by Jack Murray
It was Manfred’s tank now. Thoughts of Basler gone. He looked at the scene ahead. Utter carnage and the battle had barely begun. Begun? Re-started. It had been going on for hours. But this was the critical point now. The Afrika Korps were throwing everything at the Allies. Both the 15th and the 21st Panzer divisions were fighting to halt the Allied advance: all remaining operable tanks. If this didn’t halt them, then it was over.
Oily black smoke drifted in front of him; its harsh smell made him feel nauseous. His eyes caught two Allied tank men rolling around on the sand trying to extinguish flames. It was horribly compelling and, for the men concerned, utterly futile.
Kleff was pumping out shells at a regular clip.
‘Aim for tanks in the second and third rows,’ ordered Manfred. They would be through the first row in under a minute now. Just in front he saw a large crater that may have been the result of several anti-tank shell explosions.
“Jentz, do you see the crater?’
‘Heading for it now,’ replied the driver, who immediately began to downshift and slow down.
‘Kleff, lower elevation when we dig in.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Kleff instinctively.
The tide of Allied tanks had turned to face the flank attack. It was pressing inexorably towards them.
‘We’ll need cover to our right,’ said Manfred. ‘Aim for the Grant at two o’clock but hold fire until it looks like it’s going to fire at us. I want it closer.’
Kleff glanced up at Manfred. This was a risky game for a young man to be playing. It also left them exposed to tanks on their left. But there were other Panzer tanks who could deal with them.
Hopefully.
Kleff knew that hope was not a great strategy in battle but something in Manfred’s swift assumption of command bode well. The crater provided some level of protection as only the top of the turret and the gun were visible. The British tide rolled forward.
‘Five hundred metres,’ said Manfred. His voice was calm. He’d left fear behind now. ‘Four hundred metres. Keep an eye out for your second target, Kleff. Three hundred metres.’
Explosions ruptured the ground around them. Then the tank that they were targeting seemed to realise that they were lying in wait. The big seventy-five-millimetre gun was unable to traverse much but the smaller gun in the turret was turning towards them. They were three hundred metres away now.
‘Fire.’
-
Another tank exploded into flames in front of Danny. No one would have survived. The enemy tank’s turret began to turn towards Danny’s tank.
‘Enemy one o’clock, Andrews,’ said Benson. There was urgency in his voice.
Andrews fired off a shot but at another tank.
‘Shaw?’ shouted Benson. They had seconds to react.
‘I can’t,’ responded Danny. The Grant tank was facing the wrong way. Danny knew he didn’t have the lateral flexibility of the turret gun.
The tank surged forward as PG recognised the danger. A puff of white smoke from the Panzer. They heard the shell scream past them. Seconds later they were shielded by the destroyed British tank. The Panzer was fifty yards on the other side. Benson, meanwhile, had been struck dumb by the near miss.
‘Stop, PG’ shouted Danny to PG as the tank threatened to keep going past their shield and leave them open to another round from the Panzer.
‘Traversing right,’ said Andrews in the turret.
‘Archie, they’re expecting us to go forward. We’ll reverse and catch them out.’
‘Good idea, Shaw,’ interjected Benson. ‘Ready, Andrews?’
Andrews nodded.
‘Reverse,’ ordered Benson.
The tank jerked backwards. Andrews leached off a shot with the fifty-seven- millimetre gun.
The AP shell burst through the front of the Panzer. Nobody tried to exit through the hatches. Danny tried not to think of the carnage inside the tank.
‘Bulls eye!’ exclaimed Benson. ‘Edge forward, Wodehouse. We can use this dead tank as cover. Andrews, keep an eye on things to our left.’
Danny’s frustration with the Grant was at its peak now. His position on the right of the tank limited his peripheral vision. He felt exposed. This feeling was now acute as a realisation had dawned on him.
Benson had frozen. It was Danny who’d shouted the warning to PG. For the first time he doubted his captain’s ability to make the right decisions. He wondered if the others had picked up on this, too. There was no time to discuss it though. Benson was speaking on the intercom.
