by Jack Murray
‘I do,’ confirmed the burly Yorkshireman. His face was round, but he certainly did not seem in any way jolly. Danny recognised this face. It was one worn by the veterans of the last year who’d faced superior weaponry, who’d lost friends and who knew the job was far from over. A cigarette was permanently hung from his lower lip like a swearword. It stayed there from breakfast until bedtime. He smoked like a factory town.
‘PG is our mechanic when we’re adrift from the echelon. Next up we have Archie Andrews, our gunner who’ll be with me in the turret.’
Andrews was a tall, lean corporal. He wore a thin moustache and greeted Danny with an intelligent smile.
‘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 days now that the Germans are going to spring an attack. We don’t know where or when but they’ve been saying it could happen any time now. I think they’re right. I can feel it. More than that, I have a gut feeling that Jerry will attack tomorrow. Everyone is to be up at one hour before first light and we’ll take up the battle formation I reconnoitred a few days ago. Get a good night’s sleep. That’s all.’
A few hours later, Roberts was shaken gently at first then more forcefully from his sleep. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the harsh light from the torch. Captain Peter Burr, Roberts’ adjutant, looked down at his commanding officer.
‘Yes, what is it, Burr? Bad news?’
‘Yes, sir. You were right, they’re on the move.’
‘What time is it?’
Burr glanced at his watch, ‘After three, sir.’ He didn’t have to add, ‘in the morning’.
Roberts sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes. He focused on his adjutant and asked, ‘Where are they now?’
‘Heading south, sir. They’ve turned off the Trigh Capuzzo and our best guess is they are making for Bir Hacheim.’
‘Remind me what we have there?’ Roberts still in the process of waking from his sleep.
‘4th Armoured, sir. Not all of it,’ came the reply.
‘Against?’
‘The 15th and 21st Panzer armies, we believe. Basically the whole of the Afrika Korps. Perhaps some Italians, too.’
‘How the hell did our intelligence miss a bloody big army moving in this direction? They’ve had planes flying over us for days now. Even Ultra at Bletchley knew something was in the offing.’
‘The men are ready, sir.’
‘At least we made sure of that,’ replied Roberts jumping out of his camp bed. He was already dressed. Then he stopped for a moment. Just how ready were they? The answer to this question was barely a few hours away. He cast aside any anxiety he was feeling.
‘Very well, let’s give Jerry the welcome he deserves.’
-
If there’s one thing less pleasant than having to wake up early when in the middle of a deep sleep, it’s waking up early when you’ve barely managed to sleep at all. It had been one of those nights for Danny and he was distinctly displeased. Just a few weeks of camp and he knew that he’d softened a little.
At least he was no longer the junior member of the crew and therefore designated Brew master. That honour went to the Scotsman, McLeish. It was still dark and the leaguer was alive with the sound of shouting, some laughter and even some engines being tested.
Danny wondered if the earlier start was significant. He’d noticed that Captain Benson had been quite tight-lipped the previous night after the senior staff meeting. No one had asked why but the looks around the crew all suggested they’d also noticed the sombre mood of the tank commander.
Benson wasn’t around for the breakfast which added to the sense that something was in the offing. There was just a hint of distant rumbling in the air. Danny felt his skin tingle as a number of possible reasons presented themselves.
‘What’s happening, sir?’ asked Danny when he saw Benson finally arrive back at the tank. A few of the other tanks were already departing. What had started off as an early start was unquestionably something more now. Benson’s face was grim.
‘The enemy has made a long march through the night. We believe they are not very many miles away.’
This revelation, while hardly a surprise, was still enough to provoke a few colourful reactions from the men around the campfire. Benson allowed them to let off steam for a minute before raising his hand for silence.
‘I think we can be fairly certain the show is starting again. We’ll see action soon. Very soon I suspect if that sound in the distance is anything to go by. Just remember a few things. You’ve been training for this over the last few months. You are ready. We also have something that Jerry is not expecting.’
Benson glanced towards the big Grant tank.
‘No longer are we outmatched by superior armour. This time we’re the ones with the better tanks. If we use our advantage, we can inflict a lot of damage on Jerry today. Enough to make him stop and think.’
Danny listened and felt heartened by what he was hearing. The misgivings he’d had about the new tank began to recede as he considered the possibility that it was better than what they were up against. How true this was didn’t matter at that moment. Benson had shrewdly guessed that the sudden arrival of the enemy was likely to put the wind up everyone a little. His words not only provided badly needed solace they instilled, once more, a belief that this time they would be the hunter.
There was an unreal air in the camp. It was dark and everyone was up but there seemed no urgency. Danny inquired of Benson why they weren’t packing up and engaging the enemy. Benson held his hands up in the universally recognised symbol of ‘search me’.
‘Eat your breakfast. We’ll be mixing it soon enough. I suspect the powers that be haven’t quite decided if this is a feint or the big push.’
Danny nodded. It made sense. Rommel was well known for just this sort of artifice. He spied a number of men walking away from the camp carrying spades. They came rushing back seconds later when the shouts started. It was just after seven. The mad scramble had begun.
They quickly finished their breakfast. The sound of engines growing louder in the distance added a certain alacrity to finishing their meal. It made the arrival of a number of sergeants, shouting at everyone, an irrelevance. Everyone could hear the enemy now. An ominous deep rumbling on the horizon. It sent a chill through Danny. He threw on his overcoat and scarf before helping pack the tents.
