El Alamein

by Jack Murray

  A series of explosions outside. He woke with a start. Another explosion, more distant. He roused himself once more. Every breath was a struggle now.

  Another body lay over his feet. He tried to kick free. Pain knifed his chest as he tried to rise, he flopped back. It was useless. And the crackling fire grew louder and edged closer. He felt like crying. This is how it would be then. The immensity of the moment was too much. The indignity of it. Absurd almost. He was in despair. Panic rose in him, drowning his spirit, his will to live. The cabin seemed airless now. He cried out a name. Her name.

  The shapes in the cabin grew indistinct again and the crackling grew dimmer, like a murmur. And then he woke again. And he began to scream over and over again. Not like this. It couldn’t be like this. He screamed again. He screamed until the pain in his throat threatened to overcome him and then he kept screaming.

  The animal screams gave him strength. Somehow, he freed himself from the crushed metal, scraping his leg as he did so and fell onto the floor of the tank. It was awash with blood. He pulled himself forward towards the escape hatch.

  -

  Manfred heard more of the ammunition explode. He crawled away from the tank and fell into an abandoned slit trench. The screams from the other tank were ripping through his head like hot shrapnel. He climbed to his feet and staggered over towards the British tank. The tank he’d destroyed.

  He could see the twisted metal around the hole that the shell had made. There could be no doubt of the destruction inside. Yet someone had lived; to be more accurate, someone was dying. Dying in a manner that was shocking and terrifying.

  Manfred stopped and listened for a second then he limped around to the side of the tank. He stared at the hatch. The last thing he wanted to do was open it. This was war; he’d done what they had done to him. Nothing more, nothing less. It was his duty to kill the enemy. He had done so before. Not like Kiel mowing down defenceless men evacuating a tank. He’d killed them when they’d been trying to kill him. It was barbaric but fair. There was no reason why he should pull open the hatch. None whatsoever. The men inside had killed his crewmates.

  A louder scream scythed through the wall of the tank and into Manfred’s mind.

  He pulled open the hatch.

  The last thing he needed to see was the result of his own handiwork. He knew that the sight inside the tank would stay with him night and day; a nightmare to accompany him for the rest of his life.

  The hatch door came away easily just as the screaming reached a crescendo and then stopped. Smoke wafted into his face and blinded him for a moment. Then he saw the lumps of flesh strewn around the interior like rags in a sewing basket. He turned away from the tank, bent over and threw up.

  -

  The pain was excruciating. Danny felt as if he would pass out. He shut his eyes. Then the blackness became red. There was sunlight. He opened his eyes and squinted. It took a few moments for him to focus. He could hear someone outside although his ears were still ringing from the shell.

  A face appeared at the hatch. He could barely see the features. Soon the face became more distinct. Danny pulled himself closer to the hatch. Daggers of pain raced up though his leg. He grimaced and whispered one word.

  ‘Help.’

  The young man at the hatch frowned. His face was covered in blood and grime. The hair was blonde. Danny realised this was a German soldier. Tears of pain welled up in his eyes. He struggled forward to get a better look. To his right he could hear the sound of popping. The bullets were beginning to burn. Soon they would catch fire and that would set off a chain reaction with the remaining shells that would result in an explosion.

  Danny met the eyes of the young soldier. The fire near the engine was growing stronger now. There was nothing Danny could say now. He wasn’t going to beg. Nor was he just going to stay there. He inched forward. The heat inside the tank was growing more intense by the second. His blackened hands were smoking.

  Manfred looked at the young man. He couldn’t have been any older than him. His dark hair was matted with blood and sweat and other things that he couldn’t bring himself to think about. He was badly injured. And the tank was beginning to brew up. It was a miracle that it hadn’t gone up already.

  Manfred wanted to say something, but no sound came. He wanted to tell the young man he couldn’t help him. His arms fell by his side. His hand touched the knife he’d taken all those months ago. He took it out of its sheath and stared at it.

