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

him and replied in barely a whisper, ‘He’s not going there to be treated, lieutenant. There’s nothing we can do except reduce the pain.’ Then he turned to Fischer and the other wounded man. ‘Go over to that truck; you will be seen there.’

Fisher and the other crew man shook their heads.

‘No, doctor. We stay with him.’

Then they knelt by Stiefelmayer and hooked their arms underneath the captain’s legs and arms. Manfred and Basler helped lift the dying man. They carried him over to the row of men in silence. Fischer sat down beside the captain and ordered the other crew man to find some morphine. Manfred put his hand out.

‘Let me. You stay there.’

It took a few minutes as the truck with the medical supplies was overrun by other men like him. As Manfred trotted back to the group, the sounds of battle still rumbling close by, he knew that the Afrika Korps were near defeat. He was neither surprised nor saddened by this. A wave of resignation, which had been building for some time, assailed him now. Yet he knew he would have to go back and try and staunch the gaping wound the Allies had inflicted on them. Like Stiefelmayer, it would kill them. Kill them all.

He handed a sachet of sulfanilamide to Fischer. This would disinfect the wound. One sachet seemed barely enough but that was all they could spare. The field dressing he handed to the other crewman.

‘Morphine?’ asked Fischer.

Manfred’s face fell.

‘None left. Some may come up later.’

Fischer’s eyes blazed angrily but not at Manfred. Men that had been wrenched from their homes, families and sent to a faraway land lay dying all around. Yet the very things that could bring them victory or ease the pain of the fallen were in short supply. Manfred understood Fischer’s despair and felt the anger growing within him, too.

‘The bastards.’

Fischer and Manfred turned in surprise to Basler. His eyes were filled with tears of frustration. Basler had few friends within the regiment. His taciturnity, his intensity militated against close personal connections. But Stiefelmayer had probably been as close as anyone. The knowledge that he would die was made unbearable by the knowledge that it would be in great pain. All around a similar story was being played out. Men knelt beside fallen comrades with nothing to offer them other than company in their final hours, final minutes, final seconds. The injustice of it all was agonising, the hell unutterable. If any nobility could be unearthed from such desolation, then it was the knowledge that the dying were amongst men who were closer than brothers.

They stayed with Stiefelmayer; they watched him fight for life. Meanwhile, the remainder of the Panzer 8 Regiment 1st Battalion limped back, battered and bruised to re-arm and refuel. Nearby Kleff was checking over the battered tank while Jentz refuelled. Kiel was on the point of collapse such was his exhaustion. He was struggling to carry box after box of shells. A nod from Basler and Manfred rose to help him. Manfred went over to the supply truck to grab more shells only to be met with his second rejection of the day.

‘Sorry, we have to ration them now. There are other tanks returning.’

Manfred stared at the soldier in disbelief. There was little he could say that a dozen other soldiers had probably not already said to the poor man. The final insult from their leaders. No more ammunition. Or petrol if the shouts nearby were any guide. Manfred trotted over to Kiel to help load the ammunition into the tank.

The tank had taken a pounding. Manfred had never seen so many dents before. They’d been lucky, no question. Kleff completed his checks on the tracks. Jentz, meanwhile, had his head buried in the engine. Manfred turned around and saw many other tank crews similarly engaged.

Colonel Teege appeared from the turret of a tank and clambered down. Manfred watched him speak to a medic and then look around at the terrible scene. Then he spotted Stiefelmayer and went straight over to the head of his 1st Battalion. He knelt and spoke with Basler and Fischer. His remained impassive as he listened to the two men. Then anger burned in his eyes and he looked around him. Basler’s hand fell on his arm. The anger burned quickly to be replaced by sadness, a shake of the head and even tears, if Manfred was not mistaken.

Teege stood up and pointed to the remaining tanks of the regiment. There weren’t many. He seemed to be relaying orders. Another attack probably. Basler stood up and spied Manfred. He came over to the tank and looked it over.

‘The colonel says that there is to be a counter-attack. General von Thoma has ordered that we and the 21st are to attack the northern and southern flanks of the enemy. Manfred gave the briefest nod of his head and turned to Kleff and Kiel who were standing nearby. There was no sign of fear in their eyes, just resignation.

Manfred returned his gaze to Teege. He was still with Stiefelmayer. It was difficult to think of him as ‘Willi’ at that moment. His manner was too dignified, his sorrow too profound. Manfred felt touched by the tenderness of the feeling he was witnessing. There was no question that Stiefelmayer would not survive the day.

Within hours, Teege would be dead, too.

46

East of the Rahman Track: 2nd November 1942

‘Poor buggers,’ said PG solemnly.

It wasn’t much of a eulogy, but it matched the sombre mood in the tank. Outside amid the smoke lay the charred evidence of the earlier onslaught. Derelict tanks littered the landscaped like piles of coal. Parts of the tank had turned a bright white like a light bulb.

There were dead bodies around the tanks; the implication was clear to all of the men. There wouldn’t be much time to escape if they were hit. This thought lay as heavily in the air as the smell of cordite and charcoal. Just ahead,