by Julian Noyce
“Shit! Shit! We gotta get fucking moving!”
Tim put the field glasses to his eyes now.
“Holy Christ. Johnny. Run! Run!”
They only took a minute to run back down to the truck, both of them falling over in their haste to get away. Tim climbed up and jumped into the passenger seat, his Sten cradled across his lap. Johnny put his on the floor near his feet as he climbed into the driving seat. He slammed his door shut and his fingers scrabbled for the ignition key.
He turned it.
Nothing!
He tried again in two, then three quick successions.
Still nothing.
Tim was frantically looking out of the window expecting to see the whole German army descending on them at any moment.
“It won’t fucking start!, Johnny was desperate.
Tim looked at his friend. Their eyes met. No words were necessary. They were possibly living the last few minutes of their lives. Tim looked in the door mirror at their tracks left in the sand. He knew that when that car rounded the bend at the bottom of the dune the tracks would be seen and the game up. The Germans would surely investigate!
Johnny looked at his friend again, frantically turning the key. Suddenly the engine roared into life. Johnny closed his eyes and blew out his breath. He crunched the gears in to reverse and backed the Bedford a short distance, then he crunched it into first and drove off. Finding firmer ground he got the Bedford into third and hit the tarmac road at thirty miles an hour just in front of the Mercedes which had to swerve to avoid being hit and came to an abrupt stop.
Wurtz leaped out of the car and stared angrily at the tailboard as it sped away. He turned and shouted at the Mercedes driver.
“What the hell was that?”
“It was British sir.”
Wurtz wasted no time. He put his fingers in the corners of his mouth and whistled waving the lead truck and motorcycles forward. The truck screeched to a halt and Wehrmacht soldiers jumped down onto the road.
“After them!” he roared.
Soldiers jumped into the motorcycle sidecars and they roared away, the passengers loading the MG42’s.
It didn’t take them long to catch the truck. Johnny gave out a yelp of surprise when he checked the door mirror and saw the first of the motorcycles catching them.
“Oh God! Motorbikes!” he yelled.
Tim looked into his mirror. He could see two his side. Realising it would take too long to wind down his window he smashed it with his gun instead. He leaned out and sent a burst at the lead motorcycle hitting it many times, catching its riders unawares. The lead rider backed off. He looked down. Miraculously he wasn’t hurt and his bike not badly damaged. He closed in on the truck again. Tim leaned out and sent another burst which missed the bikes. The trigger clicked, the magazine empty. The lead rider saw Tim dart back inside the window. He made his move, opened up his throttle and drew alongside just as Tim leaned out with Johnny’s gun. The MG42 jammed as Tim emptied Johnny’s Sten into the lead riders chest. He was thrown backwards off the bike in a spray of blood and guts. The passenger let go of the MG42 and tried to grab the handlebars. The bike was wobbling uncontrollably and he fell between it and the sidecar as it cart wheeled over and over. He went under the back wheels of the Bedford and it minced him instantly into a pulp.
“Got one of them!” Tim shouted with glee.
Johnny punched the air with joy
“Felt him go under the wheels,” he said looking into the mirror at the red mash left behind.
The two remaining motorcycle sidecars were now flanking the Bedford’s tail. Johnny could see in his mirrors both machine gunners ready. So far the Germans hadn’t fired a shot.
Now they did.
A wicked burst from an MG42 ricocheted off the trucks sides, the bullets tearing through canvas looking for victims. Johnny couldn’t understand why they weren’t shooting out his tyres. Suddenly Johnny jammed on the brakes. The two motorcycles rocketed past and Johnny swerved into the one on his side crushing it. Tim wasn’t so lucky. The one on his side fired off a volley and he ducked but not before he was hit in the arm. Blood splashed the inside of the door and ran down the outside. He let out a howl of pain. Johnny looked across at his companion. He could see bullet holes in the door. Incredibly nothing else inside the cab had been hit. Loose MG42 bullets were rolling around on the floor.
