El Alamein by Jack Murray (spanish books to read .TXT) 📗

‘No, sir,’ replied Manfred, ‘but I think Churchill wants to meet you to discuss terms.’

‘Send Beer, I want to sleep longer. Beer’s farting will soon have Churchill suing for peace.’

Manfred’s muscles ached. So did his bones. Yet he felt oddly elated. The fighting yesterday had been one-sided. They had, quite simply, pummelled then overrun the enemy. This was so different to only a month ago.

The morning of the twenty third was inactive but reports filtered through that the 21st Panzer division was in heavy fighting. Kummel listened intently to the radio for any news on their progress.

Manfred studied him closely. The captain was often good-humoured but for much of the time he was frighteningly intense. Every fibre of his being was engaged in a way that Manfred found unlike anyone he’d met save for Sergeant Overath. They were both fighting men. They understood war with an insight that Manfred doubted he would ever gain.

As much as he had excelled in training, the real thing was altogether different. The difference between Kummel and all of the other men, save for the exceptional few like Basler and Stiefelmayer, was the ability to find clarity in the confusion that surrounded them. He had that rare quality which allowed him to think, and then communicate coherently and succinctly, ideas that grasped the situation they faced, distilled what action was needed and then directed men towards achieving success. To Manfred, Kummel represented the highest level of leadership. He doubted he could ever be like this man.

Survival, as Manfred had come to realise, was a matter that went beyond mere capability. It was a function of luck. Neither seniority nor proficiency were a shield. No rank was immune from death. Capability was no guarantee either. Overath and Kastner had been minced by fragments from an explosion inside the turret. Kummel seemed to be blessed with the twin qualities of luck and capability. Manfred believed his chances of surviving were greatly improved if he stayed with this man.

Kummel’s clear blue eyes fixed on Manfred. Even first thing in the morning he looked immaculate. His hair combed back from his forehead like a matinee idol. His strong, aquiline nose led down to a mouth that rarely smiled. However, even if the eyes remained cold, there was a sense of humour lurking somewhere deep behind them. Someone had told him that the captain was thirty-three. He seemed older. His leadership aura added years to him.

‘Are you ready, Brehme?’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Manfred. Kummel looked at him for a few moments then nodded. Manfred had the uneasy feeling the question was about something else. He thought about the question for the next few minutes as he packed their cooking tins and utensils away. All along the line of the leaguer, men like him were engaged in the same activity.

Soon the battalion was ready to move. Manfred assumed they would head directly north of Saunnu to contain any breakout from the enemy. Instead, the morning was a relatively quiet affair despite the distant sound of explosions.

‘Why aren’t we a supporting the 21st?’ asked Kummel at one point.

‘I’ll go ask Rommel, shall I?’ responded Beer before bumping into Manfred to avoid the kick aimed at him by Kummel.

‘Be careful what you wish for,’ said Hubbuch, as cynical as ever. Hubbuch was permanently grouchy. Manfred enjoyed his downbeat view of the world.  It never quite crossed the line into either surliness or disobedience but rarely showed much respect for, or confidence in, authority either. He seemed like an antidote to the penetrating focus of Kummel. Manfred believed Hubbuch was like a weathervane for Kummel, an ongoing dialectical conscience for the single-minded captain.

-

Around three in the afternoon, Kummel came striding back to the tent. He’d been away for the previous half hour with Colonel Cramer and the head of the 2nd battalion, Captain Josef Zugner. Manfred glanced at Beer. The Berliner threw the remains of his coffee into the fire.

‘I think we’re on our way.’

Kummel confirmed this when he arrived at the campfire.

‘The 21st Panzers are engaged with British armour. They need support.’

‘What about the Indian division that was supposed to be moving south from Beda Fromm.’

Kummel shrugged. They were no longer a concern. Instead, Rommel and Cruwell believed they had an opportunity to defeat the British in detail.

‘Make ready,’ ordered Kummel and he left to speak to Lieutenant Basler. Within seconds, like a wind blowing over a wheatfield, rows of men rose to their feet to make ready for the march.

The tanks set off soon after three, led by Cramer. Behind the tanks were the trucks carrying infantry and artillery. Manfred was sitting up top marvelling at the sight of a division on the move. Despite all they had been through, seeing so many men and armour never failed to thrill or scare him in equal measure. Yet he knew now that the armour, far from being a shelter, could also be a coffin. Against anti-tank guns they were vulnerable and, if it was true, the British had new tanks with bigger guns that could match the firepower of the Panzers.

Kummel exuded his usual certainty. Yet this was no longer sufficient to quell the fear Manfred felt. Manfred sensed the eyes of the captain on him and he turned towards Kummel.

‘What do you see, Brehme?’ asked Kummel.

Cannon fodder, thought Manfred. That’s what I see.

5

40 miles South East of Saunnu, Libya 23rd January 1942

The column made camp following the air attack. They needed to tend to a few of the men who had been wounded. In addition, they had to salvage what they could from their supply truck. There was nothing for Danny to do while this happened so he, Buller, Evans, and Fitz went for a walk.

‘After all,’ said Danny when he made the original suggestion, ‘there’s so much to see.’

Fitz and Buller stared out at the beige nothingness. An endless sand carpet broken up by scrub and distant hills. The sky was pale blue laced with white clouds here and