by Jack Murray
‘You are lucky. This tank is the best. It’s better than any other tank you will face. This is twenty tonnes of beauty and death. It can hit tanks from a longer range.’ He pointed to the gun. ’This is a fifty-millimetre gun. We will be shipping these out to North Africa soon. The tanks against you only have a thirty-seven-millimetre gun. Along with the thirty-millimetre thick armour, it means they have to be beside you before they can do any damage. Trust me, if the enemy gets that close to you then you deserve to die.’
This brought a few nervous laughs from the recruits.
‘You will have stopped them by this point, or our eighty eight’s will have done the job for you,’ continued Krauss amidst the laughter. ‘If not, you’ll almost certainly be dead.’
This was said almost as an after-thought, but it worked in quietening down the recruits.
‘Yes, these machines are deadly, and you should be scared. But, think about this: the British know this too. They know in a straight fight, we win. So, they won’t want a straight fight. They’ll run, they’ll hide, they’ll do anything to avoid a firefight. This is our advantage. They will fear us. They will fear what these monsters can do. My friends, I am afraid of what these things can do. My job is to make you and these machines one. They must become an extension of you like your arm or your leg or, most importantly of all, your brain. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ shouted the group as one.
Krauss looked at them and nodded slowly. Then after a few moments, when the only sounds Manfred could hear were the songs of birds, the beat of his heart and the breeze echoing in their ears, he added, ‘Good. Because if you don’t understand what I’m saying, then this monster, this death machine, this tank will become your coffin.’
Chapter 7: Britain 194 1
1
Thursley, Surrey: April 1941
The sun rose, apparently. Then it disappeared behind a cloud and refused to come out for the next few hours. Danny looked up disgustedly.
‘British weather. What I’d give for a bit of sunshine.’
The time was coming when he would miss the grey-cold climate of his home. But that was the future.
‘What’ll we do today?’ he asked no one in particular.
Arthur had been giving the matter some serious thought and proposed a solution. Danny grinned and suggested they should run it by Corporal Lawrence.
‘Already have,’ came the reply.
‘And?’
-
The tank trundled slowly over the common. A head popped out from the turret. The reward for this foolhardy action was to feel the rain batter its face. Seconds later, the head disappeared back into the tank turret uttering an oath. Onwards the tank trundled, oblivious to the puddles and the mud.
‘We should call the tank, “Pig”. It bloody loves this weather,’ said Arthur, wiping the rain off his face.
‘You’re not such a big fan of the rain, I take it?’ replied Danny, down below. He was manning the machine gun but was likely to be unemployed unless the local deer came armed with anti-tank guns.
‘No, I’m bleedin’ not,’ growled Arthur.
‘We need the rain. How do things grow, otherwise?’ pointed out Danny reasonably.
‘Go on back to the sticks, country boy,’ replied Arthur. The tank seemed to dive at that point into a large pothole. ‘Bloody hell, what was that?’
He was told they were going through a ditch. The tank suddenly reared up again, throwing Arthur backwards, much to his chagrin. The laughter of the other men was as much sympathy as Arthur was ever going to get. He rubbed the back of his head and continued to grouse as they advanced.
There were five men in the tank. They were still in training, so roles were rotated each day. Three people sat in the compact turret of the A13. The commander, a gunner and the wireless operator
‘Are we near our objective?’ shouted Arthur, who was the gunner. His position offered no hatch and his only view of what lay ahead was through the narrow aperture of his gun sight. As the tank bumped around so much, he had little idea of where they were.
‘Why don’t you get your arse up top and see for yourself?’ shouted Corporal Phil Lawrence who was the commander of the tank on this day. Lawrence, much to the delight of Danny and Arthur had joined them at Thursley a couple of weeks previously having had a request to join the Royal Tank Regiment accepted.
‘I did. It’s too wet,’ pointed out Arthur. ‘What if we come across an Italian tank?’