‘Mark III at ten o’clock. Three zero, zero yards.’
To the right Danny saw another Mark III appear, straight ahead.
‘Twelve o’clock, sir, too,’ said Danny, lining up his shot. Andrews fired seconds later. A shell exploded nearby, rocking the tank. Danny’s head hit the side of the tank hard. For a second he was disoriented then he pressed the fire button. Benson and Andrews shouted in unison as they saw the tank on their left explode.
Danny’s shot hit the tracks of the tank ahead of him. Ominously the turret was turning in their direction.
‘HE. Hurry,’ shouted Danny to McLeish.
The young Scot loaded the cartridge within a few seconds. Danny had already made a minor adjustment. Through his telescopic view he saw that the gun of the enemy tank was now aimed at them. One or two of the crew were already abandoning the tank. Danny hit the fire button. Seconds later the turret of the enemy tank leapt twenty feet into the air.
There was no time to celebrate surviving their close call. The tank was rocked by a loud crash. Danny flinched. When he opened his eyes, he realised he was covered in blood.
‘What the hell was that?’ shouted Benson, frantically. ‘Wodehouse, move. Enemy tank approaching three zero, zero yards, four o’clock.’
The tank did not move.
‘Wodehouse,’ shouted Benson, ducking inside. ‘Why the hell aren’t we moving?’
There was smoke inside the tank. Danny’s eyes cleared and he glanced down to his left and saw why there had been no reply from the driver. An armour piercing shell had hit them from the front side of the hull. It took a second for Danny to take in the scene a few feet in front of him.
PG and Sid Gregson were dead.
-
‘We’ll have to move,’ said Manfred.
‘Which way?’ asked Jentz. A reasonable question. They had destroyed nearly half a dozen tanks at least but the enemy kept coming.
Manfred paused a second and then replied, ‘I think they’re shifting direction, trying to move out of range. My God, there are still so many of them. We need to advance.’
Jentz duly obliged and the tank, after a few false starts, finally climbed out from the crater. It was welcomed by a shell bouncing off the front armour. It occurred to Manfred that had they waited a minute longer, the shell might have caught him.
‘They’re probing further south,’ said Colonel Teege over the radio. ‘Report to me who is in pursuit.’
Manfred was shocked by how many of the regiment’s tanks had been destroyed now. They had lost at least nineteen from his own battalion. So many familiar names gone. He hoped that his comrades had been able to evacuate their tanks. He feared the worst and it was not yet midday. An afternoon of fighting lay ahead. He felt an emptiness inside. Who would be left when the day’s fighting was over?
Then he felt a swell of anger. He wanted to avenge the death of the lieutenant. He wanted to make the enemy pay. Finally, it was his turn to report.
‘It’s Brehme, sir. 1st Battalion, second company. Lieutenant Basler has fallen, sir.’
This was greeted by a long silence. Then they heard an audible sigh before Teege spoke again, ‘Very well, Brehme. You’re in command of the tank now. Fall in with the advance.’
‘Yes, sir.’
They set off in pursuit of the Allied tanks. The signs of battle were everywhere. Dozens of tanks littered the battlefield, destroyed, derelict and reeking of death. A few of the surviving British tank cre
ws were scattered around, unable to move for their wounds. Manfred and the other Panzers ignored them and pushed ahead.
‘Faster, Jentz, we need to catch up with the others,’ said Manfred. It was true. By occupying the crater they’d fallen behind the general advance.
The tank began to pick up speed. Manfred risked putting more of his body outside the tank now as the British had swerved away in a different direction. The stench of cordite and burnt charcoal assaulted him. He knew that he would never forget the sights and smells of this day for as long as he lived, however long that might be. Each battle they fought did not feel like one step closer to victory. Quite the opposite. The Allies had taken a fearful battering, yet they would not stop. His own regiment, in fact the whole division, was hanging together by threads now. It was not sustainable.
