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

‘Who knows?’ replied the Yorkshireman but there wasn’t much belief in it.

‘Why?’ asked Danny, genuinely curious.

PG shook his head and replied, ‘Try spending a day down a pit. It’s black, dark and feels like you are within touching distance of hell itself. Then do it day in, day out. Breathing in that dust. No, Danny-boy, I’ll take my chances here.’

Danny was surprised by this. His life had been so free by comparison. The countryside, fresh air, fresh food. It all seemed so different from the blackness described by PG.

‘You know what I miss most?’

The silence that followed Danny’s comment was its own question so he continued, ‘Sitting under a tree eating an apple. A stolen apple tastes like no apple you’ve ever had. Me and my pals used to mitch off from school and raid the farms in the area for anything we could lay our hands on.’

‘I’m surprised they didn’t shoot you,’ said Benson. ‘You were a smithy, weren’t you?’

‘Yes sir,’ said Danny. He felt a lump in his throat as he thought of his father by the forge.

‘Won’t be much call for them soon,’ pointed out PG. ‘Do they have factories where you are?’

Danny smiled but what PG had said hit home. He worked with metals, with iron. They had spent the last year in a metal tank, firing metal shells and being hit by bullets and bombs. This ammunition had been produced on a mammoth scale. The plain fact was PG was right. His world was finished. He thought of the other boys; Bert Gissing waving a fist at him.

‘A few of the lads we stole from came here.’

PG and Benson waited for Danny to continue. He said nothing. HIs mind lost to an image of Bert Gissing waving his fist at him all those years ago. He thought of poor Hugh. Killed during the Crusader operation. Bob was in prison. The others were in prison, too, now. Prisoners of war.

Tobruk. Greece. There was no escaping this enemy. He was the only one from the village still actively engaged on a front line. A half a dozen or so of them from Little Gloston. He stopped for a second and thought of the other side. People just like him probably. Only they weren’t. They’d allowed the Nazis to lead them to war. What sort of people would want to be here doing this?

‘You lost your friends?’ asked Benson

Danny turned to the captain and shrugged.

‘Some. Well, you know my brother and one of the other blokes got captured at Tobruk. They’re in Italy now.’

‘At least that’s something,’ said Benson.

Danny nodded but said nothing more. They sat in silence for a few minutes until they were disturbed by the arrival of McLeish carrying some tea. He handed it round to the others.

‘How much longer?’ asked McLeish. He received a slap round the head with PG’s beret.

‘Another hour,’ replied Benson. The captain stared into the black. Somewhere out in the darkness were men just like them, sitting nervously waiting for battle.

The night air felt almost tangible. The wet, cold air bathed Danny’s face like a damp rag. His hands cupped the warmth of the metal mug and he sipped the tea. It tasted bitter but he was used to it by now. A far cry from crunching through a fresh apple, underneath a tree on a bright, spring day. His grip tightened on the mug.

Nearby someone was listening to the Forces radio. Al Bowlly’s voice cut through the silence and Danny felt the warmth of the voice envelop and comfort him.

-

‘I love his voice,’ said the girl in the bed next to Sarah Cavendish. The dormitory housed eight girls. They were all listening to Forces Radio from the B.B.C. The station was playing a recording of the late Al Bowlly. He was singing, appropriately, ‘Goodnight Sweetheart’. The girls in the dorm grinned conspiratorially. It wasn’t quite bedtime yet, but this was their free time and they often listened to the radio for a little while, imagining a boy somewhere, many miles away, who would be listening to this and thinking of them.

Sarah listened to the song and glanced occasionally at a battered photograph of a bunch of men posing in army uniform. Danny and his brother were at the front. Both were smiling as if someone had just told a joke.

Still my love will guide you…

She wondered when she would see him again. It was never if. The idea that he would die seemed inconceivable. Not him. Not Danny.

Dreams enfold you, in each one I’ll hold you…

The girls had begun chatting about something or other, but Sarah wished they would keep quiet. She wanted to hear the rest of the song. They could talk over the announcer if the wanted to. Never mind.

Good night sweetheart, good night

The door to the dorm opened. Sarah looked up, grimaced as she saw the angry face of the head of form.

-

Keller walked into the office with an unmistakably triumphant look on his face. Brehme was impassive although he felt like laughing. Keller had asked him to return to the station around seven but without giving a reason. Brehme had, of course, pressed him as hard as he could on why although he already knew. He also knew that the satisfaction on Keller’s face would not last the hour.

Outside the office he heard a lot of noise. It was like a football crowd. This did surprise him, and he noted Keller’s evident enjoyment at his confusion. At the end of the corridor there were a lot of black-shirted soldiers. Brehme turned to Keller and raised his eyebrows for an explanation that he didn’t need.

‘You’ll see,’ said Keller opaquely.

So will you, thought Brehme. At this point he wasn’t sure how far to push taking offence.

‘Very well, play your games, Ernst.’

The two men headed down the corridor. The reception area of the station was full of SS men. There were a few of the Gestapo officers who’d become regular visitors