This brought a volley of abuse from the boys below. Reluctantly, Arthur opened the turret again and looked out. The rain had eased off to a mild drizzle. Droplets fell from his steel helmet.
There was a shout from below, ‘Well?’
‘Just up ahead. I’ll have to open the gate,’ replied Arthur. He climbed out of the turret and opened a wooden farm gate originally intended to keep hostile cattle or sheep at bay. The tank followed Arthur through the gate onto a road. Across of the field was their destination. It was a pub, “The Fox and Hound”.
Five men emerged from the top of the tank and jogged towards the pub.
‘Do you think it’s all right to leave it there?’ asked Danny as he entered the pub.
‘Leave it out,’ said Arthur, ‘Even Jerry wouldn’t invade on a day like this. Mine’s a bitter, as you asked.’ The others laughed and called out their orders to Danny who strode towards the bar,
The barmaid sized up Danny and turned her smile on full beam. She was probably twice Danny’s age but that didn’t matter, she thought. There had been plenty like Danny before. There would be again. She never could resist a man in uniform. She leaned forward giving Danny an eyeful of her ample bust.
‘What can I do for you?’
Danny smiled and said, ‘Your smile is enough, darling, but, now that you mention it, five halves of bitter.’
‘Cheeky, I’ve got my eye on you.’
‘And I’ve got my eye on you, love,’ said Danny with a wink. The other locals at the bar roared their approval at the exchange.
‘Got a live one there, Mildred,’ shouted one.
Danny brought the drinks back in two relays. ‘Thanks for the help,’ he said sardonically.
‘Didn’t want to cramp your style,’ said Arthur.
Danny glanced back at Mildred and waved before turning back to his friends, and replied, ‘More your generation, Arthur.’
A gentle clip round the back of the head was Danny’s reward. The five comrades savoured their half pints. They knew that training was at an end. It was only a matter of time before they would be posted to a theatre of conflict. Opinions varied on where this would be.
‘Greece,’ said Lawrence, ‘Has to be. They’re an ally and they’ve been invaded. Unless we support them, how do we expect to get other allies?’
‘Good point,’ agreed Arthur. ‘You should be a politician. They’re the damn fools that took us out of Africa when we were minutes away from kicking the ‘Eyeties’ out. Now look.’
The two men looked at Danny. He was shaking his head in a manner they had grown used to and also to respect.
‘Looks like the child disagrees,’ said Lawrence.
‘He just wants to be playing with his toys,’ continued Arthur.
Danny grinned, ‘I like the big toy outside. Never had anything like that when I was growing up.’
‘Let me know when you grow up,’ said Arthur, as his six-foot two friend collected the glasses and brought them back to the bar for a refill.
‘Here, here,’ said Lawrence, ‘He’s back on the pull.’
When Danny returned from the bar with another round, he looked at their eager faces and said, ‘Yeah, it could be Greece but I’m with Arthur. It has to be North Africa.’
Lawrence looked glum. He knew the boys were right.
‘We were all but home and dry there. It’s like Stoke going one nil up and then pulling Stanley Matthews off because they think the game’s over. We could have had Africa sorted and then dealt with blo
ody Greece. Old Adolf would have been surrounded on all sides.’
‘He’s no Denis Compton, though,’ said Arthur puffing on his pipe.
‘Who?’ asked Lawrence.
‘Matthews.’
‘Get out of it,’ replied Lawrence, a native of that jewel in the midlands.
‘I don’t see Matthews coming in at number three for Surrey, any time soon,’ guffawed Arthur.
Danny ignored Arthur and replied to Lawrence, ‘Like or not, we’ve not got enough men out there at the moment. They need to cut Jerry off from all that oil.’
‘Hark at him,’ said Arthur, ‘Fifteen weeks or so of training and he’s a proper little general now.’
The other two men in the group, were around Danny’s age remained quiet through all this nonsense. Jim Donnelly and Will Anderson sat looking on in silence. They were happy to listen to their fellow recruits. Donnelly was small in stature with a gap-toothed smile. He operated the radio while Anderson, a mechanic by trade, doubled on the machine gun and made repairs when the tank broke down, which was a frequent occurrence.