  He looked back to the young man. The heat coming from the tank was burning his face. Manfred stepped back from the hatch. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the young man crawling towards him. Manfred glanced back at him for a moment. You’re going to die anyway, he thought.

  Danny watched the young soldier staring mutely at him. He wasn’t going to help him, that was clear. Pop, pop, pop went the ammunition. The fire was crackling louder now. He watched as the soldier stepped back from the hatch. Then…

  He walked away.

  Danny felt like screaming. But he would not do that. He couldn’t let the German hear his agony, his terror. Death was preferable. And it was imminent. The fire was spreading, the heat; unendurable.

  Outside the tank he heard a noise. It was difficult to discern what. Something was striking against metal. Moments later he heard a fizz like the sound water makes when it is thrown onto a frying pan. He heard water splashing against metal. Smoke filled the hull and Danny began to cough. But the cracking of flames licking towards the ammunition had stopped.

  Outside the tank, Manfred lifted the last jerrican and set it down over the engine. He struck the can with his sgian-dubh. Its sharp metal ripped through the thin walls of the jerrican and the water fell into the engine, evaporating immediately but also extinguishing the flame.

  Somewhere in the distance he heard the rumble of battle. He stepped back from the tank. The fire seemed to be out. His leg was hurting like hell. Very slowly he walked away from the tank and looked around him. He was alone amidst a scene of shocking brutality. All around him, as far as he could see, were destroyed blackened, red-glowing tanks and trucks. The stench of death lay thick in the air.

  He limped back towards his own tank. The hatch had blown open. Forcing himself to look inside, he confirmed that no one else had survived. He collapsed to the ground and began to sob. But he couldn’t stay long.

  Manfred rose once more and pulled a jerrican of water down from the side of the tank. It was heavy but he would need it. He had a long walk back in the afternoon sun. With a final look towards his own tank, he turned in the direction from which they’d come and began to walk, slowly, home.

  -

  Danny had pulled himself up to the hatch. His shirt was soddened with blood and tissue. His strength was draining away. With a final effort he pulled himself up to the hatch and then out of the tank. He collapsed onto the ground. He was too tired to scream in pain. He looked down at his legs, arms and body. He was covered in red. He had no idea how much of the blood was his and how much belonged to the others.

  He lay against the tank. His hands were black causing him agony; his legs and body were burning not just from the pain of the flames but the stinging barbs of the hot shrapnel. Wounds covered his body; his life blood slowly seeping out of him. He knew he was dying. His body felt like a thousand hot thorns were prodding him repeatedly. The desert was a blur now. He wanted a drink but had no strength left to stand. Alone, propped up against a tank, he would die.

  His mind began to wander. He heard voices from his past. He saw the faces of his mother and father swim before him. Then Sarah’s face materialised just before the blackness came. He fell to the side, his cheek half turned into the hard, crusty desert.

  -

  A few hours passed, and the sounds of battle receded like waves on a beach. A tank came rumbling through the graveyard of blackened, twisted metal. Then another tank appeared and then another. The crews looked on in shocked silence at the extraordinary scene of destruction around th
em.

  ‘Halt,’ ordered the captain sitting on the cupola of one tank. He put a cheroot to his mouth and then lifted his binoculars. He could see a body, covered with blood, lying against a tank. Probably dead, he thought. Best to check anyway. Then get the hell out of this bloody place. He ordered the driver to move closer.

  ‘Bennett, go take a look,’ drawled the captain.

  The hatch opened and Dave Bennett jumped out of the tank and strolled over to the body. The head was covered in blood yet there was something about the young soldier that seemed familiar. Then it hit him.

  ‘Bloody hell, sir. It’s Shaw.’

  ‘Shaw?’ said Captain Aston. He paused for a moment and gazed at the bloodied uniform. ‘Is he dead?’

  Bennett knelt down and put his index finger and long finger into the groove of the neck near the windpipe. He seemed to take a long time about it, much to Aston’s irritation.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Bennett stood up. He looked down at the young man that had been, briefly, his crew mate. He’d liked Shaw. A good sort. He was a mess now. Dried blood caked his hair. His cheek was a paste of dry sand and blood. He seemed to be sleeping.

