El Alamein Jack Murray (booksvooks TXT) 📖

Danny shook his head and said that they were busy enough. The doctor left. Danny sat by the bedside, gazing at Arthur through his tears. An hour later there was the first hint of movement. At first it was barely discernible. Then his arm moved slightly, then a leg. A low moan came from beneath the bandages. The moan became a cry. Unsure of what to do, Danny called the nurse over.

The nurse shook her head. There was nothing she could do. Danny turned to Arthur. He was panicking as the crying grew louder and louder.

‘Arthur, it’s Danny. Can you hear me?’

The sobbing quietened for a second. But only for a second. It started again. More piercing, this time. A new doctor came over.

He shook his head to Danny, ‘You should leave. There’s nothing that can be done for the moment. I’m sorry.’

‘Morphine?’ asked Danny.

The doctor frowned and Danny said sorry.

‘We give morphine, but we have to be careful on the quantity. You know it brings its own problems.’

Danny nodded. The doctor stood back in a manner that suggested he leave. Danny took the hint and with some relief rose from his chair. He looked down at Arthur. The tears returned to his eyes when he heard the scream of a wounded animal.

He turned and left.

-

He walked blindly through the streets of Cairo, sometimes bumping into people, apologising, moving on. His cheeks were wet with shattered tears. He felt like a fool. Had he really expected to see his friend sitting up in bed smiling stoically and cracking a few jokes? How naïve. He’d seen what burns were like. Why should Arthur have gotten off more lightly? Just because he was a friend of the heroically indestructible Danny Shaw did not give him special exemption from the pain of war.

He was at Sisters Street now. How he’d arrived he barely knew. For a moment he wondered if he should avail himself of the women there such was his loathing for everything to do with the war, this country and himself for being so untouched. The thought repelled him as much as it attracted him. Instead, he found a bar, sat down and ordered a beer. He tried and failed to stop the memory of his times here with Arthur. The beer went quickly and he ordered another and then another. By the time he left the bar he felt light-headed. And angry.

He stumbled onto the street and realised he was not as drunk as he wanted to be. A few women stood in doorways and he gazed at them for a moment then turned away. Too scared to do what he didn’t want to do anyway.

He went to the hotel, cleared up his belongings and checked out. He’d spent only one day of his leave, but he wanted to return to the camp. It was his home now. He went to the train station and sat down in the waiting room. A radio announcer was talking about the latest German push on Alamein. He stood up and walked out of the room, unable to listen to the news of the fighting anymore.

-

After a day’s journey he arrived back at the enormous camp at Tel el Qabir, twenty miles from the Bitter Lakes just north west of Suez. At another time he would have liked the camp. Thousands of tents dotted the landscape. Intermingled with them were huts for the officers. The camp had cooked meals which offered a change from the usual diet of bully beef they endured when out in the ‘blue’. There was fresh water also and, a novelty for Danny, an open-air cinema.

It was late afternoon when he reached his crew. He threw his kit bag into the tent he shared with McLeish and asked for a brew.

‘What are we called this week?’ asked Danny bitterly.

This was a reference to the ever-changing status of the regiment. One week it was the 3 RTR, the next it was amalgamated with the 5 RTR, his old training regiment, into the 3/5 RTR.

‘We’re 3/5 RTR still but don’t make me swear to it,’ said the Scot, handing him a tea.

‘Anything good on at the pictures?’ asked Danny. He didn’t care what was on, he just wanted something to take his mind off Arthur and the war.

‘Ziegfeld Follies, but…’

‘Don’t make me swear to it,’ said Danny with something approaching a smile.

McLeish could see that Danny’s mood was low. He felt he had to ask though.

‘How was your friend?’

Danny shook his head and sat down on the hard ground. He looked at the wisps of grass.

‘Awful.’

‘Sorry.’

Danny nodded but was in no mood to talk about his friend. He changed the subject.

‘Any news about the colonel and Major Joly?’

‘Back in a day or two apparently. Major Franklin’s still in charge. Actually, it’s as well you’re back. I think we may be heading off again tomorrow.’

‘Not to Alamein, surely?’ exclaimed Danny. The fighting was, as far as he knew, still going on but the regiment, in Danny’s view, was in no fit state to face the Afrika Korps. At that moment he wouldn’t have given tuppence for their chances against a sufficiently well-organised and motivated Girl Guide troop.

‘No. From what the major says, we’ll be off, not sure where. But definitely not Alamein. ‘

‘Poor bastards. I’m glad I’m not there,’ said Danny. ‘I wonder how they’re getting on.’

25

Rusweisat Ridge, south of El Alamein, Egypt: 2nd July 1942

Manfred stared vacantly through the telescope. Clouds of dust obscured his view, but he could just see the turrets of the Panzers peeking through. The view hadn’t changed for an hour, yet he’d kept his face pressed against the sight. Once or twice he shut his eyes and found time to rest before the shaking of the tank ripped through his slumber and forced him to concentrate on God knows what. Grime and dust black-bleached his face. Rivulets of sweat, streaked down his cheeks. Basler told him he looked