Crusader (A Novel of WWII Tank Warfare) by Jack Murray (best finance books of all time TXT) 📕

Aston glanced up at the wound.

‘It’s a scratch sir,’ said Danny, conscious it hurt like buggery.

‘And you?’ asked Ainsley, directing his gaze towards Craig.

Craig replied, ‘I’m the driver, I’ve been on wireless and a gunneralso.’

Ainsley nodded. It made sense as to why they had not been killedby the turret from Hutton’s tank.

‘All right,’ said Ainsley, looking at Craig, ‘You come with me.’

This left Danny and Captain Aston standing together.

‘Follow me…’ Aston paused a moment and waited for Danny to fill inwith his name.

‘Shaw, sir,’ said Danny.

‘Yes, yes, I remember.’

 24

15 kilometres south of Sidi Rezegh Airfield, November 21st,1941

Manfred stumbled forward. Tears stung his eyes as he heard thesound of the South African jeep recede into the distance. He felt exhausted yethe’d barely walked more than a hundred metres. He reached the crest of the ridgeand slid-walked down the sand.

He needed shade.

It was hot but not unbearably so. The problem was the sun. Hisfair skin was never designed to be in this country. Manfred didn’t want tosurvive a tank battle or being a prisoner of war, albeit for minutes ratherthan years, only to die of sunstroke.

Ahead, he could see the destroyed tanks. His heart lurched at thesight of the destruction. We are not indestructible, he realised. If they canget close enough, they can kill us. Five destroyed tanks bore testimony to thefolly of travelling beyond the security of their anti-tank guns.

Just at that moment he heard a sound. It was a clang. The thoughthit him that someone was alive inside one of the tanks. A surge of energycoursed through him. He ran forward towards the nearest tank. It was blackenedfrom the explosion. It was no longer so hot to touch. Manfred opened the hatchand glanced in. A wave of revulsion went through him. Death was spread all overinterior where once there had been life. He knelt on all fours and began retching.Somewhere behind him he heard another clang.

He rose groggily to his feet and stumbled in the direction of thesound. It grew louder as he approached the last tank. He’d heard that therewere people who dwelled in the desert who made a money from robbing the deadand the dying in the desert. Anger swelled within him. He would not allow this.

Clambering up onto the front of the tank he reached the turret andducked his head inside. Just as he did so he heard a single, all-too-Germanword. There were two men inside.

-

 ‘You’re back,’ said Kohler in English.

Manfred didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He was certainly inshock. He’d no idea Kohler spoke English. There was no reason why he shouldn’t,of course.  It was a lesson Manfred supposed. Not to judge people so readily. He’dnever thought of Kohler being intellectually the biggest gun in the tank. Intruth, he thought him a bit thick. Who was the idiot now?

Fischer turned around and looked up at Manfred. If he wassurprised, he was doing a remarkable job of hiding it. If anything, he was moreinterested in Kohler’s progress on trying to fix the tank. In fact, withinseconds he’d lost interest and looked at Kohler.

‘Any luck?’

‘No. I can’t do anything,’ replied Kohler.

They looked at one another then both turned up towards Manfred.

‘I don’t suppose you overpowered those South Africans and stoletheir jeep, English boy.’

Manfred wasn’t sure whether to be stung by their mockery or acceptit as a good-humoured welcome back to the team. He took it as the latter andgrinned.

‘Yes, sure. I took them prisoner.’

Fischer held his arm up and Manfred helped, first, him then Kohlerout of the tank.

The three of them jumped down from the tank and looked around atthe debris and the carnage. Manfred slapped a can of water which was strappedto the side of the tank.

‘We should take some of these.’

Fisher pointed over to a pile a few yards away. They’d alreadybegun to take supplies for the long walk back to the camp. Manfred nodded andunhooked the water from the tank. He grabbed a ground sheet and laid it out.With the help of Fischer and Kohler, he added to their supply stock. Soon theyhad taken as much as they could reasonably take with them.

‘Shall we?’ asked Fischer. They began to walk in the directionthey’d come from.

-

‘You look ridiculous,’ said Fischer. The three boys were clear ofthe destroyed tanks and following the tracks of those that had survived theonslaught.

Manfred grinned and had to acknowledge that he did look a littlestrange. He’d taken off his shirt and was wearing it over his head like an Arabhead scarf. It meant his lower back was exposed to the sun and his arms.However, his head and shoulders were covered, and Manfred deemed them the mostimportant areas to protect.

‘You mean I don’t seem like an Arab?’ asked Manfred.

Fischer stopped for a second and looked at the pale white skin,the blond hair peeking out from the khaki shirt and the blue eyes.

‘Would you be offended if I said, no?’

Manfred burst out laughing. He put the can down, did a twirl andthen held his arms out.

‘I thought I was blending in quite well.’

Fischer laughed and sat down. It was time for a water break.Manfred and Kohler joined him, and they gorged themselves thirstily on thewater. In fact, Manfred had been thinking of nothing else for the past twentyminutes. His arms were aching from carrying the water and anything that helped lightenthe load. While satiating his need for liquid seemed eminently sensible, hejust hadn’t wanted to be the one to suggest it. He wondered idly if Fischer hadused the joke as an excuse for them to rest and drink.

‘We should do this every thirty minutes,’ suggested Manfred.

‘Let’s make it twenty,’ replied Kohler. There was no argument fromManfred or Fischer on this. Kohler had, by now, adopted Manfred’s form of headdress. In the end, Fischer did so as well. This gave Manfred some quietsatisfaction, but it did not last long. His mind turned to another problem.

‘How far do you think we must go?’

‘I think we travelled six or seven kilometres. It’ll take an houror two to get back to