Crusader (A Novel of WWII Tank Warfare)

by Jack Murray

  ‘Don’t speak too soon, Fischer,’ replied Manfred, ‘We’re not home yet.’

  Home. Where was that now? The tank? The camp? Germany?

  They forged ahead as the gloom descended on the desert. They were silent now. Thoughts of where they would camp were uppermost in their minds. Finally it was dark. They had no tank tracks to guide them in the dark. Finally Fischer stopped and looked around him. Darkness enfolded them.

  ‘What do you think, my friends?’

  Manfred started to laugh.

  ‘I hope you’re not afraid of the dark.’

  Fischer began to laugh now, too. Kohler started to laugh but seemed less sure of what the joke was. Both Manfred and Fischer had to sit down such was their merriment. It was free and pure. The laughter of youth, unrestricted by responsibility. The laughter of people who had a whole life ahead of them.

  25

  Sidi Rezegh Airfield, Libya, November 21st, 1941S

  Danny looked around him as he followed Aston back towards his new tank. Arthur gave him a salute and Danny managed a grin. A number of C Squadron tanks had survived the charge. Only two from Danny’s. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the rumble of guns. He looked down at his watch and saw it was broken. The face was cracked, and time stilled. He took it off and threw it away. He thought about Phil Lawrence’s ridiculous Mickey Mouse watch.

  He and Aston walked in silence towards the tank. Both were still too much in shock from the morning to speak. Aston glanced at Danny. He remembered the cocky soldier from a few months previously. Not so cocky now are you, son? thought Aston. They arrived at the tank which was being refuelled and replenished with ammunition.

  The tank was in a pitiful state. The dents, the dust and the sense of death hung over it. Aston stared at it in silence and wondered how the hell they’d escaped the carnage.

  ‘Listen up, men,’ said Aston, ‘This is Shaw. He’s our loader now. You can introduce yourselves in the tank. Is it ready yet?’

  Twenty minutes later, just enough time for Danny to gulp down as much water as he could and grab some biscuits, the tank was ready to leave. They climbed into the Crusader. It looked identical to the one Danny had recently vacated feet first, unconscious. The men were familiar to him having played football with them before.

  ‘Shaw, this is Stone, our gunner,’ said Aston, ‘Shaw, you take orders from these men until I say so.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Danny. He eyed Stone who grinned and held out his hand. Stone then indicated the men behind him.

  ‘That’s Dave Bennett on the wireless and Alex Wilson our driver.’

  Danny quickly shook hands before Wilson moved to crank up the tank for moving out. Ten minutes later they were on the move again. The smell of fumes and men was no different from the previous tank, yet Danny felt like he was in an alien land. After five months with the other men, this was different.

  He’d had no time to grieve for his tank mates. But a feeling of desolation hit him now. Although he’d never had much time for Holmes, the thought of how he’d met his end was distressing. The loss of Reed affected him particularly. There had been a quiet certainty about the sergeant that Danny had admired. There was no more competent soldier than Reed. None braver. Yet nothing could have saved him. The insanity of what they’d undertaken was laid bare.

  As he looked around the tank, he saw Stone looking at him. There was a shrewdness to the Londoner that made Danny feel like he was an open book. He felt wary at first. Then Stone spoke.

  ‘Sorry about your mates. Can’t be easy.’

  Danny nodded. It wasn’t easy.

  ‘Reed was a good man. The captain,’ said Stone, glancing upwards towards Aston, ‘tried to get him in his tank six months ago but Lister wasn’t having it. He promoted him and gave him his own tank instead.’

  Danny noted that Stone didn’t say ‘Lieutenant-Colonel’. It was just Lister. This didn’t feel right, but he said nothing. He’d heard stories of the insubordinate nature of this tank crew. They took their lead from the tank commander. A part of him felt uncomfortable about such an attitude of defiance. He believed in the command structure of the army. Why else would he ride into battle fully aware of the risks involved? However, another part of him questioned what they were doing. Riding into enemy gunfire seemed no more intelligent now than it had when his father had watched friends and comrades walking to their death in a hail of machine gun fire.

  ‘He was a good man,’ confirmed Danny, at last.