‘You’re quiet,’ said Arthur, looking at Anderson. ‘Is the tank all right?’
Anderson wiggled his hands to indicate that this was a fifty-fifty answer.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Danny.
‘Engine sounded ropey back there,’ said Anderson. ‘I’ll take a look when I finish this.’
‘Great,’ said Lawrence, ‘Might have been an idea to say this before we parked the damn thing outside a pub.’
Arthur made a point of noisily slapping the palms of his hands on his face.
-
Late afternoon, the sky was still hidden under a black pall-like cloud. Bob Owen stood by the road leading into the barracks and watched several tanks pass him by. He looked at them with a sense of marvel and fear. Every night he had the same dream: his bullet-riddled body falling underneath the wheels of the tank. The crack of his bones would wake him up gasping for breath.
Nightmares aren’t just for the night. Each passing day increased his sense of dread. Soon he would be inside one of these beasts. Facing him would be an enemy inside a better-made tank, intent on killing him. It was madness. How could any sane person step inside one of those death machines and drive happily towards certain death. He felt the tears sting his eyes as he looked at each tank. Quickly he wiped his eyes free of the incriminating evidence of his cowardice. He thought of Danny. Over the last few weeks he found his envy of Danny turning more bitter.
There seemed to be no fear in his friend. Danny’s nature, his character had adapted to, rather than been changed by, the training. Gone was the boy he had travelled down with. He seemed not so much a man, now, as manly. His natural gregariousness and good humour remained, but it was enhanced with a quiet assurance about what he was there to do and a confidence that he could do it. There was a certainty about his role in a tank, a wider understanding of tactics and a courage that remained beyond Bob’s grasp.
Today, like every day since his arrival at the army training camp, Bob lived in dread that his fear would be perceived by his comrades. He would be seen for what he was: a coward. Unmanly. He had not yet managed to develop an independent life outside himself and assimilate his identity within the group. He was an outsider and it was becoming more apparent by the day.
How could he face the enemy? How could he face the aggressive artillery fire, the deadly crack of bullets, the crushing terror of tanks when he could barely bring himself to be incarcerated in one during training? Rain began to fall gently creating rivulets running down his face. He stood looking out at the field with the tanks and the trucks arriving with soldiers from other camps. All around him men sprinted for cover from the rain.
-
‘My bet is we’ll be out there by summer,’ said Arthur. His eyes were on Anderson, outside in the rain, looking at the engine of the A13.
‘Out where?’ asked Danny, smiling.
‘Don’t start that again,’ replied Lawrence. ‘I hope Will’s all right.’
‘Yeah, it’s a bit wet out there,’ noted Donnelly. Unlike the others, he was genuinely concerned for his friend’s welfare.
‘Who cares if he gets wet. It’s the damn tank I want sorted,’ laughed Lawrence. A minute later he saw Anderson give the thumbs up.
Lawrence nodded and looked at the rest of the boys, ‘That’s us. Come on we better move it.’
The journey back took place without incident. As they arrived, they saw several three tonners arriving with soldiers. Lawrence called down to Danny and Anderson below, ‘Somethings up. We’ve got company.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Danny.
‘Looks like the whole battalion is here.’
‘Interesting,’ responded Danny.
The tank pulled into the allotted space and the crew hopped out. The drizzle was making up its mind and becoming something heavier and even more unpleasant. Danny spotted Bob standing under a tree smoking a cigarette. He jogged over to his friend.
‘Guarding the tanks?’
‘Something like that,’ replied Bob in a neutral almost unrecognisable voice. They looked at one another. Bob was performing a role in front of his friend now. All the world is a stage, and Bob was acting a part. He wasn’t a person any longer but a perspective. He hoped that the mask he showed would soon become his reality. He suspected it wouldn’t. Danny would be the first to see this; perhaps he had already.