  ‘What shall we do sir?’ asked Bennett, kneeling down again. He lifted Danny’s arm and pressed his finger against the underside of his wrist. He held it there for a minute.

  ‘Well?’ asked Aston, keen to move on.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Bennett stood up and felt a sadness at the death of the young man he’d known briefly. Then a thought struck him. Why wasn’t the body cold? Aston was frowning at him. He was never the most patient of captains.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Bennett knelt felt once more for a pulse.

  ‘It’s weak, but there’s something there.’

  Bennett looked up towards Aston. The captain was already ordering Stone, the gunner, out of the tank to help Bennett. A few seconds later Stone appeared and trotted over to Bennett.

  ‘Bloody hell, not so good-looking now, is he?’ said Stone. This was an understatement, thought Bennett.

  ‘Carry him over. Probably too late, anyway by the looks of him,’ said Aston, staring down at Danny.

  They crouched down, one at either end, hoisted the limp body up and carried it to the tank. They set Danny carefully down on the front. He looked a mess. The whole front of the uniform was red. Aston removed the cheroot and told Stone to get back inside the tank. He surveyed the devastation around him and shook his head. Then he pointed to Danny.

  ‘Wash his head wound, Bennett, see what it’s like underneath,’ ordered Aston. ‘He looks a goner, but we’ll do what we can.’

  The End

  Research Notes

  I have mentioned a number of real-life individuals and events in this novel. Although the events described in the novel are matters of historical fact, conversations and the views attributed to the real-life individuals are my own invention.

  My intention, in the following section, is to explain a little more about their connection to this period and this story.

  Any other information on the fate of the people mentioned below would be welcome.

  ALLIED ARMY

  Field-Marshall Bernard Law Montgomery (1887-1976)

  Field Marshall, later 1st Viscount Montgomery of Alamein was the fourth son of a Northern Irish Church of Ireland Reverend. His early life was spent in Tasmania where his father became a Bishop. His early life was unhappy as his mother, Maud, ruled the household with tyrannical discipline. The result was a rebellious child in Montgomery and such a deep dislike of his mother that he declined to attend her funeral or allow his son, David, to see her.

  This streak of rebelliousness was a theme in his life. He was almost expelled from Sandhurst because of it. However, he did manage to graduate and went on to fight in the Great War, seeing action many times, seriously wounded through the lung early in the conflict and eventually being promoted to a role akin to Chief of Staff, effectively a Lieutenant-Colonel, by the time the war was ending. He was decorated many times for bravery.

  In the inter-war years, he continued his active service in Ireland before taking a training role in India. By this time, he had married and had a son. His wife died a couple of years before the outbreak of the Second World War.

  His trenchant personality was polarising to many. This may have held him back in the early stages of the war. However, notwithstanding his difficult nature, there was no arguing with the effectiveness with which he trained and led his commands in preparation for invasions of Portugal or in defending against any German landings. As the situation in North Africa continued to deteriorate, it was to Montgomery that Churchill turned following the unexpected death of his first choice to lead the 8th Army, General Gott.

  Following the success of the North African campaign, Montgomery led the Eighth Army in the invasion of Italy. Although ultimately successful, Montgomery was dissatisfied by the campaign and the inefficient deployment of the overwhelming superiority enjoyed by the Allies.

  In early 1944, Montgomery was assigned to the planning of the second front, ‘Overlord’. Montgomery took part at the head of the 21st Army Group. As ever, his success was mixed with endless altercations with those around him and other senior commanders. However, his contribution to the ultimate victory cannot be questioned.

  Montgomery continued to serve in the army and, later, under Eisenhower under the auspices of NATO. The final word should go to his friend and sometime sparring partner, Winston Churchill.

  "In defeat, unbeatable; in victory, unbearable.

