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the engagement. We’ve taken this man back for interrogation. Weestablished that he speaks English.’

The officer kept his eyes fixed on Manfred. There was a bang onhis head. He wondered briefly if this had been Coetzee or one of the other men.Probably not. It didn’t seem to be his style.

‘Very good,’ said the officer. He stood up and Manfred could seehe was not quite as tall as him. He walked near Manfred and introduced himself.

‘My name is Lieutenant-Colonel Newton-King. And you are?’

‘Private Brehme, sir,’ said Manfred standing to attention.

Newton-King nodded to Manfred.

‘You’re with the 15th Panzer Division, I’m right inthinking?’

Manfred said nothing in reply. He knew his only response needed tobe his name, his rank and his serial number. Manfred could hear his heart beating.It wasn’t just the heat that was making him feel light-headed. The officerstudied him closely. Manfred held his gaze, determined not to blink. He felt atrickle of sweat descend his forehead. He hoped that it would not drop into hiseyes. Thankfully it diverted at the last minute and continued its journey downthe side of his face.

Recognising that Manfred was not going to say more, the SouthAfrican officer nodded and returned to his seat. He did not seem angry aboutthis.

‘How many tanks did you lose?’

Manfred saw no reason not to answer.

‘Five, perhaps more, sir.’

‘You lost your comrades?’

‘Yes, my sergeant and corporal.’

Newton-King nodded again and picked up his pipe. There was silencein the tent for a minute while Newton-King looked at a piece of paper in frontof him.

‘We’ve been hit pretty hard ourselves by you chaps. Very well.Sergeant take him away. Get something to eat.’

‘Yes sir,’ replied Coetzee.

The big South African did not seem pleased by this. Manfredwondered why. They left the tent and for wont of anything else he could do,Manfred followed him over to a bunch of other soldiers.

‘What are we going to do with him, sarge?’

Coetzee looked at Manfred and shrugged.

‘It doesn’t look like he’s going to talk, and you know what the colonelis like.’

As Manfred did not know what the colonel was like, he was allears. Unfortunately the thought was not elaborated on by the others. Coetzeelooked at Manfred again. Manfred tried to read what was behind his eyes. Theothers were looking at Manfred, too, in a sort of bewilderment about what todo.

‘We can hardly take him with us, sarge,’ pointed out a corporal.

Coetzee looked at the soldier, irritation crossed his face.

‘I’m aware of that, Gerrie. I’ve an idea.’

‘What’s that?’ asked the soldier.

‘You’ll see. Take your gun and come with me.’

Soon Manfred, Coetzee and the soldier were back in the jeep anddriving back in the direction of where they’d come from. Manfred felt nervous.If they intended murdering him, for he viewed it this way, then they wouldclearly not want to do it in the camp within earshot of the colonel or fullview of the camp. They drove for a mile along the track they’d come from. At acertain point, perhaps halfway between where they’d picked him up and the camp,Coetzee told the driver to stop the car.

‘Out of the car,’ said Coetzee.

Manfred looked at him for a moment, unsure of how to respond. TheSouth African seemed unwilling to expand on his order. Manfred jumped out ofthe jeep and looked at the two men.

‘Walk,’ said Coetzee. He pointed towards the ridge which was halfa mile away. ‘Go on. Walk.’

Manfred glanced at the ridge and then back to the two SouthAfricans. Overhead the sun was beating down on him and he could feel his skinburning again. He desperately wanted to be under cover. He looked again at theSouth Africans. To help him in his decision, Coetzee pointed the gun at him andthen motioned for him to start moving.

Manfred turned his back and started to walk. He heard the carstart again. He walked slowly and steadily in the direction of the ridge. Hissenses were alive in a way he could not remember before. If an insect hadtripped up in the sand at that moment, he’d have heard the sound of it swearing.His shirt was soaking wet yet still he could feel it scratch his skin. Hewanted to scratch. Even more than this he wanted to run. But where to?

His heart was racing like an engine, sending blood racing up tohis head and making him light-headed. They hadn’t driven away yet. He tried todrown out the sound of their intentions. The click of the machine gun.

He felt he was going to pass out.

 23

North of Sidi Rezegh Airfield, Libya, November 21st,1941

‘All stations. Aston. Move back. Move back now. We can’t holdridge.’

When he put down the microphone Aston’s feelings on the attackpoured forth in a series of obscenities that would have earned the acclaim of atrawlerman. His driver had already been slowing down to make ready for theorder to retreat.

Then the tank stopped.

‘What the hell’s happened’ screamed Aston. His worst fear hadalways been the reliability of the Crusader. This was not the time for it to beconfirmed.

The engine coughed into life. Aston offered up his soul to God inthanks. The tank jerked backwards, sent on its way by a hail of bulletstattooing the front armour.

The men in the tank exchanged looks. They’d gotten away with thisone. How long could their luck last.

Aston peered out of the small gap in the cupola. His mouth droppedin shock at the sight of Turner’s tank erupting into flame.

‘What’s happened?’ called someone from below.

‘Turner’s gone,’ announced Aston in a stunned voice. There was nosense of satisfaction, though. Fear engulfed him. Then he realised the turretof the tank had been detached by the force of the explosion. He saw it land onthe tank just behind.

‘Is that Reed?’ he asked, almost to himself. A voice from belowconfirmed it.

‘Yes, that’s Reed.’

Aston looked down at the driver. Nothing had to be said. The fearin both men’s eyes transmitted the order and the its reception.

‘Sir, three men have escaped. We should pick them up.’

Stopping would be suicidal. Aston’s immediate reaction was to tellhis gunner to go to blazes.

‘Keep reversing but slow down. At this speed they could walk andcatch us

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