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

gun and took a shell from the emergency ammunition box. Buller, on the other side of the gun was busy peering through the telescopic sight, aiming for a spot half a mile ahead of the approaching fighters. Fitz, meanwhile, had removed the hand spike and inserted it into the socket of the trail leg to ensure the gun stayed rooted to the spot when it fired. The operation had taken less than thirty seconds.

Danny’s heart was racing. He risked a glance at the scene around him. The trucks were now dispersed. All of the machine guns and field guns were manned and ready for action. This gave him some cause for reassurance. The Messerschmidt fighters were going to have a warm reception.

-

Captain Hans-Joachim Marseille couldn’t believe his luck. Whether it was good or bad luck remained to be seen. Days of patrols had failed to find any enemy. Now he had, at last, come across a column. Not quite the easy pickings of a supply train but it would do. He glanced down at his fuel gauge. This was not the time he would have chosen to find this column. A voice on the radio broke into his thoughts.

‘Blue leader, are you receiving? Hans, have you seen?’

‘Yes, I can see. Prepare to engage. Two passes. No more, we can’t risk the aircraft.’ Marseille pushed the stick forward and began to descend. Eyes focused, unblinking, behind tinted goggles. His machine began to shake. Marseille knew his mind would soon close off. His body and instinct would take over. He trusted these instincts. They’d kept him alive through countless sorties, dozens of engagements with fighter aircraft and perhaps one hundred kills.

In those moments of frenzied action, Marseille was at his calmest. His thumb came to rest on the gun button. The column was scattering now. This made sense and he acknowledged the presence of mind of the commander. They would not be able to rake the whole convoy with fire. His mind’s eye picked out the guns, the trucks with the machine guns and the supply truck. He would target the latter. If he couldn’t take out any guns he could certainly put a dent in their water and petrol. In the middle of the desert, this would soon tell.

‘Concentrate on the covered truck,’ said Marseille. He pushed the stick further forward. He was diving into attack. Eight thousand feet soon became two thousand feet. Then one thousand. He was quarter of a mile away. And then the firing began.

-

Danny closed the breech and Buller fired without waiting for Blair to give the order. They both glanced over the top of the shield but a burst of gunfire sent them back under cover.

‘I think we missed,’ said Danny speaking the obvious. It would have been a miracle shot if they’d hit.

‘Load,’ ordered Sergeant Gray but Danny had was already opening the breech. They fired at the third plane. Missed again. The whole column had opened up on the air patrol. There were five planes. Each had come down, one after another, raking the column with gunfire. Bullets lashed the sand around them. Danny was dimly aware of an explosion nearby. This was unusual. The 109’s didn’t normally carry bombs. He stopped thinking about it and concentrated on loading the next cartridge. From somewhere nearby he was aware of shouting and intense heat.

-

‘A beer for whoever hit the truck,’ said Marseille.

Three pilots immediately jammed the airwave trying to take credit. Marseille laughed at their shamelessness. He was ecstatic. It was too late for them to knock out the column but unless he was mistaken, they’d done the next best thing. Black smoke was pouring from a truck. With any luck this would cripple them at some point.

‘Enough, I think we’ve all earned a beer. Let’s go home. No need for another pass. I think Tommy will have to hitch a lift home.’

This was greeted with relieved laughter. No one had been hit but there was always a risk. He pulled the stick back and slowly began to rise. As he did this he simultaneously began to veer the plane away from the soldiers down below. Why give them a second chance? The five planes departed the scene as quickly as they’d come.

-

Danny and the other men watched the planes change course. He turned around and saw the reason why they’d decided to knock off work early. He tapped Buller’s shoulder and pointed to the burning supply truck.

‘Bugger,’ said the big Liverpudlian.

‘That’s torn it,’ agreed Danny.

Gray ignored the conversation and kept his eyes focused on the sky until their visitors were no more than dark specks. Then he turned to the truck.

‘Get this gun back on our truck,’ said Gray irritably.

Fitz took out the spike and soon they were pulling the gun and attaching the trail leg back onto the truck.

Gray and Blair went off in search of Arnold while Buller drove the truck back towards the centre of the convoy. The soldiers all climbed out of their vehicles and looked at the burning truck. It was a write off and with it, gallons of fuel and water. Although each vehicle had a its own supply, this was an important reserve.

Danny watched the lieutenant and the sergeant join Arnold and the other senior officers in a rapid conference. It looked as if it might take a while so he turned to the others and said, ‘Anyone fancy a brew?’

‘Better make enough for the sergeant and Lieutenant Blair too,’ suggested Fitz. ‘I suspect they’ll be wanting something.’

‘I’ll help,’ said Evans, grabbing a tin of tea and some cups.

Ten minutes later the men were sitting around the fire drinking tea and eating some biscuits. The mood was despondent. For five weeks they’d managed to avoid serious damage to man or vehicle. For Danny, it had almost been enjoyable. Fighting enemy who could not fight back on equal terms had been a damn sight easier than being a sitting duck in a tank. The jackboot had, for