The Shadow of War by Jack Murray (read this if TXT) 📕

hewould have to live with what he had done for the rest of his life. But hopefullyhe would live. Hopefully Bob would survive the war. Would he, though? The idea ofdeath rose from time to time in his mind. Normally, it was fleeting. Amomentary lapse in his defences. Right now, it no longer felt like an abstractidea. It was real and, with each passing day, its presence was coming closer. Heshivered in the cold air.

Fearwas something he’d always been aware of. But it felt like something independentof him. It was not tangible, yet it had a presence except as a shadow in theeyes of a man, in the colour of his skin, in the involuntary shake of his hand. Fear was something you felt. But only sometimes and neverfor long. Never did you think about it or try to trace its source. It was theresomewhere. Lurking; smiling at you. Waiting for a moment to make itselfknown. Then, it would strike; rippling through your body and laying siege toyour mind. Poor Bob. He’d known what he was going to do for a long timeprobably. To have lived with the knowledge of what he was going to do and,then, to have carried it out. This had taken courage. At that moment Dannyrealised that courage and fear exist alongside one another. One is aprerequisite for the other. He closed his eyes and offered up a long forgottenprayer to his friend and to himself.

Nightwas drawing in and he felt an icy wind beat into Danny’s face. He walked up thegangplank staring at the shiny black steel of the ship. A few lights danced onthe murky water below. His body shuddered again; he was impatient, now, to getinto the warmth of the ship. Apprehension gripped him. He turned and lookedbehind him. Phil Lawrence was grim-faced. Arthur, too. They nodded to oneanother as they reached the top of the gang plank.

Theship’s bosun met them.

‘WhatRegiment?’

Theytold him.

‘HDeck,’ said the Bosun not looking up from his clipboard.

Thethree men followed other soldiers towards a hatch. As they arrived, Lawrencetouched Danny’s arm and he and Arthur stopped and looked out at Liverpool. Thescene below on the quay was chaotic. Hundreds of soldiers were queuing to go upthe gangplank. To their right they saw a tank being loaded onto the ship byenormous crane.

‘Thisis it, boys,’ said Lawrence.

‘Itis,’ agreed Arthur, drawing on a cigarette.

Theystayed for a few minutes, impelled to watch the scene below; imprinting it ontheir memories. This would be their last view of England for a long time.

Perhapsever.

Chapter 8: Italy 1941

 1

Naples, Italy: July1941

Napleswas a kind of heaven decided Manfred. Sure it was a little too hot. The evidentpoverty could be overpowering at times and the looks on the faces of theNeapolitans at no point suggested they were welcome, but still…

Napleswas a place that the romantic in Manfred could not deny. It was as if God hadspread a marine-coloured quilt across the bay, banned clouds from the sky,insisted that music rather than words be spoken, that girls be dark andalluring, that food should be a form of communication not just nutrition.Manfred and Gerhardt tried everything the city had to offer.

‘IfI live through this, I’m going to live here, Manfred,’ said Gerhardt pointingto the Teatro di San Carlo, the opera house located in Piazza del Plebiscito.Manfred looked at him strangely. ‘Well, not exactly there. You know what Imean.’

Thetwo boys laughed and ordered another coffee. They were sitting in mute wonderoutside a bar watching the world pass them. The most important decisions theyhad to take that day were what to eat and then were to find female companybefore they headed out to North Africa the following morning.

‘Howabout we desert?’ suggested Manfred as yet another beautiful young woman passedthem on the street. He was only half joking.

‘Yes,’agreed Gerhardt, who’d noticed where Manfred’s eyes had been fixed. ‘Let’sdesert.’

-

Manfredlooked across the Mediterranean Sea. The coastline of Sardinia had long sincedisappeared from view. It was early afternoon. Waves sucked and seethed beneaththe stern. A blustery wind grabbed water and hurled it into the air like sugarbeing thrown at a children’s party. The sky was a pale chrome yellow with hintsof pink flush. For Manfred, the Mediterranean skies offered infinite varietiesof colour and tone. No wonder artists had flocked to the Cote d’Azur, he thought.He sucked in the salty air and let the wind cleanse his face.

Thiswas the second day aboard ship. The texture of the sea and its colour waspermanently in flux. The evening before they had left Naples it was a pastelblue sheen, unmarked, chaste almost, reflected against a pale purple sky. Thismorning, hundreds of miles out from Italy, it was angrier. The turbulence madethe water corrugated. This created a rolling rhythm that changed the colour ofthe sea, sometimes bottle-green, sometimes black and grey. In the distancethere were patches of cerulean blue. Manfred was mesmerised by the colours.

Thefirst morning had brought a welcome reunion with Lothar. He had also been sentfor additional training on tank mechanics. Of Mathias, nothing was known. Thefriends assumed he was probably in North Africa. This was their destination,also. They speculated on the chances of meeting him again.

‘He’sdead now,’ said Lothar. ‘He was never meant to fight. Poor guy.’

Thenhe shrugged a well-you-know-it’s-the-truth shrug. They all laughed but inside noone doubted it was true. More of life is determined in the womb than we wouldlike to think. This is not just physical or even intellectual inheritance.Mathias was the son of a university professor. He looked it. He was no Aryanideal. Too smart, too soft and too weak. Tommy would find him out.

Gerhardtclipped Lothar on the head with his cap. They all laughed. The unkindness ofthe remark was lost in a greater reality. They were all going to face the samedangers as Mathias. Whatever physical edge the other boys felt they had itwould almost certainly be lost amidst the physical vastness of the desert, theferocity of the enemy and the appalling anarchy of war.

BesideLothar was a young man called Sepp. Lothar had befriended him at the last campthey were stationed. He was