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

‘You didn’t need to change them?’ asked Danny. The answer had been a little too easy. PG shot Danny a look but did not answer. The tank had refused to start on a couple of occasions in the last few days, both times during the night march. PG had simply dried the plugs and they’d started again. The unspoken question was what would happen if it should occur during the day, mid-battle. Any further conversation on the subject ended with the return of Benson. Archie Andrews set down his book and joined the others.

‘Gather round,’ ordered the captain.

The crew turned to face the captain. Benson drew out the tension a little longer as he fumbled with his pipe. Finally, he looked up and began to speak.

‘We move out around dawn tomorrow. There’s going to be a major push towards the enemy base at Tel el Aqqaqir. Their base is roughly 3 miles north-west of Kidney. Freyburg and the New Zealanders will go in first. This will be a night attack. Their infantry will look to break through followed by the second, eighth and ninth Armoured Brigades. The attack will be concentrated across a two-mile strip. The artillery and the RAF will start to hit them tonight, then the Kiwis move in. Our turn will come around dawn. We’ll be accompanied, once more, by the Notts on the left, Staffs in the centre with us on the right. Any questions?’

It wasn’t a question, but Danny voiced the thought on everyone’s mind.

‘The New Zealanders will be hit hard. So will the armoured boys when the eighty-eights get a sight of them at first light.

Benson’s face was grim, but he made no reply. The words of Pyman, quoting Freyburg, echoed in his mind.

‘For armour to attack a wall of guns sounds like another Balaclava.’

They would be shelled, gunned and bombed from all sides. The casualties were likely to be shocking. And the 3 RTR was expected to follow them into the hellhole and no doubt others would follow them. The body count would rise and rise until the Afrika Korps had run out of men or ammo.

‘Try and rest if you can. It’ll be a long day tomorrow,’ warned Benson.

Danny glanced towards PG. He wondered what the Yorkshireman was thinking. The solemn face had a different character than usual. Resignation rather than cynicism lurked behind his eyes. This was likely to be a cauldron in every sense.

They climbed into the tank to try and grab some sleep, but Danny found it impossible. There was too much nervous energy in his body, too many thoughts racing through his mind. In the end he re-read letters from home for the hundredth time. None of the others were sleeping either. It was as if they sensed that tomorrow would be momentous.

Oddly, Danny was in no doubt that they would break though. The slugging match of the previous few days was surely beginning to tell on the enemy. They were crumbling, as the plan had suggested they would. The calculations of high command were essentially correct. Less comforting was the thought that they were built on such high attrition. It was difficult to avoid the bitter conclusion that Montgomery was prepared to win at all costs. What was the loss of a brigade or two when set against the overall objective of defeating the enemy? The answer of course depended on which end of the gun sight you were standing at.

McLeish’s leg started juddering again. He reddened a little when he realised Danny had noticed it.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Danny. ‘We’re all bricking it.’

McLeish’s grin widened when PG said from the driver’s seat, ‘Speak for yourself, soft lad. Some of us real men can’t wait to get back at the Hun.’

Danny arched his eyebrows and leaned forward.

‘Do you know, there’s an idea in there somewhere, sir. I think we should send PG in first,’ said Danny. ‘Perhaps he could talk cricket at them. If we can’t bomb them into submission, we could try boring them instead.’

Even Benson was chuckling at the exchange while puffing on his pipe.

‘You’ve no culture, country boy. Pair of wellies and a friendly sheep, and you’re happy.’

‘You forgot sweeping up horse droppings,’ pointed out Danny, grinning.

‘That’s bath time for your lot,’ replied PG. Some of his spirit seemed to have returned.

Planes flew overhead but no one batted an eyelid. They recognised the low growl of the bombers heading in the direction of the Axis lines. The aerial bombardment would continue for hours. By now, no one expected it to do any more damage to the enemy than interrupt their sleep. Days of bombing by the planes and big guns had done little, seemingly, to dent either the enemy spirit or the intensity of the fighting.

If anything, the unending assault threatened to hurt the morale of the Allies more if only because it raised hopes during the night that were dashed the next morning. Nothing seemed to stop the Afrika Korps. They were having everything thrown at them, yet they kept coming back for more: undeterred, unbroken and undefeated.

43

Tel el Aqqaqir, thirty kilometres east of El Alamein: 1 / 2  November 1942

Less than twenty kilometres away from Danny, Manfred sat with his head propped against the wall of the tank, thinking not dissimilar thoughts. Night after night they had been pounded by Allied artillery and bombers. The surprise wasn’t so much that there was anything left alive in the desert as that there were any shells left to launch. It was relentless.

He was beyond fear now. They all were. Unspoken but shared was the belief that sooner or later they would die. It was there in the gallows humour, the enervation, the hollow-eyed grins that masked their hunger, their fatigue and their resignation. The joke amongst the crews was that if Montgomery had been using the Afrika Korps rather than his own army, the job would have been completed by now.

Manfred shivered in the metal fridge that