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

They spoke all the way back to town but Brehme’s mind was elsewhere. The thought of retirement had only been one he’d considered in those moments when he felt the greatest hatred towards Keller. What was the point, though? He was being paid a good salary to do next to nothing. Even the daily weight of being in close proximity to Keller was bearable given the lifestyle that his role afforded him. What would he do in retirement?

They drove through the Market Platz. It was crowded with townsfolk of all ages. Once again he reflected on how few Hitler Youth there were now. Some elderly women caught his eye. One was the wife of Otto Becker, Agatha. Like her husband, she appeared to be weighed down by her food shopping. Brehme smiled at this. There were only two of them in the house. Neither was particularly big. They clearly had healthy appetites. He drove on towards the police station.

And then it hit him.

The bags of food. The words spoken by Becker to the schoolboy, Robert Sauer. Brehme could barely breathe. It had been there in front of him all this time and he’d missed it. There was no question of him quitting now.

None whatsoever.

Part 3: El Alamein

Sept 1942 – November 1942

Lieutenant-General Bernard Montgomery has replaced General Claude Auchinleck as Commander-in-Chief of the Eighth Army. Montgomery has decreed that the Allies will retreat no further than their current position: El Alamein, a small coastal railway halt, 100Km from Alexandria. Preparations for the forthcoming battle begin. Reinforcements arrive, training begins and both sides begin laying of enormous minefields in the narrow strip between the coast and the impassable Qattara Depression.

32

Training Camp near El Alamein, 20th September 1942

‘You’re kidding,’ said Danny, clearly unable to hide his disbelief. This was met by a glare from Captain Benson. The news that they would not have the new Sherman tank for the expected confrontation with the Germans was a body blow. Evidently this applied as much to the other members of the tank crew as it did to Danny.

‘I’m afraid so,’ replied Benson sternly before adding, ‘And there’s no use in bellyaching about it either. We just have to accept it and move on. The Grant is fine tank. Tad unwieldy, I agree. Jerry would give his right arm to have a gun like this.’

To emphasise the point, Benson placed his hand on the seventy-five-millimetre cannon.

The news, if not shattering, was a major disappointment. The new Sherman tanks had begun to arrive in the training area. The 3 RTR hoped it would have its fair share of the new vehicles which boasted both superior armoured protection and a bigger gun in the turret. It had a lower profile as well, which made it a smaller target, although not so small as the Crusader.

The regiment had been given ten Sherman tanks. All of these were with ‘B’ Squadron. The Grants were all with ‘C’ Squadron. The crew went to inspect their new Grant with a degree of suspicion.

‘The Shermans and the Grants will be the battering ram, I suspect,’ said Danny unenthusiastically. PG glanced at him and nodded grimly. Tanks like these were not designed to bring up the rear.

‘I suspect you’re right, Danny,’ said Andrews as they walked away from the tank.

‘Do you know much about this new chap?’ asked Danny, referring to Montgomery.

‘No, not come across him before,’ admitted Andrews. ‘I daresay we’ll find out soon enough what’s he’s made of.’

‘We’re all just flesh and blood, Archie, flesh and blood,’ said PG adding his usual glum perspective on anything and everything.

-

Towards the end of September, training was in full swing. The arrival of General Montgomery had sent a current through the whole of the 8th Army. The preparation for the autumn campaign was as much physical as it was strategic. This did not go down well with everyone.

‘Route march?’ exclaimed PG.

Benson grinned and ordered PG and the rest of the crew to get ready. The whole battalion had to do it. The smile widened as the burly Yorkshireman gazed up at the cloudless blue sky. His usual glum demeanour took on an even more hangdog expression.

‘How far?’ asked PG in a voice that was as much a desperate appeal to sanity as it was a request for information.

‘Seven miles,’ replied Benson, enjoying the misery of his driver immensely. As much as Danny was not looking forward to the march either, it was made more inviting by the thought that PG would have to haul his unathletic body over a distance that it was ill designed to cover. The march was relatively easy for Danny given his youth as well as a level of conditioning that was the equal of anyone in the regiment. ‘We’ll be back before midnight if you don’t hold us up too much.’

Danny, McLeish and Gregson looked on in great amusement at the evident misery of their big driver. Archie Andrews did not seem any happier than the PG.

‘Can’t I stay behind and read Herodotus?’ asked Andrew plaintively. PG had more practical concerns to deal with.

‘I better be off to t’ bog then,’ said PG morosely. ‘Can you give me some of King Herod to wipe my backside, Archie?’

Andrews’ succinctly suggested that help would not be forthcoming. Then Danny piped up with his tuppence worth.

‘Good idea, big boy, it’ll help you lose some of that weight,’ said Danny helpfully.

PG replied, ‘Why don’t you go lose your virginity with your sister, country boy,’ before trooping off to relieve himself before the march.

A couple of days later the crew spent several hours on the firing range, firstly with rifles and then with the tank. Understanding the effective range of their gun would be critical in the upcoming battles. It could launch shells to distances up to five thousand yards but against armour the range reduced to a little over one thousand yards or less when confronted by the Panzer Mark IV’s .

‘Good shooting,’ commented Benson at the end of the