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

was protecting them. Klef’s body was shaking and it may have been fear, but Manfred suspected it was just the cold. Kiel was reading the Bible. Basler slept. How the lieutenant was able to, Manfred did not know. He was too tired to sleep. He thought about leaving the tank and going in search of Fischer but realised that he might wake up Basler. He’d see him tomorrow. Perhaps.

Overhead, the never-ending sound of the Allied bombers caused the tank to vibrate. Manfred glanced up, although what he expected to see given that he was inside the tank was debatable. He grinned at his stupidity and glanced round to see if anyone had noticed. No one had. Each lost in their own world. Jentz was snoring like a bull with a cold. Manfred stared at him. The driver’s head was tilted back, and he seemed to be sucking in every last particle of the rank air in the hull before expelling it noisily through his open mouth.

The bombing had begun somewhere in the distance. Kiel and Manfred exchanged glances then Kiel returned to read his Bible. For three hours Manfred listened, hypnotised by the rumble of explosions. Then, towards midnight, just as he was finally drifting off to sleep, there was an almighty bang followed by more explosions. It was loud enough to wake both Basler and Jentz.

‘What was that?’ asked Basler groggily.

Manfred shrugged. Then a thought occurred to him.

‘My guess would be they hit either our fuel or the ammo.’

‘Great,’ growled Basler. ‘So tomorrow we’ll be fighting with rocks then walking back to camp.’

More minor explosions followed but Manfred had already drifted off to sleep. It didn’t last long. The Allied artillery barrage began. Manfred’s eyes opened slowly. His head was heavy, and it took a moment for his focus to adjust sufficiently to see his watch. It was just after one in the morning. He shut his eyes again, but it was too late. He knew the bombardment would last the night. Another hour went by before sleep finally overcame him.

Around four in the morning he was shaken awake by Kleff. His head was swimming in lethargy. Basler was telling him something, but he couldn’t hear him. The barrage continued unabated. He was aware that the tank was itself shaking. They were on the move. Then he finally heard what Basler was saying.

‘They’ve overrun our forward positions.’

Manfred nodded and then listened closely to the explosions in the distance. They seemed different. He looked at Basler, a frown on his face.

‘The bombers started with the forward area earlier. They’re bombing the rear now.’

‘And we’re stuck in the middle,’ said Manfred sourly.

It took a moment for him to realise that this would soon no longer be true. They’d avoided the heavy bombing by luck. Soon they’d meet the Allied attack head on. This was confirmed moments later when Kiel turned to Manfred.

‘Captain Stiefelmayer is ordering us forward. Otto Piste has been taken and they’re threatening the HQ. The 21st is moving up now. They think this is the big push. It’s all going to go through the north. The counterattack begins at dawn.’

Manfred glanced through his telescope. The first signs of light were visible with the fringe of purple developing on the horizon. Soon the sun would begin to bleach the sky. The shapes of their attacker would become visible.

As the dawn broke the heat inside the tank grew and the atmosphere became more oppressive. Sweat dripped from the Manfred’s face. Then he heard Basler make a sound that sounded liked, ‘ahh.’

They finally were able to see the enemy in the distance. Dozens of dark shapes stood out like molehills on the eastern horizon. Lots of molehills. The rising sun silhouetted them. It was an open invitation to start shelling them. As if a switch had been thrown, the deafening crump of dozens of eighty-eights sprang to life.

‘How many?’ asked Manfred.

Basler was silent for a moment as he peered through the hatch of the cupola with his binoculars. He was silently totting up the number while the eighty-eights greeted the new arrivals in deadly fashion.

‘At least sixty,’ said Basler.

The tank had slowed to a halt to allow first the anti-tank guns to engage and then the Italian Littorio tank battalion. Manfred gazed through his sight in silence. What had been, just moments earlier, a clear horizon was now full of smoke and shell.

‘My God, they are taking a beating,’ said Basler in a hushed whisper. Yet still they came, headlong into the hail of fire from the well-sighted positions. Even without the benefit of Basler’s powerful binoculars, Manfred could see that the Allies were on the receiving end of a fearful hammering. But some of the tanks were breaking through. The Allied tactics weren’t clever, but they would work as long as they had overwhelming numbers of men and tanks.

‘British tanks have reached the Rahman track,’ said Kiel breathlessly. He was listening to the busy radio traffic. The Rahman track, lined with telegraph poles, was a pivotal point for both sides. It ran diagonally in front of Aqqaqir Ridge. The German and Italian defences were deployed in a wide crescent along the track. A couple of dozen eighty-eights acted as a screen. If the Allies overran them then the game was as good as over for the Afrika Korps.

The idea that the Allies were now within killing range of such a heavily defended area came as a shock to Manfred. This was not because he believed they would overcome the Axis position. Rather he was dismayed that men could be thrown forward so callously and forfeited on such a suicidal mission. Yet, their sacrifice would act as a bridgehead for those that followed. Eventually they would either overrun the position or the Afrika Korps and the Italians would have to withdraw.

Manfred’s thoughts were interrupted by the first sounds of explosions nearing them. The Allied tanks were getting closer.

‘Forward, Jentz. We are to engage,’ said Basler simply.

The tank jerked forward. Manfred listened