  AXIS ARMY

  Erwin Rommel(1891 – 1944)

  German World War II Field Marshal. Erwin Johannes Eugen Rommel led the North African campaign of 1941-1943. With a small German force, Rommel’s audacious leadership turned around Axis fortunes in North Africa causing the defeat of the British at Gazala in May 1942, followed by the taking of Tobruk. A vastly superior allied force under Bernard Montgomery won a convincing victory at El Alamein. Rommel withdrew the survivors of his Panzer army to Tunisia. He left for Europe in March 1943. Rommel’s last military appointment was to command the Army in northwest Europe. By then Rommel had lost all faith in Adolf Hitler. His disenchantment led to a confrontation with Hitler and a possible involvement in a failed assassination attempt. He committed suicide in 1944. He was given a state funeral.

  Lieutenant-Colonel Johannes Kummel (1909-1944)

  Johannes Kümmel, ‘the Lion of Capuzzo’ was a highly decorated tank commander in the 15th Panzers during World War II. During the Allied attack of June 1941, Operation Battleaxe, Kümmel destroyed 10 enemy tanks, forcing the British to retreat. This earned him the nickname ‘The Lion of Capuzzo’.

  One of only 882 recipients of the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves, awarded to recognise extreme battlefield bravery or successful military leadership, Kümmel left North Africa prior to El Alamein, fighting later in Italy before being killed in car accident in 1944 in Cisterna, Italy. He was posthumously promoted to Oberst (Colonel).

  General Hans Cramer (1896 – 1968)

  Lieutenant-Colonel Cramer led the 15th Panzer division during the Crusader action. He stayed with the regiment until early 1942 when he returned to Germany. He returned to North Africa in 1943 as a general. During the Allied push following the success at El Alamein, he was taken prisoner. After a period in captivity, he was exchanged in 1944 for Allied prisoners. As a former POW, he was suspected of involvement in the 20 July plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler and held under house arrest.

  Captain Hans Marseille (1919 -1942)

  ‘Careful, Marseille is in in the air’ was reputed to be a common radio message for the RAF when Marseille flew. While one can never be certain about the number of actual ‘kills’ he made, there can be no doubt Marseille was responsible for downing well over 100 Allied planes while he was in North Africa, possibly 17 in one day on 1 September 1942. He died by accident soon after receivin
g the Iron Cross, just before El Alamein. While on an escort mission his plane began to fill with smoke. He died while attempting to parachute to safety. It is reputed that the RAF dropped a wreath for the Marseille.

  THE BATTLES

  Operation Crusader (Nov–Dec 1941)

  The Crusader operation was the subject of the previous book in this series, Sidi Rezegh, although given the complexity of the battles and span of time over which they took place, it was not possible to encompass all within the realms of a fictional piece.

  Crusader was born in the aftermath of the ill-fated Operation, Battleaxe (June 1941). It began in the second half of November of the same year by which time both sides had received considerable reinforcements. The German 90th Light Division had arrived in North Africa and the Afrika Korps (DAK) had increased the strength of its powerful 88mm anti-tank guns to thirty-five.

  The 5th Leicht Division, had been re-equipped with new medium Mark III Panzer tanks and renamed 21st Panzer Division. Three new Italian divisions arrived to strengthen further the Axis forces, bringing them up to three German and six Italian divisions.

  The British received another three motorised infantry divisions, Stuart tanks and ten more armoured regiments. These reinforcements totalled 115,000 men, none trained in desert warfare and not yet fit for immediate operations.

  Operation Crusader began on 18th November, pre-empting an attack by the Germans and Italians due for 23rd November and thus the German 15th Panzer and 90th Light Divisions were already in position for their own attack. This meant that they were well placed to thwart the British advance, which was made in heavy rain.

  For the next several weeks one of the most complicated battles in the history of warfare ensued with advantage swinging back and forward as the two armies battered one another to a standstill. At no point did either side gain a decisive advantage. Better leadership would have carried the day much earlier as victory was, at different times, very close for each side..