‘What were you up to today?’ asked Danny.
‘Same thing you did yesterday. At the garage learning about ignition systems, crankshafts and clutch plates.’
‘Exciting wasn’t it? You must be an expert now,’ said Danny with a grin.
‘All over it,’ lied Bob.
Danny looked at the soldiers streaming between the trucks and the barracks. Something was definitely in the offing.
‘Do you know what’s happening?’
Bob looked at Danny with a raised eyebrow; a sardonic smile spread over his face.
‘Time to become heroes.’
2
Commanding Officer Lieutenant-Colonel Dinham Drew looked out at his men as they stood in ranks in the parade ground. The rain beat softly down on his black beret. He preferred to wear this when addressing the men even if it offered precious little protection against the British weather.
Drew was in his -forties but would easily have passed for much older. His age stood in contrast to the youth of the men he commanded. He seemed like a father-figure to the regiment: a father-figure in the Victorian mould. Discipline was his guiding principle. Flouting army regulations, poor turn out on the parade ground, half-hearted drilling were routinely punished. This was not just a moral crusade; Drew believed discipline a bulwark against fear, against incompetence and most importantly, weakness. It would save the lives of his men. Nothing mattered more to him than victory but at the least human cost.
For nearly a minute Drew said nothing. Danny was at the front and tried to read his face. He felt a shiver travel along his arm and down his back that had nothing to do with the rain. All around him stood the men of the RTR. To a man they were holding their breath. The parade ground was eerily silent. Finally, Drew spoke in a voice that came not just from another caste but from another century.
‘Are we all here?’ he asked a staff officer at his side. The officer nodded.
‘At ease, men. I called this meeting because I’ve got some news for you. I shan’t beat about the bush. You may be hearing rumours that we are going abroad. This shouldn’t be a surprise. We need you where it matters. For security reasons I can’t say where, so don’t ask. Put it this way, you won’t be in England this Christmas. It’s time to go to war. However, it does mean you can have embarkation leave of seven days. Married men first. They probably need it.’
‘No, we don’t,’ shouted Arthur from the back.
Everyone laughed, including Drew.
‘Be that as it may, details will be posted soon. This is it. This is what
we’ve been training for. Jerry has been taking pot shots at us long enough. Now it’s our turn. Good luck, men.’
And that was it. They were going to war. Danny turned to look at Bob. His friend was shivering in the rain. His face had turned white.
-
‘I can’t do this, Danny.’
Bob was shaking. Physically shaking. Danny wasn’t sure what to say. The two friends were in Danny’s tent. No one could hear what Bob was saying, his voice barely audible. Tears welled in Bob’s eyes.
‘I’ll never survive. What’ll happen to Beth? My baby?’
‘Enough of this, Bob. I’ll look after you. We’ll all look after one another.’
‘Haven’t you been listening?’ said Bob angrily. ‘It’s one thing to take on a bunch of Italians but the Germans are different. They killed my dad in the end. They’ll kill me; wait’ll you see.’
‘No one’s saying it’ll be easy, but this is what the training is meant to do. You’ll see when the time comes.’
Bob looked at Danny incredulously then shook his head. Danny waited for Bob to say something as he was out of ammunition on his own pep talk.
‘Not sure you’ve been listening, Danny-boy. It’s one thing to learn how to drive a tank, master its weapons, and maintain them. But if you can only see eighty yards in front and the guns that you’re up against can knock you out at eight hundred yards, or more if it’s one their anti-tank guns, then no amount of training will help. Do you understand? The odds are stacked against us making it through, Danny. It just takes one mistake from us or, more likely, a well-trained Jerry and we’re buggered, mate. Well and truly buggered. We’re cannon fodder mate. That’s all the likes of us are.’
This was difficult to argue with. Danny had also thought along similar lines but usually stopped himself before it became the kind of spiral downwards to a dark place where no light or prospect of escape existed. Bob was falling headlong into such a place and he hadn’t finished yet.