Up For Grabs

by Max Hennessy

Coffin glared. ‘Everybody calls him Erwin. Or Uncle Erwin. Or Harry Rommel.’

  ‘We didn’t.’

  ‘You must have been in bloody purdah!’

  ‘It’s a bit like that in Cairo.’

  ‘And who the Christ is this?’

  ‘General Erwin. General Max Erwin. You said you wanted Erwin. I said I knew where Erwin was. If you’d said Rommel we might have got somewhere.’

  Coffin seemed a little uncertain what to do next. ‘Well,’ he said, looking at the Germans, ‘this feller’s not a very big fish.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Erwin said coldly. ‘I am flattered.’

  ‘If he’s not a very big fish,’ Clegg asked, ‘why not throw him back?’

  Coffin gave him a sour look. ‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘that he’ll have to do. After all, we didn’t come out here just to get Rommel. We just happened to be around here after the airfield when we heard he was coming to Zuq so we thought we’d have a go. We might as well bugger off with him and his pal now. After all, he is a general, and that isn’t bad. We’ll get rid of him and come back to help you lot with those Australian prisoners of yours.’ He gave Morton a sharp glance. ‘I suppose they are Australians, aren’t they, not Austrians or something?’ He looked at Grady and shrugged. ‘Oh, well,’ he said, ‘I suppose you could call it a decent day’s work.’

  All the same, as he looked at Erwin, he didn’t feel too sure. With the whole Italian army to choose from, they’d swooped on a lot of dressed-up actors and now they’d got the wrong bloody general.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘we’d do better if we went at it a bit more slowly.’

  Chapter 7

  During the evening, to the sound of Italian bugles, they moved further east. All round them over the chirp of the crickets they could hear the quiet voices of men sitting on the ground, their rifles propped on ammunition boxes as they waited to go into battle. Then the engines started up with explosive barks and a few vehicles moved past, men huddled in the back, blank-faced, busy with their thoughts, clutching their weapons, the dust cloud they kicked up tinted pink by the setting sun. As the light vanished, in the growing darkness it was just possible to see stubby Italian helmets with their spherical grenade insignia, and a sergeant with a carbide torch directing the traffic.

  As the men of 64 Light Vehicle Repair Unit waited in their lorries, the wind got up to blow the sand about their legs in gritty swathes. The bombing was still going on in the west but a few aircraft had begun to appear overhead now, heading in a north-south direction, their motors swamping the rumble of the moving tanks. Immediately, searchlights behind the British lines began to probe the sky. The aircraft noises grew louder, then a Very light arced up from the desert and they heard the growling of tank engines as the slow Italian M13s began to edge forward.

  Grunting at the pain in his back, Dampier climbed from his seat and stood alongside Erwin’s staff car staring eastwards. Morton, Coffin and Rafferty joined him.

  ‘I think it’s about time we moved up,’ Coffin said.

  They climbed into their vehicles and started to edge slowly ahead, conscious of a whole alien army moving with them. For another quarter of an hour they moved forward, their eyes flickering from right to left, conscious of half-hidden shapes in the darkness.

  ‘The Italians should be entering the gap in the minefield soon,’ Rafferty said.

  As they approached Sofi, the Italian troops who had occupied it were also moving eastwards, joining the rest of the army. Some of them were bleating like sheep. They had long known that their generals, often careerist and riddled with jealousies and personal antipathies, were good only for emotional demands for the defence of Italian territory and, with their limited mobility, weak armament and little striking power, they had few illusions. Something was always lacking, food, vehicles, or ammunition, and they had a defensive mentality because they knew the Duce’s war machine didn’t work, and there were even stories of officers leaping from trenches to lead advances only to find their men had stayed where they were, clapping their hands to applaud their courage.

  ‘Poor devils,’ Dampier said with all the compassion of a conscientious officer for his men. ‘Even their lorries will break down. Clutterbuck must have peed in half the petrol tanks in Libya.’

  Just outside the town they saw lights and realized they had reached the prisoner-of-war compound. Over the noise of engines they could hear angry voices.

  ‘Right, Fee,’ Dampier said. Since Fee didn’t address him by his rank, he saw no reason to use Fee’s. ‘Off you go. Will your chaps do as they’re told?’

