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

16

Southwest of El Cherima, Libya: Night of 26th/27th May 1941

Twelve hours earlier:

‘Venezia.’

A single instruction saw the two Panzer divisions begin the long march towards battle. Manfred looked at his watch. It was 2030. He was wrapped up in an overcoat and happy to be on the move. Even the short break of a few hours was long enough for the cold to begin slowly infiltrating his bones.

‘At last,’ he said. The tank commander, Lieutenant Basler, overheard him. He smiled grimly at his gunner.

‘What’s your rush?’

‘I’m cold,’ said Manfred truthfully.

As much to himself as to Manfred, the former SS officer murmured, ‘Things will heat up soon, I suspect.’

They were to drive through the night with perhaps one stop. Manfred glanced down at their driver Horst Klein. His would be the most difficult job. Driving at night was always a fraught affair. The driver could not let his concentration slip for a moment. In front of him, and behind, were tanks. Behind them were the vehicles of the support echelon. Over ten thousand vehicles were on the move. The last thing they needed was a collision. The tank commander had to keep alert throughout and guide the driver. They worked in tandem to ensure their safe passage through the night.

The march would take them seventy-five kilometres from the Trigh Capuzzo road to their destination. The plan was to circle around the Allied box at Bir Hacheim. Thanks to the sandstorms they had endured over the previous few days, the extent of the attack would be a major surprise for their enemy. It was a comfort of sorts for Manfred who was still itching damnably from the sand that had set up home in his clothing. The element of surprise always came at a cost, reflected Manfred ruefully.

Manfred moved about continually in his seat trying to gain some relief from the prickly feeling of the sand. He noticed Basler smiling grimly at his constant fidgeting. The lieutenant knew exactly what he was experiencing. He was covered in sand himself.

‘Be thankful you’re not exhausted and in need of bed,’ commented Basler, wryly.

‘True, it could be worse,’ agreed Manfred in a wearied voice.

Manfred craved sleep. He closed his eyes for a moment then opened them with a start. He would not allow himself the luxury of rest. Beside him, Basler was enduring the cold without complaint and forcing himself to stay alert to the movement of the convoy around him. But both were exhausted in a way that was almost tangible.

‘You should sleep if you can,’ said Basler, ‘Then take over from me after we stop.’

Manfred didn’t need to be told twice. Despite the cold, the noise, his discomfort with the sand, sleep came easily. It was over, seemingly, within seconds. In fact, three hours or more had passed, much to Manfred’s surprise.

The entire army had stopped for refuelling. This meant a check on all vehicles: air filters, guns and tank tracks. It allowed time for some food and coffee. Although he’d only had a short sleep, Manfred felt refreshed and alert after his second coffee. The stop lasted close to an hour and a half. He held a light for Horst Klein as he dismantled the filter in order to clean it. This was a requirement after every fifty kilometres of travel.

By 0230 they were back on the march. Manfred sat in Basler’s position. Any anxiety about the battle ahead was replaced by the very real fear that he would be responsible for an accident. He kept his eyes firmly fixed towards the tank ahead and the oil drums at the side of the road in which lights had been placed by the advance party to guide the way of the main convoy. Gerd Kleff, Manfred’s loader was tasked with cleaning the guns. The sand and dust had built up in them at a phenomenal rate. They could not afford for any blockages to impair performance, especially with the possibility of direct contact with infantry and tanks in a matter of hours.

They drove at a speed that would have made a tortoise impatient. For three, seemingly endless, hours they crawled along. Metre by metre they closed in on the enemy. Reports were coming through of sightings of scout vehicles from the South African Armoured Car Regiment. They had been a frequent companion over the last few months. The memory of their treatment of him when he was captured as well as the bravery with which they fought against overwhelming odds on Tottensontag was a cold reminder of the hard fighting that lay ahead.

Manfred was almost happy to see the first signs of light appearing on the horizon. Notwithstanding the proximity to the enemy, he was simply glad to be finished with the disorientating effects of darkness, the wearying need to stay concentrated on the road ahead. Now the tanks ahead were easily visible. With the first light, Basler replaced him in the cupola and Manfred resumed his position beneath him at the gun.

With the arrival of the daylight, the Panzer convoy began to change its formation into one that they employed when they made their frontal attack. Basler stayed up top, much to Manfred’s surprise. Contact with the enemy would happen soon. He looked through his periscope. The tanks were now side by side. A distance of around forty metres separated them. Up ahead, inevitably, was Captain Kummel. Alongside was him was their new commander, Lieutenant-Colonel Teege, leading the metal armada over the sand sea. For a moment Manfred wondered what it must be like to be in the enemy’s shoes and see such a formidable sight. He didn’t envy them.

The heat in the tank had increased dramatically with the rise of the sun. Visibility began to deteriorate as the horizon became a shimmering mirage which affected the eyes the longer you stared at it. The radio crackled with news that some British positions were being overrun. Clearly, despite the company of the South African scouts, some element of surprise had been gained.