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

‘Good to have you on board,’ said Andrews. His voice surprised Danny as it was one he would have associated with an officer.

‘Young Billy Thompson, here,’ continued Benson indicating a boy who looked like he should have been in a school classroom, ‘is a recent arrival to this show. We’re showing him the ropes and he is Archie’s loader for the thirty-seven millimetre.’

A young man appeared from behind the tank. He wore spectacles and Danny suspected, given their thickness, he was as blind as a bat. Loader would be the summit of his roles in this war.

‘Finally, we have Sid Gregson who operates communications and is our very own Kit Carson. He can navigate by the stars.’

‘When he can see them,’ pointed out Andrews, much to everyone’s amusement.

Gregson was somewhere between thirty and fifty. Like most young people, Danny’s ability to differentiate age for someone older diminished when the person was older than thirty. Gregson seemed friendly but was quite reserved. He was, though, something of an electronics whizz. This, along with an interest in astronomy, were his sole topics of conversation. He kept himself to himself.

Introductions made, everyone climbed into the tank to familiarise themselves with their new home. This wasn’t as novel an experience now for Danny. He’d ridden inside the tank before, like all of the others, and been given instructions on how it operated. They were all the same in Danny’s view: cramped, hot and smelly. Having two additional bodies in a tank, albeit a larger one, was unlikely to make things any more comfortable.

It remained to be seen if the new tank would be safer. The fifty-one millimetre thick armour was welcome. It would give good protection from long range fire. In combination with the bigger gun, it meant that enemy tanks would have to get closer to give them trouble. Of course, the more powerful anti-tank guns such as the eighty-eight millimetre would always be a danger. However, tank on tank, they could outpunch all of the German Panzers.

The men hopped down from the turret and took up their positions. Danny made his way past the driver’s seat to the right and settled into the gunner’s seat. McLeish pushed past him to his seat.

‘Not much room,’ commented Danny as he ducked his head slightly to avoid bumping it for a third time. He glanced over at the driver’s seat.

‘How do you get out if we brew up, PG?’

‘I’ll climb over you,’ came the terse reply.

‘How many machine guns does one tank need?’ asked Danny. He was looking at the trigger ‘PG’ was examining and already noted the gun in the turret.

Benson’s voice from above answered Danny’s question.

‘Americans seem to put machine guns everywhere they can as far as I can see. Bloody waste of space if you ask me.’

‘Not much of a traverse on this. Let’s hope they don’t attack us from the side,’ said Danny.

McLeish then spoke up, ‘Are these shells German?’ he was looking at the AP Armour Piercing shells. ‘They have German writing.’

Danny laughed as did Benson up in the turret.

‘The American AP shells shatter on impact. Total rubbish. We use captured German shells instead. They work better.’ At this point Danny was looking through the telescope. ‘Don’t think much of this scope. How am I supposed to be accurate with five hundred yard increments?’

‘Best guess then burst and adjust,’ responded Archie Andrews laughing.

‘I hope Jerry gives us time to do that,’ said Danny sourly.

‘There’s loads of storage for the thirty seven’s shells,’ said McLeish, ‘Not much for ours, Danny.’

‘You’re kidding,’ replied Danny. He wasn’t happy at hearing this.

He heard Archie Andrews chuckle, ‘Sorry old boy. Thirty-seven takes precedence still.’

Danny grinned up at Andrews, ‘You won’t say that when Mark IV’s begin pasting us from a thousand yards.’

‘Shaw will have taken him out by then, Archie, right?’ chipped in Benson. ‘Hurry up ‘PG’ and get this crate moving. We’ll be late for the exercises.’

The tank engine kicked into life at first time of asking. Danny raised his eyebrow at this and grinned. He looked up at Andrews who was also smiling. For all their sniffiness about details in the new tank, the one common tribute paid by all who had used it was its reliability. In this regard, it was far superior to what had gone before. In battle this, engine reliability was as much as a part of their chances of survival as the armour or the weapons; it really could be the difference between life and death.

Benson sat atop the tank and gazed out across the flat plain. Instinct made him look up. A slight disturbance in the atmosphere. Something that could barely be heard. Then a few dark specks appeared in the sky.

‘Our friends are back,’ he announced on his mic.

‘Say “hello” for me, sir,’ replied Andrews. ‘You know how.’

Benson offered a uniquely British wave to the six Messerschmitts that few past.

‘They’re gearing up for something,’ he said before murmuring more to himself, ‘I just hope we’ve time to get used to this tin.’

15

8 miles north of Bir Hacheim, Libya: 26th May 1942

Lieutenant-Colonel ‘Pip’ Roberts studied the faces of the men in front of him. He was framed by a large map of Libya mounted on a makeshift easel. He’d barely referred to it during the briefing for the simple reason he didn’t know where the Germans were at that moment. However, his spider senses were tingling. Standing alongside him was his adjutant, Captain Peter Burr. Seated in front of him were the senior officers under his command. Looking at the faces of his majors, Joly, Hutton, Strange and Witheridge he felt some comfort.

A number of his captains stood just behind the senior officers. Two of them, Shattock and Benson, he noticed, were sharing a joke. He wasn’t sure they would be in such a good mood twenty-four hours from now. His skin always prickled when he sensed something in the air. It felt it now.

‘Bletchley’s Ultra unit have been picking up traffic for