  ‘They might not,’ Fee admitted bluntly. ‘Aussies only do what suits ’em.’

  ‘Well, you’d better convince ’em,’ Dampier said shortly. ‘How do you propose to let us know you’re in?’

  Fee gestured. ‘You can hear ’em arguin’,’ he said. ‘That’s Aussie all over. I’ll get ’em singin’. When you hear “Waltzing Matilda” you’ll know I’ve put the word about and they’re ready.’

  He started to walk forward and within seconds had vanished from sight. The others settled down to wait again. Twenty minutes passed.

  ‘How far do you reckon we are from the British outposts?’ Dampier said.

  Coffin rubbed his nose. ‘Fifteen miles, I reckon.’

  ‘It’s a long way.’

  ‘Not on wheels. It’s not even far to walk if you’re willing.’

  Another half-hour passed, then they caught the sound of male voices singing.

  ‘Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,

  Who’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me—’

  ‘That’s us,’ Rafferty said.

  As they turned to the lorries, there was a colossal bang that made them jump and the ground seemed to vibrate under their feet like the skin of a kettledrum. Darts of red tracer shot through the air in arabesques with luminous yellow slots whirring overhead like beads on a rod, and suddenly the whole eastern horizon was lit up with searchlights that caught the flanks of the rolling clouds of dust. The swish and crash and the trumpeting of guns filled the air with sudden demonic sounds. Their hearts began to thump.

  ‘It looks to me,’ Coffin said dryly, ‘as though the Italians have been caught bang in the middle of the minefield and that our lot have turned the tables on ’em by starting first.’

  Clambering into the vehicles, they edged forward again until they were in sight of the barbed-wire compound. The sudden crash of the guns when none had been expected had brought the Italians out of the guardhouse to see what was happening and they caught glimpses of stubby helmets silhouetted against the distant flashes.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Coffin said.

  The four LRDG trucks hurtled off, followed at a discreet distance by the vehicles of 64 Light Vehicle Repair Unit. Then, just ahead, they saw fresh lines of tracer and, against the flashes of the explosions in the distance, Italian soldiers running for their lives. As they moved forward, men hurtled past them, heading westwards.

  ‘Ocio che te copo!’ one of them yelled. ‘Guardatevi!’

  ‘What’s he say?’ Dampier demanded.

  ‘He says, in effect,’ Morton explained calmly, ‘“Woe betide you. Look out.” I think the LRDGs must have arrived.’

  More men ran past them, shouting, then they found themselves hard up against the compound. Inside, they could see men scuttling in every direction and tents lurching and falling flat. The terrified Italian guards, startled by an attack from the wrong side, were already being chased out of their quarters. Fee’s wire cutters had obviously done their work and the Australians were in the process of rescuing themselves. The last of the Italians had taken refuge in the guardhouse near the gate but a long burst from one of Coffin’s heavy machine-guns sent splinters flying and there were screams from inside. Bullets twanged on wire and the Australians flung themselves flat. Several of the Italians made a dash for safety but a machine-gun brought them down, then a grenade was tossed into the wrecked hut. There was a crash
and a flash and the roof lifted. When they next looked, the hut was a wreck, with splintered sides and a shattered roof. A solitary Italian staggered out, bleeding, his hands in the air.

  ‘Mamma!’ he moaned. ‘Aiuto! Help me, please! I am hurt!’

  The prisoners themselves were kicking the surviving Italians into a group and snatching at their weapons. Then Coffin appeared in an Italian staff car, roaring round in a wild dust-laden turn to come to a stop near Dampier. Fee was with him in the front seat.

  ‘Get ’em formed up,’ he was yelling.

  The Australians were running towards them. Among them was the tall lantern-jawed corporal who had recognized Clegg in Sofi. Grinning all over his face, he clutched Clegg to him.

  ‘Good on yer, cobber,’ he grinned. ‘I never expected to see you again. Was it you who got us out?’

  Clegg saw no reason to suggest it was anyone else and the Australian hugged him and clapped him on the back.

