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

lanes will be created by the Sapper chaps using this metal detector. There will be about forty Sappers per gap led by a couple of officers. They’ll have infantry support, of course. When they reach the minefield, they will put a blue pinpoint light to indicate where it starts. A second blue light will indicate when we believe we’re through the mine belt. The lanes themselves will be at least two tank widths or more. Around twenty-four feet wide. There will be three teams of Sappers. The first will find the mines and place a white cone cut out of a petrol can over them; the third group will pick them up. The middle group will run white tape along the sides of the lane with green and orange lights telling you which side you should be on. Do I need to tell you to stay on the green side?’

This was greeted with laughter.

‘Thought not. You’ll need these lights. Visibility won’t be great with all the sand the tanks kick up.’ Crisp then took some white tape and unrolled a foot, holding it aloft. ‘This will be reeled out in eight-foot strips with lights showing you the way. There will also be T-lights in the middle of the lane. It’ll be like driving up Regent Street at Christmas. Anyway, I hope that’s clear. Any questions?’

‘When are we going?’ shouted a voice from the back.

‘No idea,’ replied Crisp with a grin. ‘Any others?’

‘Can I go home?’ shouted another. Crisp joined in the laughter and suggested fairly succinctly that this was unlikely any time soon.

The tank crews and the support personnel filed away from the meeting. Benson walked alongside Danny and PG.

‘So what do you think, chaps?’

Before Danny could answer, PG replied glumly, ‘I’m with the lad that wanted to go home.’

‘Good to see you’re as positive as ever, PG,’ smiled Benson. ‘What about you, Shaw?’

Danny was silent for a moment and then replied, ‘It feels more considered this time. No more cavalry charges.’

Benson stopped and looked at Danny then he nodded.

‘I’d forgotten you were at Sidi Rezegh.’

Danny fought to control his emotions as the faces of his former tank mates swam into his mind. It had been a mess. A regiment virtually wiped out over a single day. Yet he’d hardly been alone in experiencing this. Every regiment, every battalion, every man had faced or would face unimaginable terror over the course of this war. They walked towards their tank in silence. Each wondering when the call to action would come.

From that day, the tank crews began practicing movement through minefields. The initial training took place during daylight hours, but this was soon to switch to night. The crews and the soldiers were all to practice night marches over and over again. Nothing was to be left to chance.

The tanks were also called upon to tow guns and, on occasion, one another, to replicate both initial attack and actual combat situations when tanks were knocked out but reparable. The success of the Germans in recovering their tanks had forced the Allies to raise their game in this field.

Day and night began to merge. There was no slackening in the preparations for the next battle. For it was always the next battle. Danny had long since given up hoping the next one would be the decisive one. However, there was an air of purposefulness that he’d not seen before. This was partly due to the insistence by Montgomery that the men be kept aware of the plans.

Everyone had a sense of what their job was and how it fitted into the overall scheme. Just the knowing made the plan feel more solid. This sense of purpose cascaded through the ranks. It was not hubristic. They’d lost too many friends and comrades for that. But it was there. A tacit hope, an unspoken commitment to those around you and those who had fallen that this time they would prevail.

33

Sidi abd el Rhaman, 28 kilometres from el Alamein, Egypt: 28th September 1942

‘Any mail today?’ asked Manfred, looking up at the sky. There were a few planes buzzing overhead either returning or heading out on a sortie. Otherwise, the sky was clear and blue.

Fischer shrugged and said he hadn’t received any mail. Such an admission was invariably a cue for abuse from Manfred on the unpopularity of the Bavarian. They went for a stroll away from the leaguer. The late afternoon sun was tolerable but still hot enough to burn. They found a shaded spot on the other side of a rocky ridge which descended into a flat-bottomed wadi with soft sand. They were far enough away from the leaguer now to talk with complete freedom or just enjoy the motionless silence of the desert.

‘How do you find Stiefelmayer?’ asked Manfred. Fischer had recently been assigned to a new tank. He was finally a gunner but, true to form, disappointed that he’d not yet been given his own tank.

‘He’s good. Up there with Kummel.’

‘And Basler.’

‘And Basler,’ agreed Fischer. Manfred glanced at his friend’s newly earned stripes. Fischer saw this and added, sourly, ‘I’ve been here a year and a half and all I have to show for it is being a lousy corporal and the proud owner of a sore shoulder.’

Manfred grinned sympathetically and pointed out the obvious, ‘Could have been worse.’

Had it really been ten months since Manfred rescued the wounded Fischer on that terrible Sunday, Totensonntag? Fischer dismissed the point with a wave of his hand, and they stared out at the flat, rocky landscape.

‘How is your family?’ asked Manfred.

‘They barely notice the war. Aside from me being here and the SS wandering around Munich like they own the city, then life is pretty normal for them. My sister is training to be a teacher now.’

Manfred’s ears pricked up at this. The memory of a very attractive girl in a photograph held by Fischer sprang into his mind. Fischer glanced at Manfred and read his mind in an instant.

‘Don’t you dare even