitz hopped out of the vehicle and quickly unhooked the trail of the two-pound gun from the truck. They swung it in the direction of the planes while Gray drove the truck out of the way. Buller sat in the gunner’s seat while Danny and Fitz raised the shield.

Then they all turned towards Lieutenant Blair for an instruction on when to commence firing. He was staring at the sky, hypnotised. The three men exchanged looks. Then Sergeant Gray jumped out of the driver’s seat.

It was something of a long shot that they would hit the fast-moving planes as this was not an ack, ack gun. However, it would give the enemy pilots pause for thought on how many runs they would take at the column. The drone of the aircraft grew louder. They were unquestionably going to intercept the column.

‘Heading this way,’ said Fitz glancing up at the sky.

‘Sounds like the Bf 109,’ said Buller. No one argued because no one was listening. Danny was too busy mounting the gun on the incline of the depression to compensate for the limited elevation. The gun was now facing in the direction of the approaching Messerschmidt fighters.

Gray shot a glance in the direction of Lieutenant Blair.

‘Sir?’ said Gray in a steady voice.

Blair turned round and seemed to wake as if from a dream. He nodded to Gray and took his place behind the gun screen. Danny knelt by the