  No one in the tank felt like talking. This suited Danny. He wasn’t in the mood to get to know his new comrades. It was possible he would be reassigned to a new tank, anyway. On first acquaintance, they were a surly bunch. There was a sly look about the gunner, Stone, that was the opposite of Holmes. He knew Holmes didn’t like him. He made no attempt to hide this. To be fair, Holmes liked no one so Danny was not a special case.

  Craig was a cynic. He woke up cynical and went to bed secure in the knowledge he was right to be so. However, like Holmes, Danny always felt he knew where he stood. Charlie Felton was more open because he was in the same place as Danny. New, inexperienced and not trusted.

  The men in this tank seemed more guarded. They usually kept themselves to themselves in camp. Collectively they had the same cynicism as Craig but without the dry humour that accompanied it. Danny concluded from this that his best policy was to keep his head down and do his job while avoiding conversation which showed dissent with any senior officer.

  The radio crackled and Danny heard Longworth’s voice over the airwaves.

  ‘Longworth here. Report positions.’

  Aston’s reply was off air and off colour, but it made the men in the tank smile, Danny included. He looked at Aston again and had to admit there was a charisma about the man, a certain devil-may-care aura. Although Reed had never said as much, he knew the sergeant didn’t have time for Aston. Separately, Danny had heard he was a bit of bellyacher. Yet here he was, albeit inside twenty tons of metal, ready to face German gunfire.

  And the German gunfire started again and did not stop for the duration of the afternoon. The radio was their lifeline to what was happening in the world outside, yet the story was confused. The exasperation in Aston’s voice was all too clear as he sought to make sense of a battle which was as chaotic as any he’d ever experienced.

  ‘What’s happening, sir?’ asked Danny as there was a brief lull in the barrage.

  Aston was on the point of providing an unsympathetic and brief response to the question when he saw the rest of the men looking his way. He held his natural inclination in check and gave the best summary he could on his limited understanding.

  Danny smiled at this and found himself warming to the aristocratic captain. The situation was ghastly, no question. But something of the captain’s acerbity was comforting. Aston’s face, like all of them, was caked in sand. They were dirty, tired and more than a little bit frightened by the shells raining down on them. But Aston’s summary of the situation helped, oddly, in staving off the sense of displacement they had sitting in a tank.

  ‘Listen up,’ said Aston. ‘As you may have gathered it’s all a bit of a mess. I don’t think Campbell knows what’s happening; I suspect Gott and Davy even less. We’re under attack at the airfield. You may have noticed one or two bombs headed our way.’

  Danny and the other men laughed. They had certainly noticed. Aston took out a map and set it down for all to see. His hands were dirty. Grime-encrusted skin and fingernails were not quite what one would have associated with a nobleman’s son.

  ‘It’s a bloody mess. Jerry has the taken the north western end of the escarpment, but we’re in control of the south. The enemy is also to our east at Abiar el Amar and to the north at el Duda. Behind them, Scobie at Tobruk is threatening their rear. To our south Gott and Davy are being threatened by more tanks. We’re going to join Campbell and the Support Group and try to hold Jerry off at the eastern side of the airfield. We have artillery and infantry there b
ut may come up against tanks. Get ready for another pounding.’

  There was an audible groan in the tank.

  ‘It’s worse than you think. I heard from Longworth that the 60th artillery barely has any guns left. I don’t know how long we can hold. The best we can hope for is that it’s long enough for either darkness to fall or they run out of petrol or ammunition or both. Not the best strategy I’ve heard lately. To cap it off, and there’s no sugar-coating it, we’re slap bang in the middle of this show. It’s all a bit like a Battenberg cake at the moment.’

  Well, he certainly hadn’t sugar-coated it, thought Danny. Oddly he felt better for knowing. It was clear that Aston was not a man for dispensing false hope. This was a strange form of reassurance.

  The tank bumped along in the direction of the airfield. The sounds of battle grew louder. By now, Danny was too numb to feel terror. Could what they were about to face be any worse that what he’d been through already? He was aware of a dull throb in his head where he’d banged it earlier. His stomach was empty, yet he felt no hunger. Instead his mind was filled with a sense of wonder at what he and the men around him had been through and what they were being asked to do now.

