El Alamein Jack Murray (booksvooks TXT) 📖

‘I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, Shaw, but if you don’t put those bloody stripes on by the time I’m back at the tank then I’ll recommend to the major that they’re taken from you.’

Benson didn’t wait for a reply. He was on his feet immediately and away. Danny stared angrily out into the square. He was cross with himself for not doing as he’d been told. There was anger, too, for Benson. A few other men had seen his humiliation. He scowled at them and clutched the mug tightly. He drained the tea in a gulp. It burned his throat though he hardly noticed.

Rising from his table he walked forwards without thinking about where he was going. The square in the middle of the camp was crowded like a city. He wanted to lose himself in the noise, the shouting and the truck engines coughing and spluttering like old men. Almost at once though, he decided he hated being with people. He decided he’d cross over the square and head back to the tank. A voice shouting in his ear got an earful back. The soldier looked at Danny somewhat hurt as well as surprised but he was already pushing through the crowd of soldiers.

He weaved out of the way of a bunch of men jumping off a truck. What had possessed him to come this way? It was mobbed and madness in a tiny space. Anger at himself for yet another act of stupidity bubbled to the surface. Could he do nothing right? Utter idiot. He felt himself jostled or perhaps it was him doing the jostling. He needed to get away from here, that much was certain.

He went past one truck with soldiers fresh from England. You could always tell. They were fair, fat and full of good humour. They’d learn soon enough. He brushed past one and then, unseeingly, banged into another.

‘Watch it, mate,’ said the soldier. Danny knew the man had been within rights to complain and turned to apologise. He hadn’t been looking where he was going. It’s difficult to see through the red mist.

‘Leave him, Sid. Looks like Rommel’s beaten him already,’ said another voice.

The apology died on Danny’s lips. Instead, they curled into a snarl, his face a mask of hatred. He threw the first man out of the way and made for the second man who’d mocked him. There were shouts now as the soldiers realised, too late, his intention. Danny could see fear in the eyes of the second man and that drove him more. He could also see that he had put his hands up in a manner which suggested not self-defence but an apology was about to come his way. But Danny could only hear his heart racing and the voices of hate in his head. His first punch landed in the solar plexus of the soldier. His second, a wild swing, thankfully missed as the man collapsed to the ground.

Arms grabbed Danny and he struggled manically to free himself. He was snarling like an animal. And then the mist cleared, and he realised what he’d done. He immediately stopped struggling. He heard a voice near him.

A voice he knew.

‘Well, Shaw. Looks like the boot’s on the other foot.’

Danny turned and stared into the clear blue eyes of Captain Edmund Aston. There was little sympathy in the eyes, only the usual mocking humour. The captain put the cheroot back in his mouth and turned his attention behind Danny.

‘Let him go,’ he ordered the men holding Danny.

Danny’s eyes were wide with horror at what he’d done. He looked at the man he’d hit. His friends were helping him up from the ground. He stepped forward and the two men faced one another. Danny shook his head. He wanted to apologise but no words came. Instead, he looked away and strode off through a parting in the crowd. He could barely breathe in the hot air. Too many people around. He started to run.

He ran for half a mile, to the farthest point of the camp where he would be alone. He dropped to the ground on his knees and began to sob. His body heaved as he fought to draw in air. His eyes lost focus as they filled with tears. For five minutes he stayed there full of despair at what he’d done. A wave of self-loathing overcame him. What had he become? He sat staring ahead for several minutes. Finally, he picked out a letter from his breast pocket. It was damp with his sweat. The ink on the envelope had long since faded. The ink on the letter was beginning to fade, too.

Then, aware that some men were coming over to him, he stood up and dusted himself down. He took a deep breath and started to walk in their direction.

‘Everything all right?’ asked one of the men as he walked towards him. They could see Danny’s red-rimmed eyes.

Danny nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. He kept going. It took five minutes to return to the tank. Benson was sitting there alone. They looked at one another. He didn’t know.

The box containing the striped was sitting on top of his kit bag. Danny picked it up and handed it to Benson.

‘I can’t take this, sir.’

Benson looked astounded at first. Then angry. He was just about to speak when Danny held his hand up.

‘Permission to speak, sir.’

This stopped Benson and he nodded curtly. Danny told him what had happened. Benson said nothing while Danny spoke. He put his pipe in his mouth and listened intently.

‘There was no damage done?’

‘I don’t think so, sir.’

‘What were you thinking?’ pressed the captain.

‘I don’t know, sir. After what happened to Arthur, Phil Lawrence, Sergeant Reed. All of them. It was too much.’

Benson nodded and took the box containing the stripes away from Danny.

‘Go and find the man you hit. Apologise to him. I’ll speak to Captain Aston.’

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It took an