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

been more coherent than before. The Panzers had simply overpowered them by sheer weight of numbers. In the first battle this was possible. But a month from now would they still have the men and the armour to do this?

The crew returned to their tanks and all around engines coughed to life again. Whatever Basler’s reaction to Manfred’s question, it was clear that the lieutenant had something on his mind. He sat brooding in the cupola without saying anything more to the crew.

‘Now you’ve done it,’ whispered Klein. The chubby Rhinelander’s features broke into a grin.

Manfred shrugged. He was glad he’d said what he’d said. The world hadn’t ended. Basler understood because he would have been smart enough to realise that attacking such tanks head on was suicidal. The early morning sun was turning the tank into an oven. A long, difficult day lay ahead. Fear gripped him again as they set off in pursuit of the enemy.

17

5 miles north east of Bir Hacheim, Libya, 27th May 1942

‘Just too many of them,’ murmured Benson. He looked shaken but his features hardened quickly as he regained his composure. Danny glanced at the captain. He’d been speaking to himself although he’d voiced the thoughts of every man in the crew. The German advance had been halted temporarily but they risked being picked off by the overwhelming numbers they faced.

‘We need to withdraw,’ added Benson. ‘If we can get them to follow us, we should be able to take them within range of our guns.’

Why aren’t these guns used as a screen for the tanks, thought Danny? Have we learned nothing from fighting the Afrika Korps? Instead, the new six pound guns were dug in at a number of well-defended boxes in the rear. Fat lot of use they were there. What Danny had seen worried him. The sheer weight of numbers would be like trying to hold back a metal tide.

-

An hour later the battle was joined again. It was no less ferocious. Lieutenant-Colonel Pip Roberts was viewing the advance of the Panzers with increasing alarm. Outwardly he remained calm, but he’d been shocked by the intensity of the battle. Wave after wave of enemy tanks was advancing. They were taking many casualties yet still they drove forward. Shell and shot sliced the air around them. Roberts could even hear the sound of the twenty-five-pound guns hitting the Germans from some distant box.

But it wasn’t going to be enough. The regiment would be wiped out if they stayed where they were. All around him he could see the devastating impact wrought by the Panzers. It was only a small comfort to see a similar tale in the burning hulks impeding the advance of the enemy.

‘It’s no use,’ he said to Peter Burr, his adjutant. ‘We knock out one tank and another takes its place. They’re still coming. We can only slow them down, but they’ll wipe us out at this rate. Tell Brigade that we can’t hang on much longer. We’ll either have nothing left or we’ll be cut off.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Burr and immediately got on the radio to communicate the message.

The commander of ‘C’ Squadron, Major Cyril Joly, came on the radio to Roberts.

‘We need to withdraw, sir. We’re almost out of ammo.’ Joly neglected to mention that he was wounded, that his tank had sustained around twenty-five hits and was now barely operable.

The air was stained with smoke and the smell of cordite. Roberts knew he couldn’t wait much longer. There was no sign of support coming from the Fifth Royal Tank Regiment.

‘Yes, understood. Withdraw. Good luck,’ replied Roberts.

On the right-hand side of the ridge, the commander of ‘B’ Squadron, Major George Witheridge, spoke next to Roberts.

‘Three tanks still firing, sir. Ammo low. Three others still operable but out of ammo.’

‘There must be twenty tanks knocked out over there. Good work. We need to re-organise, George. Withdraw now. Reverse slowly for a quarter of a mile then we’ll dash for the higher ground.’

As he said this, his tank was rocked by a hit on the front. He nodded down to the driver and they, too, began to withdraw. He looked over to Peter Burr, ‘Tell Brigade we need ammo. Fast. Get the ammo lorries to meet us at the rallying point.’

A shaken Peter Burr acknowledged the lieutenant-colonel and turned to the radio. His voice remained calm as the tank received a parting hit. It bounced off.

-

Danny glanced towards McLeish. The young man held his arms out. This required no explanation. Danny grinned ruefully at McLeish. The young Scot’s shirt was like a wet flannel. He’d done well. He received a nod from Danny who then turned to Benson.

‘We’re out of ammo, sir,’ said Danny.

Benson looked down at Danny. His face was a mask then he turned to Archie Andrews.

‘Archie?’

‘Three shells left.’

‘Hold fire in case we need them. PG we need to get to the rally point. Fast. Turn around. I can’t see any Jerry following us.’

‘Can you see anything, McLeish?’

‘My periscope is smashed, sir,’ replied the young Scotsman.

PG managed to swing the tank round and drove it forward at nearly fifteen miles per hour towards the rally point. Danny and the others were soaked in sweat. It was mid-morning and the sun was slowly turning the inside of the metal tank into an oven.

The fear that Danny had felt prior to facing the Germans had evaporated during the fight. His survival instinct had overcome the terror. For the short engagement, his whole being was engaged and mobilised towards one purpose: destroying the approaching enemy. Now he felt some of the nervousness return. The battle had been a whirl. He’d not paused to think. Instead, the training had kicked in: his mind and body had fused with the tank. It wasn’t until they were pulling back that he realised how much he’d blocked from his mind.

The scream of the shells, the hits to their tank, the reports of the destroyed tanks, the news of those who had probably been