Crusader (A Novel of WWII Tank Warfare) by Jack Murray (important of reading books .TXT) 📗

When you returned earlier this year, I felt so very proud to see you,someone who is a friend to our family and who is serving this country. I can’timagine what you are experiencing in this war. It makes me scared to think ofwhat might happen to you, to all of you from the village. I pray everynight for your safe return.

Danny read the letter over and over again. Each time his eyeswould linger over the underlined words. He knew that she would have writtensimilar words to the other boys from the village but a part of him knew, withcertainty, that none had been written with such emphasis. Danny found his chesthad become tighter. This time it wasn’t fear. He smiled at himself and returnedto the tank.

Whatever the significance of the letter and, yes, a young mandared to dream, the fact remained he was on another continent, facing an enemyout to kill him. He carefully folded the letter and put it into his breastpocket and started back towards the tank.

Craig glanced up at him when he returned. The shrewd eyes of theUlsterman read in an instant what Danny was thinking. He smirked briefly thenreturned to his own world.

 10

Gambut(50 kilometres east of Tobruk), Libya, September 1941

Tears rolled down Gerhardt’s face. He could hardly breathe in theheat. Even the slight breeze was warm. He was now on his knees bent double.Choking. Choking with laughter.

‘I don’t see what’s so bloody funny about it,’ said Manfred. Hewas definitely unamused. His stomach churned and he felt the tell-tale warningsignals coming from his bowels.

‘You’re right,’ agreed Gerhardt when he’d recovered sufficiently.He clapped his hand on the Manfred’s and sat up again. Both faced outwards ontothe Mediterranean. The sea was the colour of a blue quilt and small choppywaves danced on the low swell. The sky was yellow-green, and no cloud interruptedits splendour.

Dozens of Afrika Korps soldiers shouted and frolicked in thewaves. Some hardier souls ventured further out. Manfred could not risk this.Not in his condition. Of all the days to have the symptoms of dysentery.

‘Have you been taking the onion and leek soup? It really works.’

‘Yes,’ replied Manfred irritably. He was not angry so much at hisfriend as the bad luck that had incapacitated him as so many others in theregiment had been hit. He could see a few pale, drawn faces on the beach.Fellow sufferers probably.

‘A couple of days, you’ll see.’

‘It took Kohler a week when he had it,’ said Manfred sourly. Hewasn’t in the mood for misplaced optimism.

‘But that was before the miracle qualities of the soup werediscovered,’ pointed out Gerhardt. This was a moot point. Another soldier hadrecently claimed that he’d been cured taking the soup. Word spread to theregiment doctor. Soon the leek and onion soup had replaced traditional medicinefor many sufferers. ‘It works. Trust me. Jurgen in my tank swears by it.’

‘He’s a moron.’

‘True, but you don’t catch dysentery because you’re stupid,’retorted Manfred.

‘Well, you did. I told you to avoid Bedouin food.’

Manfred raised a smile at this. It probably was their damn food.He thought it would make a change from the horrible food that the Afrika Korpshad to endure. Many envied the Allies. The food was better and nutritionallysuperior.

‘Anyway, bit late isn’t it? The exercise starts soon. I’llprobably be in the middle of the desert by then.’

‘True. Overath won’t be impressed if you tell him you have to dropyour trousers mid-attack,’ said Gerhardt starting to laugh again while fendingoff Manfred’s weak attempts at killing him with a rolled up magazine dedicatedto Hollywood stars. ‘Instead of shells you could start throwing…’

Gerhardt could not finish the thought such was his amusement.

‘I don’t know why you’re laughing so much,’ commented Manfred whenthe waves of laughter had subsided in his friend. He saw his friend raise hiseyebrows in a question. ‘I’m probably still contagious.’

For the first time that afternoon Manfred began to chuckle. Whenhe saw the dawning realisation on his friend, he rolled over on his back andbegan to laugh uproariously. Fate is a fickle friend, however. The relaxationinduced by his physical response to Gerhardt’s predicament produced theinevitable reaction. No sooner had he succumbed to the breathless hysteria ofthe situation than he felt the warning signals. His laughter turned to a groan.

‘Oh for crying out loud,’ said Manfred rising quickly to his feet.

It was Gerhardt’s turn to start giggling which even the sandkicked in his face by  Manfred’s running feet could do little to interrupt.

‘Don’t forget to wash your hands,’ shouted Gerhardt.

Manfred’s brief reply was muffled by the sand dune he’d divedbehind.

-

Whether through boredom or a genuine interest in mechanics,Manfred often joined Kohler as he tinkered with the engine of the Mark III.Overath looked on in approval. Two heads were certainly better than Kohler’sone, albeit mechanically-minded, head.

‘The dust and sand are a killer,’ said Kohler, examining the airfilter. He held it up for Manfred to see.

‘Stupid place to have a war,’ agreed Manfred.

‘It comes up through the cylinders and pistons. Wears them out.’

‘Sounds like you when visit Madame Jo Jo’s.’ Kohler either didn’tget the reference or was too immersed in the engine. Manfred shrugged and gavehis full attention.

‘Do you know the engine only lasts twelve thousand kilometres here?In Europe, you would get fifty thousand or more, easy.’ He looked at the airfilter again. ‘This engine is only so much use. By the time it’s travelled fromTripoli to Egypt the damn thing’s buggered.’

A German soldier dressed as a British officer walked past the twoboys. Manfred paid him scant attention and then returned his gaze to theengine.

‘I wish we could get hold of some of the English uniforms. I don’tknow what sadist designed our uniforms and diet here. Churchill clearly caresmore about his men than Hitler does.’

Kohler looked sharply at Manfred in alarm. He whispered urgentlyat him.

‘Don’t say these things, even if you’re joking. You don’t knowwho’s listening.’

Around them was a mixture of dress. Some men wore shorts and wentwithout shirts. Some men, those going out on patrol, were clad head to foot.The risk of injury inside the tank or in the highly