by Julian Noyce
Out of the corner of his eye he could see the other plane. He glanced across to it. It was his buddy Chuck Holts. They were part of a patrol that were on the look out for German convoys. This morning they had flown out over the sea looking for shipping and too small a detachment to attack marine convoys they had headed inland in a wide sweep towards Matmata. As they circled the hills they had seen the dust column near the village and had climbed to five thousand feet to avoid detection. They had kept close to the mountains for cover, banked and now descended to a thousand feet and were heading straight for the stationary convoy.
Chuck opened up his throttle, gave a “Whoo hooooo!” into his headset and zoomed in for the kill.
The two pilots could see men on the ground running to their trucks for cover. They dropped to a hundred feet and closed in.
Chuck opened fire at five hundred yards distance. It was good to get some action after weeks of finding nothing to shoot at.
Johnny saw the bullets that were coming for him. They kicked up tarmac, stones, dirt and dust as they raced past either side of him. The plane screamed over head and was soon lost by the buildings.
“Johnny take cover!” Alf was shouting.
Larder was still in the same place trying to load his gun. He cocked it just in time and sighted on the planes as they made their second run. Johnny aimed and pulled the trigger.
Click!
Nothing happened.
The sten had jammed.
He was forced to run for cover as the bullets ripped up the ground around him. Two of the men weren’t so lucky, falling to the ground with their legs shot up. Alf and Wilf Burroughs dashed out to them as once again the planes turned. They dragged the groaning wounded men to safety.
“Shit this looks bad Wilf. His legs are pretty shot up.”
“Alf I’m sure that those planes were American. P40’s I think they are called.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I thought I saw a white star under the wing.”
Time seemed to stand still. Alf was watching the two planes as they banked two miles away.
“Alf trust me they’re American.”
To Alf’s memory Burroughs had never been wrong about anything ever before.
“Alf I swear it. They’re American.”
“We must do something to stop them.”
“Like what?”
“When they come round again I’m going to try and convince them that we’re surrendering. Get me something white to use as a flag.”
“Alf no it’s too dangerous.”
Alf found a white sheet and tore a large piece off. He quickly tied two ends into knots around a spade handle. He walked out into the middle of the square. Every gun barrel ready to shoot the planes down should Alf fall. They were circling far out then turned and came straight at him. Alf stood still and watched as death approached at 300mph!
“Crazy fool, is he trying to get himself killed,” Rogers shouted as he threw himself down next to Burroughs.
“Ready boys,” Wilf shouted “shoot these bastards down if they so much as scratch him.”
At a thousand yards distance Chuck Holts levelled his wings and put his finger lightly on the machine cannon trigger. He looked into his sights and then peered above it. Some fool appeared to be in the middle of the square waving what looked to be some sort of white flag. He grinned and spoke into his headset to Billy.
“This one’s mine. Kiss your arse goodbye Jerry.”
“Holy shit! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Billy screamed “They’re British!”
It took a moment for the words to sink in.
“Bank left! Bank left!” Billy yelled.
Their engines laboured as they banked steeply away.
Alf was left in the middle of the square. His heart was thumping, his breathing deep. He had faced death many times but this had been the closest yet.
The noise from the fighter planes deepened as they climbed.
“How did you know that they’re British?” Chuck called into his headset.
“H.Q. said over the transmission that we were to look out for a British group mine clearing in the area of Matmata. Didn’t you hear it?”
Chuck looked down at his radio.
“No it’s turned off.”
“You bloody idiot!”
“Shit! I hope we didn’t hurt anyone!”
“We’ll fly past slow so that they know we know. I hope you’re right. Chuck I think I saw blood in the road.”
“Aww no! Sure hope not.”
The british men all met in the centre surrounding Alf.
“It worked Alf, you did it. You saved us.”
“Somehow they knew. It could have been a decoy but they knew.”
“Here they come again,” It was Johnny Larder. He still couldn’t believe that he’d survived the first strafing run without a scratch.
This time the planes came in much slower, one of them dipped its wings at them ,
“Everybody wave at them” Alf said.
They could see the pilots wave back.
“Well done” Alf said, “yes well done you nearly fucking killed us!”
Burrows was beside the wounded men,
“Alf?” He called.
All attention now diverted to the two wounded.
“Poor old Jack’s dead Alf!”
There was a stunned silence. Burrows closed the dead mans eyes.
Alf watched the two disappearing aircraft.
“They’ll probably never know what they did here today.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Beyond the hills where the planes had circled the land was flat. Here it was blisteringly hot in summer, warm in winter, freezing at night.
Obergefreiter Klaus Stuck was wondering for the umpteenth time how that was possible. He was the lead motorcycle in the convoy, his side car empty. He was the lucky one. He had a clear road ahead of him. He looked into the small round mirrors attached to his handlebars. The first two bikes behind he could see. They were abreast of him but some distance back. Beyond them he couldn’t see the convoy of trucks that were following. They were there though. Carrying the team of archaeologists just arrived from Germany led by the Colonel of the Wehrmacht and the Major of the SS. Both officers travelling in a Mercedes saloon with the Doctor. The anaemic looking man in the white suit.
