by Jack Murray
-
After another meal of bully beef, Danny went in search of Arthur and Phil Lawrence. He walked along the row of tanks. A few were making repairs to the damage from the shelling earlier. It made Danny thankful that he’d escaped the worst of it. Men sat in groups, grousing about the food, talking about what they’d done that day, what they were going to do tomorrow or when they returned back home. There was silent reflection from some, laughter from others. This made Danny smile. Here they were, sitting in the middle of a desert. It was cold. They were facing an implacable enemy, yet these men continued to joke. One man had his hands clasped in front of him. Danny wondered if he was praying.
He passed a radio. It was tuned to the B.B.C. There was music playing. It sounded American rather than British. The stronger sound of saxophones and clarinets suggested Glenn Miller. Danny stopped to listen. One man offered him a cigarette, but Danny declined. He headed further along, passing men engaged in everyday activities: eating, brushing teeth or shaving. It was always important to look your best when facing death.
Up ahead he saw two familiar figures having a cigarette. Arthur turned to greet the new arrival. As ever, his smile was filled with irrepressible good humour. Lawrence looked grave. This was unusual for the normally good-humoured corporal but then Danny saw the large swelling on the side of his head.
‘I had an argument with the periscope,’ explained Lawrence. This caused Arthur to start cackling.
‘Cheers, mate,’ said Lawrence dolefully. This made Arthur laugh more. Even Lawrence smiled.
‘You both made it then,’ grinned Danny.
‘Course we did,’ said Arthur, ‘Never in doubt.’
They chatted for a few minutes about what they’d been doing that day which amounted to not very much. In place of facts they resorted, as men do, to exaggeration, jokes and insults. In such a way they nourished one another’s courage, lifted their mood and banished fear, at least for a short while. It never really left, though.
Talk of the next day could not be ignored forever. It was their job now; all encompassing, utterly terrifying and ultimately heartrending.
‘I’m not sure I fancy being target practice for the Jerry gunners,’ admitted Danny. ‘Do you know if anyone…?’ He left the rest of the sentence unsaid. He was asking if any of the people they knew had been killed.
Arthur nodded.
‘Ray Hill bought it this morning. ’
‘Really?’ said Danny. He thought of the young man they’d befriended in Alexandria. ‘That’s a pity. He was all right.’
‘He was,’ agreed Lawrence, throwing away his cigarette.
‘He won’t be the last,’ said Arthur.
They said their goodbyes. There would be no time the next morning. They’d be up, off and out. Danny walked back towards his tank. He and his friends shared but one thought as they parted. They might not see one another again.
When Danny returned to the tank, he saw Reed talking with Lieutenant Hutton. The lieutenant departed as Danny arrived. Reed barely noticed Danny as he turned to the others and told them that they were still awaiting confirmation of the plan for the following morning.
A few minutes later Lister, accompanied by Major Miller, Captain Aston and Lieutenant Hutton walked up to Danny’s crew. They were stopping by all of the tank crews in Miller’s B Squadron. Danny and the others were on their feet in seconds.
‘Hello, Reed,’ said Lister. ‘Remind me who we have here.’
Reed introduced all of the men. Lister shook hands with each of them and spoke briefly with Craig to ask him about his family.
‘This is Private Shaw,’ said Reed.
‘Ahh yes, Shaw. I suppose you’ll soon have an answer to the question you asked me a few months ago.
Danny reddened slightly but grinned.
‘I’m not sure I ever had the chance to apologise to Lieutenant Turner for putting him on the spot.’
‘I rather think your friend put you on the spot,’ replied Lister. The crew along with Lister and Miller laughed at the recollection. Captain Aston seemed bored. Or was it something else? Danny wondered if behind the superior, carefree air lay an altogether more human emotion. He, Arthur and Phil Lawrence hid their fears behind humour and moderate abuse. Lister and Miller always displayed refined good fellowship and optimism. In all likelihood, the affected ennui of Aston was nothing more than a wall built to hide his fears. It made Danny more sympathetic to the captain even if he didn’t particularly like him.
