El Alamein Jack Murray (booksvooks TXT) 📖

his head through the turret. There was no question that a pathway was emerging through the minefield thanks to the misdirected bombs of the Blenheims. Manfred wasn’t sure how grateful he was about this.

The action was brief, and they rolled forward again. A few hours later the tank was rocked by a couple of explosions just ahead.

‘Mines,’ said Jentz, immediately. ‘Is there no end to them?’

The tank stopped again. The light was beginning to fade. Manfred suspected this would be it for the day. They couldn’t risk going forward without being certain that they weren’t wading into yet another minefield. The radio burst into life and Kiel confirmed that would be stopping here. The supply echelon was being called forward to make ready for the next day.

They were to attack the enemy positions outside a railway halt called El Alamein. It was the 1st of July.

24

Cairo, Egypt: 2nd July 1942

Moving from the hot, stuffy street to the cool, disinfectant-laced air of the hospital made Danny’s head swim. The reception was like a bazaar. Men, women, children, soldiers, nurses and doctors sat, talked, rushed and cried. It was chaos. A fly landed on his face. He swatted it away, somewhat surprised by its presence. He jogged up the stairs, past cracked walls with pastel paint peeling like burned skin.

A couple of flights later he reached the floor he was looking for. A pair of double doors greeted him. Underneath some Arabic writing was an apologetic translation. It read ‘Burns Unit’. He went through the door. Muffled screams behind ward doors welcomed him.

Danny’s footsteps echoed along the corridor. A nurse appeared from one door carrying a tray. A foul smell rose from the metal basin covered with a cloth. Her starched white nurses cap was clamped to her head, squeezing both her hair into place and erasing any smile that had ever been smiled. She frowned at him as he walked along the corridor. He ignored her and then felt a stab of guilt. It was war for them too. He turned around to say something, but she’d entered a room and was gone.

He looked again at the card in his hand and searched for the ward number. He saw it up ahead. A young man emerged from the room. His head was swathed in bandages and he was in a wheelchair being pushed by an orderly. Danny glanced down. He still had all his limbs. Danny didn’t dare think about what lay under the bandages.

He reached the door. A quick look through the small windows revealed two rows of beds. All were filled by men hidden behind bandages. It was like a tomb of mummies. They were in the right country for it, he supposed. His heart quickened a little as he pushed the door forward.

A doctor glanced at Danny but said nothing. He was with a nurse and too busy to act as a guide for a visitor in perfect health. Danny stood at the top of the ward and scanned each bed. There was no screaming as he’d heard in some of the other rooms, just a low moan. His heart stopped beating. How can it, when its broken? He took a deep breath and began to walk along the centre aisle. Above him a ceiling fan sliced the agonised air.

He forced himself to study each man he passed. Some nodded to him. He nodded back. It was distressing to look at them. How must it be for them? One of the men tried to form words with his mouth but his charred vocal chords would never speak again. Danny smiled to him but kept moving slowly forward.

Arthur was in the last bed.

A scanty curtain partially covered him. When Danny reached the bed he saw him lying with the bedclothes to one side. He looked absurd. From head to foot he was bandaged like Boris Karloff in that movie they’d seen when they first arrived. He almost smiled and then stopped himself. Arthur hadn’t moved. In fact, Danny wondered if he could move with all those bandages. He went over to his friend and sat down on a seat by the bed.

‘Arthur,’ he whispered.

Arthur made no sound. Danny wondered if he was sleeping. It was difficult to tell. The eyes not only had bandages there was cotton wool on them, too. A chill fell over Danny that had nothing to do with the cool of the ward.

He sat there for a few minutes unsure of what to do. He couldn’t touch Arthur; too fearful that it might be agonising for his damaged skin. Arthur remained still. The minutes went by and he began to feel foolish. A part of him wanted to escape the heart-rending sobs around him. But he knew he would have to stay.

A doctor came over to him. He was Egyptian. Danny wondered why there wasn’t a British doctor here to look after the men. The doctor’s voice was accented but clipped in a manner of someone who had learned in England.

‘Your friend is sleeping. He is a friend, I take it?’

‘Yes,’ replied Danny. ‘We came over together.’ The doctor nodded and said nothing. There was sympathy in his eyes.

‘Can you tell me what will happen to him?’

‘Of course,’ said the doctor, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. ‘His war is, of course, over. A lot of his body has been burned and it’s likely he will be blind. Certainly one eye is gone. Perhaps both eyes. He will stay here a bit longer then, I imagine, he will be shipped back to England to recover properly. He will need more surgery on his skin.’

‘How bad was he?’

‘Very bad,’ admitted the doctor. ‘But I’ve seen worse, and they survived. He will be in a great deal of pain for a long time. The road ahead will not be easy.’

Danny nodded and felt tears sting his eyes. The doctor put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Can I stay?’ asked Danny. ‘Of course,’ replied the