El Alamein Jack Murray (booksvooks TXT) 📖

vibration pass through his body. The icy claw of fear gripped him. From the corner of his eye he could see his Kleff, Jentz and Kiel staring worriedly up into the sky. From feeling a certain amount of elation at the thought they would cease fighting, if only for a short spell, possibly the rest of the summer months, his stomach became a knotted jangle of frayed nerves.

A few distant explosions lit up the night. The RAF were bombing empty desert. Let them, thought Manfred. Probably they were letting off a few bombs just to try their luck. Hard on any Jerboas running around, of course. The noise of the drone slowly lessened and the camp began to relax again. Nothing was said though. They’d all been equally scared.

Basler left them to join a meeting with the tank commanders. He returned an hour later with probably the only man who he considered a friend, Stiefelmayer. The two lieutenants remained on their feet chatting while the crew waited impatiently to hear the news they were hoping for. Stiefelmayer finally left and Basler slumped to the ground wearily. The crew looked at him eager for news. He paused and looked at the exhausted faces and a grim smile broke out over his face.

‘The attack will cease for the time being. The Alamein box is too heavily defended for us to make a dent with what we have. We need more air support. There isn’t any.’

Basler looked up to the sky and then back down at the crew.

‘It doesn’t mean that you’re on your holidays. We will stay here and wait for the damaged tanks to be repaired. The pioniers will be out tomorrow laying a few mines of our own. We’re also seeing how we can fix the Allied guns we captured and use them ourselves. So we’re not really going anywhere.’

‘I hope we’re not going to waste time on their bloody tanks. They’re useless,’ said Jentz, which raised a few smiles amongst the men.

‘Only against ours,’ pointed out Manfred. This earned a nod of approval from Basler.

‘Don’t worry, we won’t be given those things,’ smiled Basler. ‘Perhaps the infantry will have some. Anyway, get some rest while you can.’

As it was still early evening, Manfred went in search of Gerhardt. The 2nd Battalion were at the opposite end of the leaguer from Manfred. There were far fewer tanks now so he didn’t have to walk too far. Gerhardt seemed to be with a different group of men.

‘Have they changed your tank?’

‘Yes,’ grumbled Gerhardt, throwing his cigarette angrily to the ground. ‘I’m with Captain Wahl. I’m back doing radio operator would you believe?’

Gerhardt’s woes were greeted in time honoured fashion. Manfred burst out laughing. He received a light punch on the arm for his trouble.

‘That’s good isn’t it?’ said Manfred eventually. ‘He’s the head of the 2nd Battalion. He only wants the best in his tank.’

‘So why did Kummel take you then?’ sneered Gerhardt but without any real malice.

‘He obviously asked for you,’ pointed Manfred but couldn’t resist another dig. ‘I can just see him saying “send me the best knob twiddler we have.” You should be proud.’

‘Very funny. You’re worse than Fischer. Where is he these days? I haven’t seen him for a while.’

‘Dysentery,’ said Manfred.

Gerhardt stopped and stared at Manfred and then the two boys burst out laughing.

‘Lucky devil,’ said Gerhardt when they’d calmed down.

‘Why? It sounds like we won’t be doing much for the next week or so.’

‘That doesn’t mean the Tommies won’t,’ pointed out Gerhardt. ‘We’re sitting ducks for the RAF, out here.’

‘True,’ agreed Manfred, the mood of ebullience at Fischer’s misfortune dissipated in a moment as they considered just how exposed they were.

‘Still, if I’m going to go, better it’s like this,’ said Gerhardt using his arms to hold a fake rifle. Manfred looked confused which made Gerhardt grin. ‘In a tank firing at the enemy rather than sitting with my trousers round my ankles.’

They both roared with laughter causing a few of the men sitting by the tanks to look up at them in irritation. One or two told them to shut up. But the vision of their friend in the most vulnerable position of all was too vivid. Try as they might, they couldn’t stop laughing. It came out as snorts which only made matters worse and further increased their hilarity.

‘I can’t wait to see him again. I’ll give him hell,’ said Gerhardt.

This wasn’t going to happen, though. War and the enemy have a way of upsetting the best laid plans. Both were aware that this war was a series of actions, of meetings and of partings. Only fate knew where their stories would end. And its decision is final. They returned to their tanks in a better humour, blithely unaware that a new story was about to unfold.

26

Tahag Camp 30, Quassasin, Egypt: 13th July 1942

It was late afternoon when Lieutenant ‘Pip’ Roberts walked along the ranks of men. Ostensibly he was there to inspect them. The real purpose was that they inspect him. Badly wounded just prior to the retreat from the Gazala Line, he was back and, if not fully fit, he was ready and able to fight. Accompanying him were the two other senior casualties from the engagement, Major Joly and Captain Burr.

He walked along the line and what he saw worried him. Despite a couple of weeks near Suez to recuperate and rebuild, their return to the front line revealed that they were tottering on the edge. He wondered what sort of state the Afrika Korps were in. How did they keep coming back?

On July 4th they’d called off what looked like a major offensive and now, just over a week later, they were pressing hard again. Where were they finding the men, the machinery and the strength to keep coming back? Roberts had no idea and dwelling on it made little sense. They were not letting up and nor could the Allies. One thing that was helping the Afrika