The sun was up now and reports were filtering through from the Light Squadron who’d set off earlier. They were a mile ahead of the main group and had sighted dust on the horizon. A lot of dust. They were barely ten minutes away.
‘Talk about leaving it to the last minute,’ commented Sid Gregson on the radio.
As there were two radios in the tank, Danny was able to hear much of what was going on thanks to Gregson. They both listened in on the wireless which was now giving a running commentary on events up ahead.
‘Their tanks have overrun Bir Hacheim,’ said Gregson grimly. ‘Doesn’t sound good.’
‘How the hell did they do that?’ asked ‘PG’, echoing Danny’s thoughts. He fought back a wave of nausea. It was always a battle to fight back the sickening thought that the Afrika Korps was just better tank on tank, leader on leader, man on man. They seemed always to be one step ahead. Once more the swiftness of their strike had caught the Allies off guard. Danny’s heart began to race as the tank rolled ever closer to this extraordinary army. For the first time in months, he felt fear. His senses, however, were waking up from the torpor of inactivity. Danny now had enough experience to recognise that fear wasn’t just an ever-present companion in the desert. It was a friend, too. It gave his survival instincts the impetus to act and the mental, physical, and spiritual resources to keep going.
It was now after seven in the morning and more news was coming through. None of it good. The “B” echelon had been overrun and captured. This meant a lot of fuel and supplies would now be in the enemy’s hands.
Roberts’ calm voice crackled on the wireless, ‘Move to battle position Larwood.’ Danny looked over to ‘PG’, who ignored him. Gregson smiled and mouthed ‘south west’. The tank trundled on towards a rumbling sound that was no longer just engines. The battle was underway.
Major Hutton’s voice came over the radio.
‘Sighted the enemy. Must be over one hundred tanks. Three thousand yards away.’
‘Definitely not friends?’ asked Roberts although he knew the answer.
‘No, not friends, sir.’
‘I can see them now,’ said Roberts. ‘Good lord, some of them are sitting outside the tanks.
Burr now reported to the tank column, ‘Yes, one hundred tanks. Twenty abreast, at least five rows of them. Make that six. Sorry, no. Bloody hell, there are eight rows of the devils. Must be two hundred of them out there.’
Danny’s heart sank at hearing this. Whatever advantage they had with their new tank, they faced a potentially insurmountable problem. They were badly outnumbered.
‘Do not open fire until they are one zero, zero, zero yards. I think hull down is out of the question,’ warned Roberts. His voice betrayed no nerves.
‘Must be two hundred tanks,’ said Hutton in a tone that was clearly awed. ‘Two thousand yards now and closing.’
‘Right, “B” and “C” squadrons take up battle line on the ridge three hundred yards in front. “B” Squadron right, “C” squadron left. Wait for my order, mind.’
Danny could see what Roberts was thinking. The “B” and “C” squadrons were composed of the Grants. They could take a pop at the Panzers from further out.
‘That leaves you, “A” Squadron,’ said Roberts. ‘Can you move to protect our right flank. And keep in touch with the 8th Hussars whatever you do. They’re around there somewhere. I don’t want you or them, for that matter, firing at us. Are those blasted twenty-five pounders here yet, by the way?’
Danny looked through his telescope. The Panzers were advancing ominously towards them. He glanced down at ‘PG’. He still had his viewing flap opened. He was eating a bisc
uit.
‘Want some tea?’ asked Danny.
‘PG’ turned around and looked at him. Then he did something that made Danny quite surprised. He grinned. This was the first time he’d seen the Yorkshireman smile in the few days since they’d been thrown together. Cool devil, thought Danny.
Roberts spoke again, ‘We will make contact with our friends on the left. No one fire until I give the order. Off’
Give the bloody order, thought Danny nervously. He motioned to McLeish to load. He pointed to the AP Armour Piercing shells. Moments later Benson spoke to them on the internal radio.
‘Ready, Shaw? Give them all you’ve got when the order comes through.’
‘Yes, sir.’ In Danny’s mind he could see where the German tanks would be. Their regiment had done exercises over this vast salt plain. He looked though the telescope again. All he could see in the distance was a shimmering haze. Nothing was distinct. Yet they were there. The nerve-shredding rumble of their engines made the lack of visibility all the more terrifying. Danny’s stomach was now in knots at the sound of the approaching tanks.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Benson. He was still outside the top of the tank scanning the horizon with his binoculars.
Danny squinted but could see nothing. The sun reflected off the haze and temporarily made his eyes water. He rubbed them and returned his attention to what was in the distance. Then he saw them. His heart lurched. In just the blink of an eye, the dark shapes had emerged as if from a malevolent mirage. They were spread out across three miles of desert like a black cloud. The sight was awe-inspiring and terrifying in equal measure.
A flash caught Danny’s eye as he looked through his telescope. Then he heard a series of crumps. All along the line of German tanks there were puffs of black smoke. ‘PG’ slowly shut his flap as if he was trying to keep out the rain.
‘Pick your target, Shaw. Archie, you wait until I give the order. They’re still a bit too far,’ said Benson slowly. He had now taken the eminently sensible, in Danny’s view, precaution of ducking into the turret.
