El Alamein by Jack Murray (most popular novels of all time txt) 📕

running and fighting this felt like they were back in control. He loaded another armour piercing shell and heard Kummel yell in triumph. The tank was now under attack, too. However, shells seemed to hit the tank and bounce off. The enemy was still too far away to do damage. The radio crackled with communication.

‘Ninety tanks.’

‘Five hit.’

The British were taking a beating and all at once thoughts of the heat, the smell and the sand disappeared from Manfred’s mind. He became part of the tank. His arms pumping cartridges into the breech like pistons. It seemed almost effortless the efficiency with which this machine unleashed its deadly intent.

Kummel was standing in the cramped space. Manfred could see his face muscles working as he chewed gum. Spitting out orders.

‘Up fifty. Load. Fire.’

Despite the noise of explosions outside, he wasn’t shouting. This was more like a conductor of an orchestra. The musicians knew their job. The job of the leader was to set the tempo, control the direction and listen for the key moments which would determine their next actions.

The engagement lasted a matter of minutes. Even so, Manfred was bathed in sweat; his heart was beating rapidly although his breathing remained controlled. Kummel was standing motionless now, eyes fixed on the viewfinder of the periscope. He held a hand up to halt the firing.

There was silence in the tank although explosions continued outside. The silence was enough to send Manfred’s imagination racing.

‘British are pulling back,’ said a voice on the radio. It sounded like Stiefelmayer.

‘I’m not surprised,’ commented Kummel.

Manfred looked through his periscope. There was too much smoke to have any real sense of the damage they’d inflicted but he could see black smoke and red flame engulfing a couple of the enemy tanks.

Cramer called a halt. Manfred looked surprised which Kummel noted with a smile.

‘We don’t want to be drawn into the range of their anti-tank guns. At least not yet.’

The roar of explosions lessened to such a degree that Manfred had to strain his ears to gain a sense of where they were detonating. They sounded distant as if the Panzers were giving the British tanks a send-off.

‘Forward,’ said Cramer, after a few minutes.

Hubbuch grumbled into his mic, ‘Here we go again.’

The tank rumbled forward and then was ordered to stop. Kummel looked down into the tank and said, ‘Everybody out. Get some air and see what we can find in the British tanks.’

Manfred and the others hesitated a moment and then Beer kicked open the hatch which allowed the acrid smell of cordite-infused air to flood into the cabin. They exited the tank and Manfred took a few steps forward to view the landscape.

All around were the smoking hulks of British tanks. Manfred stopped counting them when he reached forty. The smell that greeted him was more than just cordite. Manfred didn’t want to think about that. Perhaps one of the reasons why Kummel and the other senior commanders had ordered them out onto the open was to remind them of what the price of failure looked like. It was littered all around them. Black twisted shapes of metal, what had once been tanks, and the charred bodies of the men inside. A number of British soldiers wandered with their hands up. Manfred ignored them and joined Beer who was scavenging inside a British tank.

In the gathering gloom, Manfred and the others took what they could. It seemed like a competition with the other Panzer crews. Just before Kummel called for them to return, Manfred ran into Gerhardt who was laden with two jerricans of water. They smiled at one another.

‘I wish it was always as easy as this,’ said Gerhardt as they stopped and shared a cigarette. ‘We stopped at least six of their tanks.’

‘We destroyed seven,’ said Manfred before bursting out into laughter joined by his friend. Then they quietened as they heard a small explosion inside a burning tank. They looked at one another, a trace of guilt in their eyes. There was no goodbye just a nod and they returned to their respective tanks.

At the tank, Siefers was busy tying down the jerricans containing fuel and water. The tank seemed to be weighed down by their haul. Nearby, Kummel was talking to Cramer. Manfred watched them and the other company commanders in conference. It was quite animated, but this was normal. Disagreement and debate were not frowned upon. However, once a decision was made, obedience was demanded. Kummel returned to the tank and gathered the crew together.

‘We still do not have a clear idea of enemy numbers, but we’ve made a dent today. There are still British forces in and around Saunnu but they seem to be retreating. The intention is that we move at first light towards Msus and then the coast at Benghazi. If the British are retreating, then we will help them. Just to warn you, we have a long journey ahead of us.’

7

South East of Saunnu, Libya: 23rd January 1942

They waited until midnight before setting off again. In the meantime, Arnold insisted that everyone rest. The reduced column followed flags left by Barrett on his initial reconnaissance. In the darkness it was difficult to see the faces of the other men. They drove in silence. His nervousness was exacerbated by the chill of the cold night air. He was glad it was dark, and that conversation was forbidden. Despite having been with the Jock Column for over six weeks, this was their first night mission. There was a hint of desperation in the air. Previously they were like pirates. The hunter preying on slow moving echelons. They could wade in and create all manner of hell before running away knowing that the enemy could not catch them.

Now it felt different. This was not about harassing the enemy. It was about survival. For the first time since joining the group, Danny felt a prickle of real fear.

Half a mile from the oasis they stopped. Barrett and a group of infantry