  ‘Any time you’re in Sydney, mate,’ he said, ‘just ask for Ted McBean and the beer’s on me.’

  They were without officers but had NCOs and, among the delirious shouts at gaining their freedom, there were harsher yells. Fee had got his story across well and the Australians reacted quickly and efficiently. In no time they were in a column of threes, with a group of terrified Italian prisoners in a bunch in the middle of them. An Italian corporal spoke to Morton.

  ‘They told us the Australians never took prisoners,’ he said nervously in English. ‘What will they do to us?’

  ‘Probably eat you,’ Morton said cheerfully. ‘But have no fear, they have good table manners.’

  * * *

  With the LRDG vehicles ahead and on the flanks, and Dampier with the staff car and the vehicles of 64 Light Vehicle Repair Unit bringing up the rear, they prepared to move off. The din of the battle that had started to the east had grown louder with distant flashes and flickers and low booming thuds. Few of the German and Italian guns seemed to be answering the deluge of British shells, but then rockets started to curve up into the sky and the Italian barrage finally started. First one battery then another came into action until a nearer pounding added to the general racket.

  The Australians were excited and noisy but Fee’s voice rose above the din. ‘All right, you bloody Aussie bastards! Let’s go! By the Christ, quick march!’

  It was light enough in the flashes of the explosions to see what was happening. With the terrified Italians, wiping away the blood and the tears, still in the middle, surrounded by tall vengeful Australians, the column of men began to move eastwards. They were heading across ground as furrowed by wheels as a ploughed field as daylight came, a thin grey daylight that seemed to have been strained by the dust clouds that hung over the desert floor. A few vehicles were moving backwards now towards the west, mostly ambulances and lorries full of injured men. Then in the distance they saw specks which, with the aid of the X12s, Rafferty was able to identify as an Italian tank squadron rattling up from the south.

  Fee looked at Dampier. ‘Now what the Christ do we do?’ he demanded.

  Dampier looked disconcerted for a moment, then an idea occurred to him. ‘Order ’em to about turn,’ he said.

  ‘About turn? Jesus, I can see ’em doin’ it! They’ll be marchin’ the wrong way.’

  ‘You have no weapons, so they’ll assume that you’re still prisoners and that those of us with Italian uniforms are guards. If you don’t, that lot over there will want to know what you’re up to. If you appear to be heading towards captivity, they won’t worry.’

  ‘Like the husband who caught the milkman in the sheila’s bedroom?’ Fee said. ‘Because he walked out backwards he thought he was just arriving. Okay, we’ll give it a go. We can always turn ’em round again when they’ve gone.’

  He turned to the anxious files of men. ‘Okay, you lot. About – turn!’

  There were yells of disgust but he shouted them down and explained. ‘So, for once, you stupid bloody Aussie bastards, do as you’re told!’

  As those who had them hurriedly changed into Italian tunics and caps, the column about turned, strong Australian hands swinging the Italian prisoners round with them. As the tanks approached, the Australians glared aggressively. Struggling to fasten the buttons of his Italian tunic, Clegg groaned.

  ‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘As actors they’d make good dustmen.’

  Fee caught on at once and began to shout. ‘You’re bloody prisoners, you stupid Aussie sods,’ he roared. ‘Don’t look so bleedin’ hostile!’

  For a moment they stared at him, then they also began to catch on. There was a lot of nudging and the long Australian stride dwindled to a tired shuffle. Heads went down and shoulders hunched dejectedly.

  ‘Gawd,’ Fee said disgustedly. ‘There’s no need to overact.’

  They got it right in the end and finally began to look like a column of prisoners. Intent on their task, the Italian tanks rolled by, kicking up clouds of dust, and Morton stood up in the Humber and saluted as they passed.

  ‘Prigionieri!’ he shouted. ‘Ordered to Zuq for Italy! How goes it?’

  The Italian officer shouted back and Morton translated for Dampier.

  ‘He says they were caught with their trousers down,’ he explained. ‘They were just entering the minefield when our shells fell on them. At first they thought it was just a rearguard action, but he says he thinks now it’s developing into a full-out counter-attack while they’re off-balance.’

  Delighted with the success of the deception, as the Italian tanks moved on the Australians shuffled to a stop and there were satisfied grins.