The Doctor was furious. They had passed through the small village of Matmata four days before and had travelled over two hundred miles from the town only to find they were travelling in the wrong direction. They had come full circle and were now approaching Matmata again.
“It’s just over those next few hills Herr doctor,” the Colonel said.
“That’s provided of course that there are no more mistakes on your army map Herr Colonel,” the Doctor replied sarcastically.
“The map is accurate enough Herr doctor. The Herr Majors map is the same as mine. The problem lies with the British Herr Doctor. They are the ones who have removed all the road signs and to be honest with you, out here in the desert, all the roads look the same.”
“Do you not follow rivers and railroads?”
“What railroads? What rivers? Most rivers here in North Africa run dry during the summer months. Why you could be standing in a dried up river bed right now and not even know it.”
“I have spent most of my adult life in deserts excavating. I could have made the greatest archaeological discovery ever. Carter found it first! Why? Because I took a wrong turn once. Ended up in a dry river bed. It was so vast that we didn’t even know it. We camped there for the night. Then it rained. It quickly became a flash flood that took away three quarters of my team and equipment. I had to wait six weeks for replacements. I would appreciate it gentlemen if these events weren’t repeated here. We are on the brink here Colonel of the greatest archaeological find ever. The tomb of Alexander the great.”
It gave the Doctor an unexplainable shiver. The Colonel felt no emotion. He wished he was back in Berlin.
On the lead motorcycle Stuck shook his head. He was tired. So tired. He had been fighting the war for almost three years. Most of it here in Tunisia.
Then unexpectedly a month ago a new assignment. He was to be part of an escort for a team of archaeologists who would be excavating some distance from the front line fighting which had moved further north.
He couldn’t wait for the war to be over. For whoever to win. He didn’t particularly care which side won, he just wanted to go home. He had joined the army in 1936 because there was no work available in his village on the Rhine near Cologne. As a boy he had driven motorcycles on his grandfathers farm and it was only natural for him to join a motorcycle regiment. He had been accepted and spent his war years riding bikes in the Wehrmacht. He wanted to leave the army and pursue a career racing them. This was his dream and he thought about it every day. It kept him going all those lonely months away from home. He was married with a young wife and baby. He thought about them now. His beautiful wife Lotte and daughter Giselle. He had seen them only for a few days since Giselle had been born. To have left them was the worst pain he had ever known. It had been heartbreaking. He carried a photograph of them in his wallet. He looked into his rear view mirrors again. Would anyone notice if he stole a quick look at the photo. It was black and white and worn around the edges from looking at it so much. But Klaus Stuck couldn’t resist its charms. He reached into his left breast pocket with his right hand and pulled out his wallet and opened it. Through his dusty goggles he could see them, his loved ones, Lotte holding the baby up for the camera. Her seductive smile. Klaus felt the ache in his heart again.
He never saw the mine which exploded under him, tearing the bike to pieces and throwing him clear of the wreckage to land heavily in the road. The bikes fuel tank had exploded on impact and a brief fireball rose quickly turning to thick black smoke. The following vehicles ground to a halt narrowly avoiding each other in the dust.
Stuck lay stunned on his back in the road. He was briefly aware that something had thrown him bodily off his bike. There was an initial feeling of pain around his loins and buttocks but that whole area was now numb with the shock. His vision was poor due to the dust on his goggles and he reached up with his right hand to remove them. His actions were slow, his senses dull. He could hear his breathing. He couldn’t find his goggles with his hand. Something red dripped onto the goggle lenses.
‘I’m hurt,’ went through his mind.
He was vaguely aware of shadows appearing around him. He could now taste blood in his mouth. Then the daylight was blinding him. Someone had removed his goggles. He turned his head to his right side.
’I’ve lost my arm!’
It was just a stump. It was missing from the elbow down. Strangely he still felt no pain. He was aware of people standing over him. He needed a drink of water. He tried to speak but couldn’t.
“What’s going on now?” the Doctor asked.
Koenig reached for the door handle.
“I’ll find out Doctor von Brest.”
He made his way through the stopped vehicles ordering personnel to remain as they were. Then he could see the wreckage. Black, twisted metal, some still burning. Then he saw the red in the road.
“Dear God!”
Major Otto Wurtz was running up the road behind him. They stopped together and looked down at Stuck, looking tiny without his legs. Koenig put his hand over his mouth. There was a motorcyclist standing on either side of the fatally injured man. One of them had removed his goggles.
“Is he still alive?” Koenig asked through his horror.
The man holding the goggles nodded.
Wurtz undid his hip holster and pulled out his Luger handgun. He offered it to Koenig who looked at it in horror and shook his head. Wurtz cocked it and approached the mash of flesh that was once a man. Stuck was bleeding to death and fast. Nonetheless Wurtz pointed the Luger at close range and fired. Koenig jumped involuntarily at the shot. Wurtz put the Luger away, bent down and ripped Stuck’s dog tags from his neck.