They were making up ground on the main body of tanks when something caught Manfred’s eye. He looked left, past half a dozen tanks and then he saw it. A hundred metres away, one of the Grants had started moving. He’d noticed it earlier. It was not blackened or smoking. At first Manfred thought it had been abandoned. Now he could see it was still operable and it was moving to intercept them.
His eyes hardened. A chance to avenge the lieutenant.
‘Jentz, turn left, eight o’clock. Kleff, traverse left. Enemy tank, one hundred metres. AP Armour Piercing. Quickly. It’s heading this way.
-
‘They’re dead, sir,’ said Danny climbing down towards the driver’s seat. He motioned for McLeish to take over at the gun. The seat and the dashboard were covered with blood and something that Danny tried not to think about. His stomach heaved as he brushed away the remains of PG from the panel and the seat. Flesh and bone spilled onto the tank floor.
‘Hurry, Shaw,’ shouted Benson, unaware of the extent of devastation below, or perhaps trying to ignore it. There was more than a trace of panic in his voice now.
Tears blinded Danny’s vision. He sat down having cleared away the distorted, twisted remains of what had once been a man. He couldn’t bring himself to look in Gregson’s direction.
Air was coming through a hole in the side of the tank. The shell had passed through killing both men and exited the other side. Had the shot happened further away, it would have stopped within the tank and ricocheted around, probably killing everyone.
Danny fought back the nausea as he took control of the steering sticks and pushed his foot on the accelerator.
‘Move,’ screamed Benson.
The tank lurched forward, and they headed directly towards the rear guard of the Panzer advance. There was one tank, a Mark III, directly ahead of them, moving at speed. It was less than one hundred and fifty yards away and had obviously not seen them. The commander’s shoulders and the side of his head were visible. Suddenly the German commander turned in their direction and held his binoculars up to his eyes. His mouth fell open and he ducked down into the tank.
The enemy tank was now obscured by a destroyed Grant, but it was facing in the wrong direction. They had a few vital seconds of advantage now.
‘Traverse left,’ ordered Benson to Andrews. The gunner was furiously twisting the wheel to get the turret round. Danny steered towards a derelict tank to provide some cover. He wanted Andrews to fire off a round and then he would duck behind the destroyed tank in front. There would be split seconds between the two tanks firing at one another.
The German tank had reacted more quickly than they’d have thought possible. It seemed to swivel. Within seconds it was almost facing them.
‘Fire dammit,’ shouted Benson to Andrews.
Andrews fired.
-
The shell entered the left side of the Manfred’s tank. It went through the thirty millimetres of armour like a fist through wet paper. The fragments of the armour encountered Jentz first, shredding him instantly. The shell continued its journey, encountering the right leg of Kleff, removing if from below the knee. But Kleff had died already as a result of a of lump armour embedding itself in his chest.
Kiel, beside Jentz, disintegrated in a shower of metal from tank and shell. The dead body of Basler evaporated as thousands of metal shards sliced him apart.
It was only by a miracle that Manfred was not eviscerated. Just as the enemy tank had locked onto the Panzer, Manfred had realised that the British tank would get the first shot in. There was no avoiding the impact of the shell. In those split seconds, as his life hung in the balance, he knew that it would either be an AP Armour Piercing shell or a HE High Explosive one. The latter spelt certain death. The former gave him the merest half chance of survival. He lifted his legs up just as the Grant fired.
At that moment all became a blur. He saw the flash from the mouth of the gun. The tank rocked as the shell penetrated the hull. This was followed by a stab of pain in his shins and feet as the shrapnel ripped through the body of Kleff that had temporarily, shielded him before continuing their journey towards the next soft obstruction.
He screamed in agony and fell into the tank, clutching his bloodied legs. He screamed again when he saw what he’d fallen into. The blood and the tissue and the bones of his comrades had washed the inside of the tank a dripping red.
Just above his head, through the tears of pain in his eyes, he could see the fire button. Instinctively, he reached up. His hand felt around for the button. Then his thumb found it. He pressed.
-
Danny saw the front of the Panzer fold inwards as the shell ripped through the hull. Archie had hit bullseye. From one hundred and fifty yards, nothing would survive. Shouts of exultation from above. Benson was delighted. He was laughing but there was a hysterical edge to his joy.