  -

  Late afternoon, the twelve remaining tanks, of the 6th RTR, trundled towards the Sidi Rezegh airfield. Danny could see the square, clean pattern of the airfield filled with destroyed planes at the boundary. In the middle were some burnt-out armoured vehicles and tanks. A black pall of smoke filled the air.

  The 60th Field Regiment were firing their guns, but they were greatly reduced in number. There was a staff car in front of them. Danny could see an officer waving the tanks forward holding aloft a blue scarf. Who the hell is that, wondered Danny? They were passing burning vehicles as they sped down the hill.

  ‘Campbell must be mad,’ uttered Aston incredulously. ‘He’s running around in that bloody staff car. He’s even waving a scarf. You’d think he wants the Germans to aim at him.’

  A blue scarf thought Danny. This wasn’t in any training manual he’d had read. Still, it seemed to be working. The tanks were racing forward behind this extraordinary man. Beside him, driving, was a fair-haired man. They were heading directly towards dozens of Panzer tanks in the distance. All of the tanks were coming in their direction.

  ‘The man’s insane,’ said Aston staring ahead at the same sight as Danny.

  Aston glanced down at Wilson, the driver. A tacit signal was exchanged. Danny sensed the tank slow slightly. He felt a touch on his arm from Stone. Danny reacted immediately and had loaded a shell into the gun.

  Shells were now raining down, a cacophony of clanging against the tanks. Danny risked a glance through his periscope and saw sadistic flashes of fire from the approaching Panzers.

  He heard Stone fire off the first round. Danny tracked its progress and saw it hit the target.

  ‘Shot,’ yelled Danny in joy before the crushing dismay as realisation set in that the shell had merely bounced off the Panzer III armour. They were too far away.

  Aston had seen the same thing and gave vent to his feelings about the inadequacy of the British guns with a volley of oaths.

  Danny tugged the next shell out of the bracket, pulling down the ejection leaver and forcing it into the barrel with enough force to close the breech in a single movement. He tapped the gunner to give the ‘gun ready’ signal. Stone fired again but Danny was barely aware as he was already tugging at the next shell.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Wilson. His foot was coming off the accelerator. He was aware of the increasing intensity of Aston’s swearing at the enemy, but he and Stone were a blur of activity: load, fire, load, fire.

  ‘Oh God,’ shouted Aston. ‘This is carnage.’

  Danny couldn’t see what was happening but guessed their charge at the vast army of tanks was exacting its toll.

  But it was not all one-sided.

  Stone’s shells were striking home to great effect if the gunner’s ‘Got ‘im’ was to be believed. Danny hadn’t time to admire Stone’s handiwork. His movements were piston-like, efficient and potently in synch with the deadly purpose of the tank. He was part of a killing machine.

  The hit they took probably saved them. The tank shuddered as it was struck sending a shock wave through each man. It stopped the tank in its tracks. The acrid smell of cordite came first then smoke began to fill the hull and then the turret. Flames followed but by then Wilson was screaming what they all knew. The tank was brewing up.

  ‘Bale out,’ screamed Aston, already climbing out through the cupola. Danny followed Stone out of the top. The heat of the metal singed Danny’s hands as he climbed out. He felt breathless, dazed and deafened. Only his racing heartbeat confirmed to him he’d survived. One thought was on his mind. Get clear.

  All five men were out of the tank and sprinting for cover. Seconds later the tank exploded as the shells inside detonated. Danny hit the ground and covered his head. Earth and bits of metal rained down. He spun around and saw the smoking ruin that was once the Crusader tank. Behind him he heard the others shouting. They were racing in between the destroyed tanks. It was a slaughter. At least half a dozen of the remaining tanks of the regiment had been destroyed. It had taken the Germans less than a few minutes to wreak this havoc.

  Danny got to his feet and sprinted behind one tank and dodged towards another. The other men had disappeared now. Glancing to his right he saw an explosion take out soldiers manning a twenty-five pounder. He ran over towards the gun to see if he could help any of the wounded men to safety.

