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

‘Do you think they’ll have the red carpet ready?’ asked Manfred.

Fischer laughed and replied, ‘Either that or being shot fordesertion.’ He saw the look on Kohler’s face and laughed even more.

‘Bastard,’ grinned Kohler. ‘You had me there.’

A few minutes later they heard a different sound. It started as alow hum but soon became a growl. It was coming from the air.

The three boys looked at one another. An aeroplane. But whose?They cast their eyes around them to for a place to hide but there was none.They were in the open. Completely exposed.

‘Take the shirts off our heads,’ ordered Manfred, who removed hismakeshift head scarf.

Fischer quickly did so as did Kohler. The three of them continuedwalking, their shirts stuffed into their trousers. Then Fischer began to laugh.At first Manfred was confused then he looked at his companion. Then, he beganto laugh, too. It was funny. Two blond haired boys in the middle of the desert.No pilot in the world could mistake the two boys below for anything other thanprime examples of the Aryan race.

‘How do you do?’ said Manfred in English.

‘Jolly good,’ replied Fischer. ‘Would you like some tea?’

Kohler looked at the two of them as if they had gone mad. Heshifted his gaze from the two boys to the plane then back.

That was it for Manfred. He collapsed onto the ground laughinghysterically as the growl of the plane’s engine grew louder and louder. Theycould see it clearly now and it was heading directly for them. And flying low.

Fischer was spluttering with laughter trying to say somethingelse. As the plane drew nearer, he staggered in front of Manfred and cast ashadow over him. He managed to say something at last that was recognisablyEnglish.

‘Cheerio, old chap.’

 28

South east of Sidi Rezegh Airfield, Libya, November 22nd,1941

The plane roared over Fischer’s head. A whoop of laughter ensuedfrom both boys.

‘He nearly took your stupid head off,’ shouted Manfred, stilllaughing.

Fischer shook his fist at the pilot. The plane was a Hurricane.The British fighter plane that had caused significant problems for German shippingin the Mediterranean and now in North Africa.

‘Road hog!’ shouted Fischer towards the departing plane. Momentslater they could hear it firing on their comrades. Another plane had joined it.This silenced the two boys and they looked at one another with a degree ofshame. Somewhere up ahead, comrades of theirs, perhaps no older than them,would be dying.

Fischer collapsed on the ground dejectedly. Manfred patted him onthe arm. Then he took his shirt out and put it around his head and shoulders.Nothing was said. Instead they listened to the rattle of the machine guns. Asquickly as it started it was finished. The planes circled around once more butflew off and headed back to where they came from.

‘You’re both mad,’ said Kohler. There was nothing funny abouttheir current situation. He was irritated by the light-hearted manner adoptedby the others. He marched on ahead. Alone.

The two boys helped one another up from the ground and startedback on their march after Kohler. Gradually their amusement dissipated. Theybegan to discuss if they should arrive in time to help or wait until the firinghad finished. Ahead they could see their own lines. At least their assessmentwas correct.

The question was now urgent. The last thing they wanted to do wasto be mistaken for the enemy. This was not entirely without reason. Manfredsuspected that many German tanks had been destroyed by their own guns in thefog of war. They were now in the middle of a wadi, a valley bordered by ridgeless than two kilometres ahead upon which they could see armoured trucks.Further ahead of the trucks would be the tanks and the screen of eight-eights.The chump of the big guns and shells filled the air.

‘What do you think?’ asked Manfred. They couldn’t avoid thesubject any longer.

Fischer looked at his watch. For the first time Manfred noticedit. A Patek Phillipe. Swiss. Expensive.

Fischer grinned at Manfred.

‘Twenty first birthday present. My father represents them inGermany. It’s after five. I say we wait until things calm down.’

Manfred collapsed onto the ground without saying anything. Hisfeet and legs were in agony now. He wasn’t sure he could have walked muchfurther even if he’d wanted to. The thought of being on a tank tomorrow was nowhaunting him. He just wanted to rest, sleep for a week, have a long bath and shave.His face itched damnably as a result of the sand and three days withoutshaving.

Around half an hour later the sound of battle receded as the lightbegan to fade. The three boys looked at one another and got slowly to theirfeet. They began to slog forward through the hard sand. Manfred noticed for thefirst time that even Fischer was finding the going hard. At least it wasn’tjust him.

As they neared the ridge a shot rang out. A bullet pinged into thesand nearby. They ducked in case more followed. Then a voice shouted out,‘Identify yourselves.’

‘Don’t shoot,’ shouted Fischer back. He remained crouched butwaved. ‘We’re German. Our tank was destroyed yesterday.’

‘Come forward slowly.’

The three of them had no problem obeying this order. Theirmovements were paralyzingly slow. In fact, so much so that the order wasrescinded, much to their amusement.

‘Hurry,’ shouted the sentry.

‘Make up your bloody mind,’ responded Fischer. Something of hisold arrogant self was returning.

They reached the ridge and began to scramble up the face. It wasan undignified end to a traumatic twenty-four hours. At the top they weregreeted by a number of infantry soldiers. Their guns were trained on the threeboys.

‘Myself and my Arab friend wish to join the glorious AfrikaKorps,’ said Fisher sourly. Manfred had to choke back the laughter. Thesoldiers seemed less than amused by this, but they were in no doubt that theywere dealing with Germans.

Manfred added, ‘Where do I sign up?’ Kohler looked askance at hisfriends; fully convinced they’d gone mad.

‘Funny bastards,’ said a corporal. ‘Come this way.’

The atmosphere relaxed a little. While there was no mistaking twosix-foot blonde-haired German-speaking boys for anything other than what theysaid they were. However, the three boys would still require processing.

They were led to