El Alamein Jack Murray (booksvooks TXT) 📖

He’d not gone back to see Arthur and so had missed him when he left. He wrote instead. It had felt like an act of cowardice. And he’d admitted as much in the letter. He felt better for having done so. But only a little bit.

Benson was looking at him thoughtfully. A half smile lay on his face. Danny frowned at the captain.

‘Sir?’ he asked.

Benson grinned and said nothing. His attention was diverted by the appearance of a sergeant.

‘At last,’ said Benson. ‘Come this way, Shaw.’

Benson stood up and Danny followed suit. He followed the captain towards the sergeant.

‘Major Crisp asked to see you both,’ said the sergeant.

The three men went to a tent at the far end of a of row of newly arrived Grant tanks. They were not the new Sherman tanks from America that Danny had heard so much about but, at least, they were better than the Crusaders.

Major Bob Crisp was a tall, well-made South African. A former test cricketer, he was something of a legend in the regiment. Decorated and promoted as often as he’d been wounded, he ran the squadron like Captain Blood running pirate missions on the Spanish Main.

‘Shaw, I have some news for you. Take a seat.’

Danny looked at the serious face of the Major and felt his whole body tense. There had been no word about Tom since Tobruk had fallen. He waited for the body blow to land.

‘Don’t look so serious, Shaw,’ said Crisp, and a smile creased his tanned face. ‘It’s about your brother. I know that you’ve been worried about him since Tobruk fell. I have just received word that he’s alive. It’s not all good, of course. He was taken captive by the Germans. He’s somewhere in Italy at the moment.’

Danny had to stop himself crying with relief. This was relief based not only on the fact that he was alive but that, in all probability, he might survive the War. At least one of them would return to the village.

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Danny. He felt Benson clap him on the shoulder. He was saying something, but Danny could barely take it in. There was silence for a moment and Danny made to stand up.

‘Not so fast, Shaw. There’s one other thing,’ said Crisp. His eyes were lit by the knowledge that, for once, he was the bringer of good news rather than bad. ‘Take a look inside that box.’

Throughout the meeting, Danny had been aware of a small flat box sitting on the table between him and the major. He knew what was inside. He picked up the box and opened it.

There were stripes inside.

‘Congratulations, Corporal Shaw.’

That was one more than he’d expected. He nodded stupidly such was his shock. Benson chuckled just behind him. Danny turned to him and smiled.

‘I might be giving you orders soon at this rate, sir.’

Crisp and Benson both burst out laughing at this. For a second Danny felt a surge of happiness. The news that Tom was alive and that he’d been promoted would eventually find its way back home. One would be a source of great comfort, the other would bring pride.

It was only after he’d departed from Crisp and Benson that the darkness descended on him again. It had been his companion since the end of May and now, despite the news, it had barely lightened. He tried not to think of Arthur, but guilt has a way of piercing any armour you wear. His father had lived with survivor’s guilt and it was his now, too. Just for moment he smiled darkly as he reminded himself of the one truth that accompanied this self-reproach.

He might not survive.

-

A couple of days passed. Danny stared at the stripes and tried to find the motivation to sew them onto his shirt. He sensed Benson was becoming irritated by the fact that he’d not yet done so. He put them back inside the box and went for a walk. It was early afternoon in the camp. Training exercises had finished because of the heat. It was well over one hundred now. It felt like he was walking into a solid wall of heat. The sweat sizzled on his skin like frying fat.

Ahead he could see a few hardy souls playing cricket. Others were watching in groups offering good-natured advice to the players on their manifest inadequacies. The players were responding in kind. By the sound of the accents, it was England versus New Zealand.

Five groups of six planes buzzed overhead. Danny watched them descend and fly low over the desert. He wondered if Dick Manning was among them. He’d seen him again a week ago. Manning offered his sympathy on hearing about Arthur.

He was beginning to regret not joining the others from the tank who were going for a swim. In the distance he saw the barbed wire fencing demarcating the prisoner of war camp. Several hundred Germans and Italians were housed there waiting, like most of the Allies, to be transferred.

Every day he saw new arrivals at the camp. Some were coming back from the desert. There were also new arrivals fresh from home. The three-ton trucks deposited them in the middle of the camp. Danny could see a small convoy drawing up in the large square in the middle.

He ignored them and went to a makeshift NAAFI for a tea and a biscuit. Even a short walk in the sun felt like he was turning into a Sunday roast. The large tent offered shade and he was glad of a seat. As he was drinking his tea, he spotted Captain Benson entering the tent. It occurred to him that he really should put the stripes on. It was beginning to seem disrespectful. Benson had spotted him now. His face turned stony as he noted the absence of stripes. He came over to the table. Danny rose but one look at Benson’s face and he sat down again. He braced himself for the worst. Benson sat down in the