“Tim are you badly hurt?”
Tim was ripping bits of his shirt off to make a tourniquet. He was in the process of tying it just above his elbow using his good arm and his teeth. He grunted with the pain.
“I don’t think so. It passed straight through. It sure does bloody hurt. ARRGGHH!” he cursed as the truck hit a series of bumps in the road.
“Sorry. Sorry. Bloody hell your arm looks bad mate.”
Tim wiped the sweat off his face with his good arm.
“Listen I think I can still fire the gun but you may have to load it for me.”
Johnny looked in the mirror. The remaining motorbike was no where to be seen. He began slowing down again.
“I can’t see him. He’s not there anymore.”
Tim leaned his head out of the window.
“Yes he is. I can see his shadow behind us.”
Next time Johnny looked the motorcycle was back in his mirror. He was about to look away when panic set in.
“Shit Tim. His passenger is gone.”
They both glanced at each other.
“He’s in the back of the truck,” Johnny said.
Johnny could see the German in the mirror. He had climbed out of the back of the lorry and was now creeping along its side. He had a pistol in his hand.
“Here he comes Tim.”
Johnny weaved the truck across the road working at the steering wheel, pulling it this way and that trying to throw him off. The German held on tight. Tim was frantically trying to load his Sten one handed. He dropped the new clip on the floor.
“Damn!”
He dived down for it hurting his arm in the process. He could just about feel it with his fingertips. Then he was able to turn it into his grasp and pick it up. He jammed the Sten between his knees and loaded the clip. The motorcycle was keeping a safe distance. Now it surged forward again to try to add confusion.
“Tim we’re going to have to swap places. I can’t shake him off. If you can drive I’ll deal with him.”
Despite his pain Tim nodded.
Johnny stood up, his foot pressed firmly on the accelerator, both hands gripping the steering wheel. Tim slid over and under Johnny. The truck slowed for a moment while they exchanged places. The German moved towards them in the lull.. Tim stomped on the throttle and the Bedford roared on. They rounded a bend and in the distance they could see Matmata and safety. Alf and the others waiting for them.
Johnny opened the passenger door, climbed out and grabbed the Sten off the seat. He got a secure footing between the cab and the body and the moment the German appeared at the back of the cab he fired but missed. The German threw himself away, slipped, and nearly fell, holding on one handed. Tim afraid to weave the Bedford about now in case Johnny was thrown. Suddenly the Germans pistol nosed its way around the corner. Johnny saw it and ducked. The shot smashed the glass behind the driver. The shattered glass raining down on Tim. The German chose his moment and without warning lunged forward and jumped the small gap and landed by the drivers door. Tim saw him coming in the mirror but was unable to do anything about it. The German grabbed his arm and pulled it. The Bedford slewed around in a wide arc, left the road, turned one hundred and eighty degrees and jumping and jarring over the rough terrain bounced back onto the road. They were now heading back the way they’d come. The motorcycle also turned in pursuit. The German aimed his pistol at Tim and pulled the trigger just as the truck hit a pothole. The shot fired harmlessly into the air. Tim let go of the steering wheel and grabbed the pistol arm banging it down against the door until the German dropped the gun. The back wheels went over it.
Johnny climbed back down into the cab.
“Tim duck!”
Tim did as he was told. Johnny couldn’t get a clean shot. Then Tim pulled the door handle and kicked the door. It opened and swung out over thin air. The German’s legs flailing as he tried to hang on. The motorcycle raced forward to try to assist just as Johnny leaned behind Tim and fired the Sten. The bullets went through the door metal hitting the German numerous times in the torso. He fell, bounced in the road and went under the sidecar causing the motorcycle to cart wheel. Its rider was thrown and he landed heavily in the road sliding some way before coming to a stop.
“That’s it,” Johnny said “That’s the last of them.
