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

admire the way the colonel was putting a brave face on some of the obvious limitations. He noticed that Major Joly was less sphinx-like in this regard.

‘Any thoughts, men?’

No one wanted to be seen as a bellyacher, so the comments were confined to appreciating that they had, at least, a gun that could match the German Panzer. Joly was studying the men more closely as they spoke. His eyes fixed on Danny. Perhaps it was something on Danny’s face but when the men had finished Joly spoke up.

‘What do you think…?’

‘Shaw, sir.’

‘Shaw. Do you share these opinions?’

Danny found himself reddening a little as all eyes turned towards him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a grin erupt over the face of Arthur. Unseen by the officers, Arthur nudged him in the ribs.

‘Well sir, I think the Grant is an improvement on what we’ve had. As the men say, the gun means we can take a pop at the Panzers from the same distance. They won’t like that. Of course, this assumes that they come at us head on. It’s not always the case, though, as we know.’

Joly and Roberts were both nodding thoughtfully.

‘But that’s not the biggest issue.’

Danny noticed Arthur suddenly spin his head round. This was obviously going to be a new one on him.

‘Careful, Danny boy,’ said Arthur in a stage whisper so bad that it might have been heard in Cairo. The group laughed at this, including the two officers.

‘Go on, Shaw,’ said Roberts. ‘Don’t worry, we need to know these things. It might save lives.’

Danny turned to the tank and stepped backwards. If Arthur had been surprised by Danny’s tone before, he was now close to shock. All eyes followed Danny as he continued stepping backwards and looking along the line of tanks. He pointed to one of the Stuart tanks further up the line.

‘If you look at the Stuart and then compare it to the Grant, you’ll see that it’s quite a bit shorter. Now that’s all very well for me although it’ll make no odds to a short arse like Arthur here.’

The soldiers and the two officers erupted into laughter at this, none more so than Arthur although not before he had pronounced Danny a ‘cheeky git’.

Roberts and Joly glanced at one another.

‘I think I see what you’re saying, Shaw,’ said the Lieutenant Colonel. ‘You’re concerned about our ability to hide hull-down on a ridge.’

‘Yes, sir, the top of the tank’s going to stick out like a sore thumb. We’ll lose the element of surprise and give the Panzers a nice target to aim at. Don’t get me wrong, it’s wonderful to be able to lob a few fourteen pound shells in Jerry’s direction but next time can you ask the powers that be to stick the big gun in the turret and have done with it.’

‘I shall tell them personally what Private Shaw thinks.’

Danny laughed good-naturedly along with the rest of the men. The two officers departed leaving Danny at the mercy of a dozen berets slapping him around the head, none harder than Arthur. He was laughing too much to care.

The laughing stopped a few moments later as they heard aircraft overhead. Silence fell as a couple of dozen eyes peered up into the sky nervously. Two planes came into view.

‘Messerschmidts,’ said one man.

The two planes were not accompanied by any others. They posed no threat at the height they were flying. Danny relaxed a little. The two planes were a reminder that the training over the last few weeks was for a purpose. The number of these reconnaissance flights by the enemy had increased. They were coming again. The warmer weather heralded the return of the war. Danny exchanged glances with Arthur. His friend’s face was taut.

‘Let’s get a cup of tea,’ said Arthur.

-

The next day was the 24th May. Danny was assigned to a new tank. Whether it was because of his comments the previous day or some form of divine retribution, his new tank was one of the Grants. He smiled ruefully as Arthur cackled away at the news and confirmed his previously well-hidden belief in the existence of the Divine.

The Grant, unlike the Stuart, could host seven people although six could operate it if need be. The larger hull just about managed to incorporate the extra bodies. Danny was handed the role of gunner on the seventy-five-millimetre gun. He and another new arrival, Angus McLeish, walked together to their new tank. They were greeted by the tank commander, Captain Benson, who introduced them to the crew.

‘Men, this is Private Shaw, and Private McLeish. They are joining us in our new tank. It’s all a bit new for us too. We’ve been using the Stuart up until now. Shaw will be our gunner on this big chap here,’ said Benson, putting his hand on the cannon of the seventy-five-millimetre. I think McLeish it makes sense for you to be the loader.’

McLeish was a year younger than Danny and had arrived the previous month. Taller than Danny he was all skin, bones and acne. However, he seemed pleased to be on the big gun albeit as a loader.

‘This is Wodehouse, no relation to the writer. He’s our driver. We call him ‘PG’ although I gather his first name is Sebastian. I think he prefers ‘PG’.

‘I do,’ confirmed the burly Yorkshireman. His face was round, but he certainly did not seem in any way jolly. Danny recognised this face. It was one worn by the veterans of the last year who’d faced superior weaponry, who’d lost friends and who knew the job was far from over. A cigarette was permanently hung from his lower lip like a swearword. It stayed there from breakfast until bedtime. He smoked like a factory town.

‘PG is our mechanic when we’re adrift from the echelon. Next up we have Archie Andrews, our gunner who’ll be with me in the turret.’

Andrews was a tall, lean corporal. He wore a thin moustache and greeted Danny