The group of officers walked on to the next tank. Danny’s tank crew sat down.
‘I hope we’re getting the hell out of here,’ said Holmes. ‘Bloody sitting ducks.’
Felton nodded his head in agreement. The men turned towards Reed who seemed on the point of saying something when Craig added his thoughts.
‘I would be careful what you wish for.’
Danny noticed the stony features of Reed’s face as he turned away and went to lie down on his makeshift bed by the tank.
‘Put some music on, Charlie,’ said Holmes.
Felton wandered over to the wireless and spent a minute or two searching for the B.B.C. Finally some music came on.
It was a German song, ‘Lili Marlene’.
‘Have the Germans invaded Britain then?’
-
0230. It was cold and the sky was dagger-black. Lister looked up as his majors trooped blearily into his bivouac followed by some of the other officers. One of them could not prevent a yawn. Lister glanced at him wryly.
‘A bit of a bore, I know.’
‘Sorry sir,’ came the sheepish reply.
Lister looked around him. All of his officers were there: the three squadron leaders Miller, Longworth and Laing as well as the troop leaders. A day spent absorbing shell fire had left them exhausted, but they were fighting men. They wanted to give the enemy a taste of his own medicine. Yet, still, Lister felt a foreboding. The enemy was now aware they were here. They would be ready.
‘As you know, Scobie is to break out of Tobruk tomorrow. Sorry, today. Gott has ordered us to push north west from the airfield towards Abiar el Amar. We and the rifle brigade will attack the enemy positions from the left while the Kings Royal Rifles attack from the right. We’ll have artillery support from the Royal Horse artillery and the 60th.’
The men drew closer to Lister’s map to see better. The lamp flickered a little as they moved. A shadow fell over their position on the map as Lister pointed to two different areas on the northern part of the escarpment that they would occupy.
‘Once we’ve gained our objective,’ continued Lister, ‘we move forward past the Sidi Rezegh mosque and link up with Scobie at 1400 hours.’
‘What information do we have on the enemy strength, sir?’ asked Major Miller.
‘No information, I’m afraid. But Scobie has significant infantry strength. He will be, in effect, attacking their rear even though they are to the north of us. And don’t forget he has the 4th Royal Tank Regiment to call upon, too. I think he’ll make a dent. As you can see, though, the situation is rather complicated. We are facing enemy to the north. We know they are forming twenty miles to our southwest because the 4th Armoured Brigade encountered tanks. Jerry, meanwhile, is facing us to his north, south and every which way. We won’t have a lot of information when it kicks off. This lack of information is something that I suspect we’ll need to get used to over next few days,’ said Lister more dejectedly than he’d intended. ‘The key will be to maintain good communication and to think on your feet.’
The assembled officers nodded but it was clear from their faces that they were more than a little concerned by the rather complicated situation. Lister noted this but could think of nothing to allay their concerns. Instead he concentrated on the plan.
‘Now I will lead the advance to el Duda. Miller, you and B squadron will follow myself, and Warren over the Trigh Capuzzo. We’ll seize the crossroads at Sidi Rezegh and link with the Tobruk sorties. Laing, you and C squadro
n stay south of the escarpment to provide flanking protection. Longworth, you and A squadron will occupy point 167 and protect the left flank of the 60th. Are there any questions?’
The majors nodded, and the meeting ended a few minutes later as details of the advance were ironed out. Lister watched his officers depart. Their objective was clear but their concerns around the extent of enemy strength had been well made. Once they cleared the ridge and went into the valley what would they encounter? The lines of Tennyson rose into his mind as unwelcome as the last guests at a dinner party.
“Into the valley of death, rode the six hundred”
18
Trigh Capuzzo, Libya, November 20th, 1941
That same morning, further to the west, Manfred sat in a hot tank, bored, tired and hungry. The hunger was something he‘d grown accustomed to. It was a permanent state for him and, if their conversation was anything to go by, for his tank mates. Every week they would have conversations about imaginary meals the wished they could have. The hunger and his general discontent was not helped by the fact that they seemed not to be doing very much.