As if on cue, due to the loss of blood and exhaustion Tim slumped at the wheel. He managed to bring the Bedford to a halt. Johnny jumped down, ran round the front and climbed into the drivers side pushing Tim into the passenger seat. He looked into the mirror just as the motorbike exploded. Then he eased the truck into gear, turned it round and sped off towards the town.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Mercedes saloon slowed at the first wrecked motorcycle, steered around the crushed man in the road and soon arrived at the second destroyed motorbike.
“It looks like that truck ran over this one,” Koenig said.
The third one was still burning. Its rider was laying face down some fifty or so yards past it. The car stopped. Koenig and Wurtz got out. Koenig turned the body over and saw the worst sight of his life. The mans face was gone. Where his eyes and nose should have been were just red holes, holes that bled. Koenig felt sick. Wurtz suddenly drew his Luger and emptied it into the corpse making the body jump. He threw his head back and roared with anger. Koenig stared at him open mouthed.
‘The man is insane.’
“You’re shooting at a corpse.”
Wurtz rounded on him.
“Get in the car!”
It was an order. An order Koenig didn’t like.
“Have you forgotten my rank Major.”
Wurtz looked at him in recognition. When he’d given the order he hadn’t been focused on his surroundings.
“I beg your pardon Colonel. I was angry. Yes. I apologise.”
The rest of their vehicles were now approaching.
“We must remember our mission and respect the Doctor’s wishes. I’m afraid Major Wurtz that we’ll have to let these men go,” Koenig said looking at the dust trail being kicked up by the Bedford.
Johnny brought the truck to a complete stop in the square. The squeal of brakes brought Shaw, Rogers and Alf out. Alf took one look at the state of the truck.
“Christ what happened to you?”
Johnny jumped down onto the road. He nearly collapsed from exhaustion but he found the strength to run round to Tim. Others were already there lifting him out of the Bedford. They helped him to where Sanjay had set up a temporary sickbay. The conditions were extremely poor but the best they could manage in the circumstances.
Alf looked at the truck. The passenger door had bullet holes in it and was streaked with blood. The drivers door wouldn’t close properly due to bent hinges. One rear tyre was hissing from a puncture. Both windows were smashed and the windscreen was cracked.
“That explosion sir,” Johnny said not knowing whether to talk to Rogers or the Major who was unknown to him, “It looks like it was a German motorcycle. It must have hit a mine because they were using metal detectors on the road.”
Johnny coughed and someone offered him a cup of water.
“How many are there?”
“There were more motorcycles, about six trucks similar in size to ours, one saloon car. Don’t know how many men in the trucks. There were some in one, they’re the ones that chased us.”
Major Shaw spoke.
“Private?”
“Larder sir.”
“Private Larder I am Major Basil Shaw of the 4th Indian army. I shall be assuming command here. I….”
“But you’re English….” Johnny stopped realising his slip.
“Yes I’m English. That is not unusual in the Indian army.” Shaw replied not minding Larders rudeness under the circumstances, “It sounds like you’ve had quite an eventful day.”
Johnny told him what had happened.
“Come gentlemen,” Shaw said to Rogers and Alf “we must prepare ourselves for attack.”
The first of the German trucks nosed its way quietly into Matmata. The saloon car with the two officers and Doctor von Brest, the three remaining motorcycle sidecars and the trucks with the archaeologists all waited just outside town.
Wurtz and Koenig stood in the road peering through binoculars. The town looked deserted.
“Maybe they’ve gone,” Koenig said.
“No they’re there.”
“Perhaps we should just leave and go about our business.”
Wurtz lowered his binoculars to look at Koenig who still had his pressed to his face.
“They’ve killed six of your men Colonel. Six of the fatherland’s men. As an officer of the SS I cannot allow this to go unpunished. We’ll find them. I’ll see their bodies hang by sunset.”
“You killed two yourself.”
“That was different. Those men were deserters. You would have done exactly as I did.”
“I would have seen to it that those men had received a fair trial.”