‘You did it, Archie.’
McLeish reached up and shook Andrews’ hand. The fear and the nausea and the grief for the deaths of PG and Gregson were forgotten in the instant when they realised they’d won the duel. Danny stared at the enemy tank and wondered if he should move. He started to roll forward.
‘Halt,’ shouted Benson.
Danny put his foot on the brake immediately and looked up. He was confused. Why were they stopping?
‘Sir, we should move,’ said Danny. His foot slipped onto the accelerator in readiness.
‘Nonsense, Shaw,’ said Benson. A moment later the words died on his lips as they all heard the crump of a gun. Danny automatically ducked down and made himself small. The tank was hit by the shell at the point where the turret meets the hull. At such close range, the projectile passed through the fifty-one millimetres of armour, through the tank engine, shattering everything in its wake: man, metal and shell. Hot splinters burst into flame in the remains of the fuel.
The noise of tearing metal and screams were deafening. And Danny heard them all. He could hear them as they died. Then he heard something else.
The first crackle of flames.
48
Manfred slumped against the wall of the tank. It was wet. He felt as if he would black out. He couldn’t. There was every chance the tank could be shot at again. Then he heard an almighty crash. He’d hit the other tank. He gave a silent thanks to Kleff who’d obviously been on the point of firing. The thought of Kleff, then the others, stabbed Manfred’s heart. There was no other noise in the tank apart from a fizzing. They were all dead.
He steeled himself to look around. No one, nothing was recognisable anymore. The shower of shrapnel and splinters had made an horrific mess of flesh and bone and organs. Manfred began to retch. He was on all fours now. Adrenaline coursed through his body. It numbed the stinging sore pain in his legs.
He had to move.
He drew himself up and tried to stand. It hurt but he could put his weight on each foot. The fizzing was growing louder. There was smoke. His eyes were watering from more than just sadness. The smell of burnt flesh was overpowering his senses and making him weak.
He gripped the edge of the cupola and hauled himself up. The tank began to pop. The flames were reaching the ammunition. Soon the popping would become sm
all explosions. More ammunition would start to heat up, then explode, further extenerating the lumps of human flesh that were the sole remaining evidence that humans had been inside the tank.
It took an enormous effort of will, but Manfred managed to push his body through the hatch of the cupola. He fell onto the front of the tank and rolled off onto the hard rocky desert with a thump that knocked the air from him.
Screams ripped through the air.
They weren’t his.
-
God it was hot.
Rivers of sweat flowed from his forehead, or was it blood? He couldn’t see. All around him was a blur. The smoke, the sweat, the watery images caused by the heat stopped his eyes from focusing. His arm seemed to be stuck. He wanted to wipe his eyes. He tried to free his hand. No joy. The air seemed to be draining from the cabin. Each breath he took fried his lungs. His legs also seemed to be locked into a position. Something was holding them down. He needed to wipe his eyes.
The coughing started. Breathe, cough, breathe again. The pain seared his throat like acid. The heat was no longer murmuring now; it was crackling. All around him the metal of the cabin seemed to be melting. The sound of the fire was intoxicating, like immersive percussion. He was drowning in its indiscriminate beat. His eyes closed. The temperature was overwhelming him now.
He heard music. His father floated into view and then he saw her. He looked into her green eyes. They smiled invitingly. So much he wanted to say but, how could he? And then they disappeared from view. He tried to reach out to her. There was a loud rumbling. Like thunder in the distance.
Danny eyes opened again. The sound of crackling was louder. Getting nearer. Still, he felt weighed down. With a struggle he freed one arm and wiped his eyes. He wished he hadn’t. A body was lying over him. It was PG or what remained of his crew mate. He levered him away, freeing up his other arm. The skin on his hand was burning.
Lifeless eyes nearby gazed him mockingly at him. It would be his turn next. Death was all around him. It would soon slowly enfold him in its arms and caress him away from the pain, the heat and the hate. He closed his eyes.