‘At what point do we just acknowledge there’s no bloody Tommies around here?’ asked Fischer.
This was not unreasonable, thought Manfred. Overath wanted to reprimand Fischer but, in reality, he agreed with him. The tank had been patrolling up and down the Trigh Capuzzo track for a few hours without seeing so much as a reptile on their journey. Instead, the tank crew were hot, hungry and heavy-eyed through lack of sleep.
Over the wireless, they were aware of an engagement taking place about thirty kilometres to the west of their location at the Sidi Rezegh airfield and another further south at el Gubi. Fischer’s comment from the previous evening hung heavy in the air. If the British had any intention of supporting a breakout from Tobruk then this was likely to be the start of it.
Overath glared down at Fischer and ordered him to keep his eyes ahead and his ears to the wireless. He then turned to Manfred and snarled irritably, ‘And don’t you talk, either.’
Manfred, who’d said nothing, remained impassive in the face of his sergeant. Moments later he glanced down at Fischer who was laughing. Manfred started to laugh himself. There was no point in getting too upset.
The morning dragged on and silence descended on the tank. An armistice lest they get on one another’s nerves. The heat and the torpor meant everything was done unconsciously. Manfred had next to nothing to do as he was neither a driver, a wireless operator nor the tank commander. To make himself useful he acted as another pair of eyes on the road ahead. His peripheral vision was limited. After a while he’d lost interest in even performing this task. Ahead of him was only dust and sand and nothing.
So this was war. Waiting at a camp followed by yet more waiting while driving along an empty road. He’d heard from Fischer about the battle at the start of summer. This seemed to be another world. He almost envied Fischer his involvement. Almost. Unspoken was the realisation that the Bavarian had faced death. They’d all faced death. All except him. For so long his emotions swung wildly between eagerness and fear. Now the enemy was within touching distance yet all they were doing was driving around aimlessly. It was clear Overath thought this also but would not say.
More traffic on the wireless late morning revealed there was fighting to the south west at Gabr Saleh. The 21st Panzers were unable to provide support as they’d run out of fuel. Meanwhile, Manfred’s tank, along with the rest of the 15th Panzers, was patrolling along a track that was singularly devoid of anything resembling the enemy. All of this only served to increase the sense of frustration in the tank. Even Overath could contain himself no longer.
‘I don’t think anyone has a clue what’s going on.’
Finally, in the early afternoon the tank heard the news they’d been waiting for.
‘Hello, this is Neumann-Silkov,’ said the colonel of the 15th Panzer division. ‘Drive south towards Gabr Saleh. We’re to engage with the enemy.’
‘How far away is Gabr Saleh?’ shouted Kohler.
Overath checked the map. He studied it for a few seconds then told Fischer on which course they had should run.
‘It’s forty kilometres away. We should reach there before four.’
A wave of excitement went through the tank. For Manfred, it felt like his moment had arrived. A chance to face the enemy. But who was the enemy? The Allies or his own fear. Every passing minute was bringing him closer to answering this question.
-
An hour later, near four in the afternoon, the men in the tank could not just hear the sound of explosions. They could feel them. Manfred felt a thrill race through his body. Bit by bit the sound grew louder. It was clear that Kastner was now on edge. He kept glancing towards Manfred checking to see if he would be ready. They would soon make contact with the Allies.
Overath spoke into the radio microphone.
‘Approaching ridge. Can hear gunfire. No sign of British.’
There is probably a high correlation in one’s life between saying something one moment and the opposite thing happening the next. This was Overath’s experience just then. An explosion burst on the sand less than thirty metres away.
‘What the hell!’ shouted Kastner.
‘I think that’s the enemy we can’t see,’ said Fischer combining remarkable coolness with just enough irritating sarcasm to earn a glare from Overath. Moments later they heard a sickening thud against the front of the tank.
‘Too far away,’ said Kastner.
Manfred’s eyes widened in confusion.