“I gave them a summary trial and a summary execution.”
“By cutting their throats?”
“This is a war Colonel Koenig. Bullets cost money. A knife in the throat costs nothing.”
“I will be reporting the matter to General Von Brockhorst who will undoubtedly report the matter to General Von Arnim.”
“You don’t like me Colonel, it’s all right,” Wurtz said with a smile.
“I didn’t say that.”
“It matters not. We don’t have to like each other to work together but may I remind you that I was sent here personally by Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler.”
It wasn’t that Koenig didn’t like Wurtz. He didn’t like what he stood for, the uniform of the SS, their methods. But there was something else, he couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had a strange feeling that they’d met before, but for the life of him Koenig couldn’t think where.”
’Elsa’s husband is an officer in the SS’ he was thinking ‘but her name is Von Wurz.’
He tried to remember if he’d ever heard her refer to him by name. he was sure she hadn’t nor could he remember ever seeing a photograph of him but they were always turned down. He cursed himself for never having turned one over but he’d never wanted to see a picture of the man whose wife he was bedding. Then suddenly he became paranoid.
’Did she not call out the name Otto once in her sleep? Otto?
He felt himself breaking out into a sweat. He slowly lowered his field glasses to look at Wurtz. He let his hand fall casually to his side and felt the reassurance of his holstered Luger.
“Are you married Major?” he asked nervously.
“That’s a strange question to ask at a time like this.”
“You said I didn’t like you. I’m just trying to get to know you.”
Wurtz stared at him for a few moments. Koenig found it difficult to hold his gaze but he managed it. Wurtz was trying to read the other mans thoughts. Finally he put his binoculars back to his face. To Koenigs relief he said.
“No I’m not married Colonel.”
Koenig let out a silent sigh.
“My wife is dead,” he took his field glasses away and stared at the Colonel again.
“She was murdered.”
Koenig was shocked.
’He said it as if he doesn’t care,’ he was thinking. Then he remembered the deserters, Klaus Stuck dying in the road, the corpse he shot. Perhaps the man has no feelings.
“I’m very sorry Major. If you would like to tell me about it, if you want to talk….”
“I
don’t!”
The German lorries stopped in the town centre of Matmata. Their officer Leutnant Braun was out first. He ordered his men to standard defensive positions.
“Cover, there, there, there and there. Go! Go!”
The Bedford was nearby. Braun smiled when he saw the blood on the passenger door.
“They’re wounded,” he said “And nothing’s more dangerous than a wounded animal. Remember that all these English are animals not fit to be part of our master race,” He continued trying to provoke his men.
From the safety of their covering positions the English and Indians heard Brauns comments and anger flushed over them. Fingers tightened on triggers. Suddenly a shot rang out and the back of Brauns head disappeared. Larder was looking down the sights of his high powered Enfield snipers rifle. He smirked as he saw the look of surprise on Brauns face. Their cover blown the rest of the British opened fire.
Shaw was annoyed that Larder had fired without waiting for the order. The Germans under cover now began firing at anything and everything. Alf’s men keeping their heads down. The first sound of the machine gun fire made Sanjay jump. He was pulling pieces of splintered bone from Tim’s arm. The bullet had passed straight through and the wound was clean but Tim had lost quite a bit of blood. Sanjay was more concerned that often these sorts of wounds became infected by the constant buzzing flies in the desert, flies that caused dysentery.
The German firing ceased. The British were inside buildings, now they moved up to windows and doorways and returned fire. Bullets rained down on the trucks. One of them had a fuel line hit and it suddenly exploded, the petrol ignited by sparks. From the outskirts of town Koenig and Wurtz saw the smoke.
“Braun come in. Come in Braun,” Koenig was calling into the radio.
“That must have been the British truck going up.”
“Leutnant Braun come in.” Koenig put the handset down “It’s useless.”
Now with the radio off they could hear the gunfire.
“How many men have you sent into that town?”