  ‘All right,’ Fee yelled. ‘Other way again! Column – about turn!’

  As the Italian tanks disappeared into the distance, the Australians about-turned once more, still dragging the bewildered Italians with them, and heads came up as they began to move eastwards again. Two Messerschmitts appeared on the western horizon and, once again, the column turned to face the west. The Messerschmitts passed low over their heads but made no attempt to interfere with them. As they lifted into the sky, a squadron of Hurricanes howled down out of the blue. Guns clattered and one of the Messerschmitts swept upwards in a screaming zoom, then fell off sideways at the top and sideslipped into the desert about a mile away.

  As the column of black smoke lifted into the air, the Australians began to cheer but the shouting was silenced as another group of Italian vehicles appeared in the distance from the west. This time they didn’t need any explanations. They about-turned, heads down, shoulders hunched, a few of them even entering into the spirit of the thing enough to throw sour catcalls as the lorries passed, vanishing eastwards into the dust and smoke without their crews looking twice in their direction. By this time it was becoming a game, and in great good humour the Australians about-turned again to face eastwards with a great show of lifting their knees, swinging their arms and stamping their feet as if on parade.

  The horizon was full of smoke and dust. They had no idea what was happening but it seemed now that the battle was bigger than they’d expected. It had spread southwards, too, and occasionally they caught glimpses of vehicles heading in that direction. The foglike cloud of dust spread across the whole desert and, though the sky above them was clear, aircraft passing overhead disappeared almost at once as they headed into the rolling coils of smoke.

  ‘There’s just one thing.’ Fee was suddenly looking worried. ‘Suppose some half-baked Pom pilot in a Hurricane comes along and sees us marching west, won’t he think we’re Italians and shoot us up?’

  It was something that hadn’t occurred to Dampier. But he produced an answer quickly enough. ‘Have you still got that flag of yours?’ he asked.

  ‘Fair dinkum, I have. No bloody Italian’s havin’ that.’

  ‘A splendid sentiment, sergeant major. If anybody on our side starts being awkward, let’s just make sure it’s well and truly visible.’

  The sun appeared, bursting over the horizon like a flash of fire, a
nd almost at once it began to blister their breath. The battle seemed to have changed direction now and, by a trick of the wind, they could hear the grind and clatter of armoured vehicles moving into action. The column of Australians had gone some distance eastwards now, but as they drew nearer the cloud of smoke they exchanged glances, beginning to wonder what they were heading into. Stray shells made a mewing, squealing chorus overhead and small-calibre missiles whizzed and whined past. Then, unexpectedly, an object appeared out of the murk ahead to curve downwards, strike the earth, and leap upwards, end over end, until it finally plopped into the sand at the end of its trajectory.

  ‘Tank shell,’ Coffin said laconically. ‘Solid shot. If you ask me, I reckon we’re getting too near this bloody battle for safety!’

  Even as they halted, they saw a swarm of British aircraft bursting out of the cloud of smoke and dust. One of them, clearly imagining the column to be Italian since it was on the Italian side of the line, headed towards them. Immediately, Fee’s flag was produced and waved. But they hadn’t allowed for the height of the aircraft and the difficulty of seeing details at speed, and the Hurricane opened fire. Fortunately, the shooting went wide and the men in the column began to yell.

  ‘You stupid Pom bastard!’ McBean roared. ‘Can’t you see we’re Aussies?’

  During the afternoon they came across an Italian column which had been caught by the RAF, a string of lorries deserted by their crews and smoking in the sun. One of them was a water tanker, which was a gift from heaven, and they also found coffee and tins of captured British bully beef that slid out of the tins like grease.

  As they brewed up, they were fired on again and had to scatter. The middle of a battle was clearly not a good place for a column of unarmed prisoners to be and, as they regathered, Dampier reluctantly came to the conclusion that until the battle had sorted itself out it might be best to head back towards Zuq and get the LRDGs to signal the navy to lift them off. There was a howl of ‘Not bloody likely’ when the idea was put to the Australians and a great deal of muttering as they discussed it, but in the end everybody saw the sense of the plan.