‘Welcome to the war,’ said Fischer in Manfred’s direction. Manfred ignored him and, following a nod from Kastner, was loading the gun. It just bounced off, thought Manfred. He almost wanted to laugh. He felt giddy.
‘Not very welcoming, if you ask me,’ said Manfred with just enough coolness to earn a smile from Kastner.
Overath was looking through his periscope and holding his hand up to indicate he did not want any shells to be fired. Then he spoke into his microphone.
‘I see tanks. I can’t make out how many.’
Another voice responded.
‘I can see at least thirty, three zero tanks. I think there are more behind the ridge.’
This was Basler. He was in the lead tank. Manfred was further back, but they were now clearly in the range of the British guns.
‘Keep pressing forward. We need to take the ridge.’
This was the 15th Panzer division leader, Neumann-Silkov.
Overath looked down at the rest of the crew. His features were tight but outwardly he seemed calm.
‘You heard. Get ready to fire.’
‘Keep moving forward,’ ordered Overath, eyes glued to his periscope. ‘Pick a target corporal.’
Kastner adjusted the elevation of the gun.
Overath glanced down at his gunner. He and Kastner locked eyes for a moment. All around the tank they could hear the thunder of the guns and shells screaming overhead and explosions.
‘Fire when you’re ready,’
Kastner and Manfred exchanged looks. He saw that Manfred had the next shell ready to load. The Austrian turned back to his gun, eyes glued to his viewfinder.
Manfred felt as if he could see and hear everything around him: the chatter on the wireless, Kastner’s breathing nearby, the sound of the engine straining as the tank moved slowly up the ridge, explosions rocking the ground outside.
Then the tank’s main gun fired, rocking the tank as it did so. Manfred had the breech open before Kastner could say ‘load’.
Soon the gun was pounding out shells to a regular rhythm. Manfred loading as fast as Kastner could fire them. Overath had the tank’s machine gun beating out a deadly hail of fire. Manfred marvelled at Kastner though. The shells were firing at an astonishing rate, but the Austrian’s movements were almost deliberate. The aim adjusted marginally after every couple of shots. All in the heat of battle. Bullets pinged off the tank, and something hit the front and bou
nced off. Manfred heard and felt it all, but he was in a trance. Open breech, lift, load.
Excitement, adrenaline and fear energised Manfred. Fear most of all. How would he react under fire? The answer, he realised exultantly, was the one he’d hoped for. He was barely aware of the heat in the tank or the tiredness of his arms so disassociated had he become from his body. The tank crew were each doing their job. Working as a unit. Their training made thought secondary. They were one body, one mind, just an element of a whole greater than they.
-
Over one hundred Panzer tanks proceeded relentlessly up the ridge seemingly impervious to shell and shot. The weight of tank numbers, the support they had from artillery and infantry forced the British to pull back. Overath could see what was happening a few hundred yards ahead.
‘They’re pulling back. I’m pretty sure they’re pulling back.’
Manfred felt like letting out a cheer but the intensity of Kastner and the focus of Fischer and Kohler acted as a restraint on the desire to give voice to the relief he was feeling. And it was a relief that had nothing to do with mere survival. Kastner signalled for Manfred to stop loading. At this point Manfred became aware that he was bathed in sweat. In fact, they all were. His legs were aching, and he didn’t want to think about what his arms would be like tonight.
He was hungry also. It seemed unlikely they would be eating for hours yet. The rumble of his stomach was only just drowned out by the sound of the tank’s engine and the sporadic sounds of battle.
Just before six thirty the fading light saw the battle peter out to its conclusion. Chatter on the radio confirmed Overath’s view that the British were slowly pulling back down the reverse side of the slope. There was also news that a cloud of dust had been spotted coming from the west. This could only be British reinforcements.
Overath looked around at his tank crew. Streaks of sweat ran down his dust covered face. But there was no mistaking the satisfaction he felt. It was not in his nature to dispense praise, however. He gave a nod. News from the wireless suggested that their commander, Neumann-Silkov, had sent an artillery screen to their western flank to discourage any British ideas of a surprise attack.