“Drag it out of the road,” he ordered the two standing by.
“Yes sir. Shall we bury him sir?”
“Be quick about it. You’ll have to catch up.”
He turned and held out the dog tags so they dangled from his hand.
“One of yours I believe.”
Koenig took them.
“What was it?” the Doctor asked as they got back into the Mercedes.
“One of the motorcycles ran over a mine. The rider is dead.”
“Are we able to get through it?”
Koenig looked at him incredulously.
‘Cold hearted bastard’ he was thinking.
“Yes,” Wurtz replied calmly.
The Doctor leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder.
“Drive on.”
The Mercedes wound its way through the wreckage. They stopped at the front of the vehicles. Two sappers were in the road with mine detecting equipment. They moved to the side as Koenig wound down the window.
“You’ll have to wait here sir. We’re just checking for other mines.”
The breeze blew the photograph across the road. It came to rest against a very small thorn bush. A photograph of Klaus Stuck’s wife and baby daughter.
Alfred Dennis and the engineers had heard the explosion. They were, most of them getting to their feet. A cloud of black smoke was rising over the distant hills.
“What the bloody hell was that?” Wilf spoke next to his friend.
Alf was studying the smoke. He didn’t answer.
“One of those planes from earlier?”
Alf shook his head.
“No they are long gone.”
He continued watching it for a minute.
“Johnny,” he called finally.
Larder came forward.
“Yes sir.”
“Take someone with you, take that truck and find out what that was.”
“Yes sir,” Johnny replied excitedly.
“Larder!”
Johnny stopped. Alf smiled at him.
“Be careful private.”
“Yes sergeant.”
Johnny grabbed his friend from the pub that night, Tim, and together they crossed over to the Bedford. Burroughs tossed him a pair of binoculars which he caught mid air. They climbed into the truck, Johnny started it and they waved as they drove away. Alf and Burroughs watched them go.
“He really is a good lad Alf.”
Alf patted his friend around the shoulder.
“He’s the best Wilf.”
They turned at the sound of engines from behind. More British trucks arriving and one jeep. An officer climbed out. He was English, a Major, but wearing the uniform of the 4th Indian army.
The engineers saluted. The salute was returned.
“Who’s in charge here?”
“That would be me sir Captain William Rogers of the royal engineers.”
“I am Major Basil Shaw. We are here to help you with the removal and relocation of enemy mines and assist with some tanks that need recovery. You and your men are to place yourselves under my command. Any questions?”
“None sir.”
“Very well,” Shaw said looking around “Is this all the men you have?”
“Yes sir apart from two I’ve sent to investigate an explosion over there,” Rogers said pointing to the drifting smoke “I also have a man dead.”
“What happened to him?”
“Would you believe an American pilot.”
“An American.”
“Two P40’s strafed us. Two of my men were hit in the legs. One died. The other needs a hospital but there’s no hope out here. We’ll have to hope he’ll pull through.”
Major Shaw nodded.
“Very well. We’ll do everything we can for him,” he stopped “What’s that over there?”
“Two dead Germans. We found them.”
An Indian sergeant arrived. All the Indians were wearing turbans.<
br />
“Shall I let the men disembark Major?”
“No sergeant Singh. We’ll move out as soon as the rest of Captain….?”
“Rogers sir.”
“As soon as Captain Rogers men are back. Do you have a medical orderly?”
“Unfortunately he’s the one over there with his legs shot up.”
“Sergeant Singh find medic Sanjay, ask him to tend to the injured engineer, ask him sergeant to report to me personally the mans condition. Remind him that there is no possibility of getting to a hospital.”
Rogers saluted.
“Thank you for what you’ve done sir.”
“Sanjay’s skills are very accomplished. You need not worry about your man. Now Captain, sergeant, perhaps we could consult our maps.”
“Of course sir.”
“Race you,” Johnny laughed as he and Tim ran up the slope of a large dune. They had driven the road towards where they had seen the smoke earlier. Then they had left the road and parked the truck behind a dune to hide. Now they were scrambling up the sand pulling at each others shirts to be the first one to reach the top. Tim got there first and threw himself down. Johnny was about to charge past when Tim grabbed him and pulled him down.
“Keep down Johnny,” Tim spoke quietly “Look they’re about a mile away I’d guess,” Tim put the binoculars up to his face “Just as I feared they’re Germans!”
Johnny could make out people moving and trucks parked. There were some black objects in the road which he assumed was what had caused the smoke.
Tim handed Johnny the binoculars.
“I’d say if they are headed our way then we’re in trouble.”
Through the enhanced view Johnny could see wreckage in the road. Four men were sweeping metal detectors from side to side. A car, trucks and motorcycles. There didn’t appear to be any armour such as tanks. The motorcycle side cars were equipped with MG42’s. Apart from that he couldn’t see any other weapons.
As he watched he saw the four mine detectors finish their work and begin making their way back. One of them stopped and spoke to one of the cars occupants. Then he saw the car move forward. He moved the binoculars around and caught sight of the motorcycles saddling up. He put the binoculars down.