  Arriving at the gun he saw that the two men were, in fact, dead. He collapsed to his knees and retched at the sight of the injuries. The barrage continued. Shells whistled overhead. He ignored them. He looked up into the sky and saw the black smoke blotting out the sunlight.

  Explosions erupted across the airfield. He turned around and looked at the burning misshapen hulks dotted around the airfield. He heard shouts in the distance, but Danny was past caring. A wordless acceptance that death was near.

  A car pulled up near Danny. He turned around and saw an officer stride over towards him.

  ‘Artillery?’

  ‘Tank’

  ‘Do you know how to operate one of these?’

  Danny looked at the tall officer and then the twenty-five pounder gun. He nodded and then jumped to his feet. The officer was already on his way towards the gun. Danny made straight for the shells.

  ‘Load,’ ordered the officer.

  Danny levered the breech open and heaved the cartridge into the jacket of the barrel. He closed the block quickly. Meanwhile, the officer was adjusting the aim.

  ‘Have you pushed the crank forward? We don’t want the shell coming back out.’ asked the officer, still considering his aim.

  ‘Yes, sir. Crank is locked.’

  Seconds later the officer fired off a shell towards the tanks in the distance. This ranging shell gave the officer an idea of the adjustments needed. The empty chamber fell backwards from the gun. Moments later the officer nodded to Danny. At this point Danny already had a fresh cartridge ready to load. The officer adjusted the aim.

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Shaw, sir. Sixth Tanks.’

  This was met with a curt nod then the officer fired again. It landed just in front of one of the oncoming tanks. This led to a stream of un-officer-like dismay at his rotten luck. As Danny loaded the next cartridge the officer noticed some stragglers taking evasive action from a gun that had been hit.

  ‘Over here,’ shouted the officer. The officer turned again to Danny, ‘This fires five rounds a minute. Keep firing at those bastards over there.’

  The group of soldiers were now racing over. The officer pointed at the two men.

  ‘Help Shaw fire this. Keep firing until you run out of ammo. Then throw sticks at them if you have to; just stop them reaching the airfield.’

  The tall officer grinned and strode off back to the staff car. He took off holding up a blue and white
scarf.

  A sergeant stepped forward. He was in his early thirties covered with sweat-streaked dust. His arm was bandaged. The other man seemed like he’d been beaten up in a fight after pub closing time. They looked at Danny holding the cartridge.

  ‘What are you waiting for, son? You heard what the Brigadier said.’

  There was no time for conversation or greetings. In a moment Danny was loading another shell. Then another. And they were doing damage. Danny saw one tank shattered and then another. Another gun was in action nearby. Danny glanced over and saw an officer pulling a dead body off the portee to get the gun firing again.

  Bullets punched the bank in front of the gun while Danny and the two men blazed away. When Danny glanced back at the other gun, he saw the officer lying dead. The other two men continued firing. Behind him he heard a grunt and saw the sergeant collapse. He’d been hit by shrapnel. Death had been instantaneous.

  The other soldier stared in speechless horror at the fallen sergeant.

  ‘Get down,’ shouted Danny. He leapt forward to rugby tackle the soldier just as an explosion hit the gun. Stinging shards of steel ripped through the air. Danny felt pain in his leg as his body collided with the second soldier. When he raised himself up and looked down, sightless eyes stared back at him.

  Tears of frustration stung Danny’s eyes. He turned to the gun. It was now disabled. He glanced over towards the other gun. The two remaining men had withdrawn. Their gun had been turned into a twisted, smoking heap of metal.

  Bullets tore into the sand around Danny. He had to find cover. He spotted a destroyed tank further back. Slowly, he crawled towards it. Overhead he heard the Allied twenty-five pounders firing on the approaching tanks. This, at least, was giving the Germans something to think about. The hail of bullets around his gun subsided.

  Danny, sensing the attention of the tanks was now diverted elsewhere, pulled himself up from the ground and sprinted towards the rear of the tank. Circling around to the side he saw that the hatch was open. He glanced inside to see if there were any survivors. Shock and nausea overcame him. He fell backwards immediately from the hatch and began to throw up.