by Alan David
‘Three years in the desert, Sergeant,’ Joe replied quietly.
‘Good. You’ll take over the Bren Group and Second in Command of the section. Work with Corporal Dunsford. He’s a good man, and if you give him the chance he’ll teach you how to stay alive. All of you listen. You’ll find this kind of fighting different to desert warfare, so forget what you learnt out there and listen and learn again, and maybe you’ll live to see the end of the war. Now, who’s the best bren gunner among you?’
‘Me, Sar’nt,’ said Charlie Weeds.
‘You again, Weeds? Right. you take over the section’s bren. Who do you want as Number Two?’
‘Alfie Knights,’ said Charlie.
‘Knights, Number Two on the bren. The rest of you will form the rifle group. Corporal Dunsford, get Fiske from the stores. He’ll make your number up to full strength.’
‘Here comes Franklin,’ Dunsford said quietly.
‘Party, party ‘shun.’ Sergeant Baggott looked along the section, then did a smart about turn. He saluted the tall, young looking officer who came up. ‘Morning, sir. These are the replacements. They arrived last night. I’ve formed them into Number One Section.’
‘Good morning, Sergeant. They’re all old soldiers, by the looks of them.’
‘They are, sir. They all helped to make Rommel run in the desert. They should settle down quickly with us.’
‘Good. Now, you men, I’m Lieutenant Franklin, your new Platoon Commander, You’ve come to a good platoon, and I hope you’ll come to like us. We must all learn to work together, for you know as well as I that team work is the keynote of survival at the front. You’ll find that your n.c.o.’s are of the best. They’ve all seen action, and they’re reliable.’
Sergeant Baggott grinned fleetingly. He eased his great bulk forward until he looked as if he was about to spring at the new section. Lieutenant Franklin added a few generalities to his comments, then went off. Sergeant Baggott addressed Corporal Dunsford.
‘Corporal, take charge of your section now. They’ve got to lay out their kit for Colour Sergeant’s check. Then you can show them how this battalion is kitted out for the front. I want them on parade with the platoon this afternoon. We’re moving out at fourteen hundred.’
They were marched back to their billet. The low October sky was drab and cloudy, and the breeze that sighed through the ruined town was keen enough to foretell of the promise of Winter.
‘What kind of a bloke is the Sergeant, Corp?’ asked Hindley, lighting up. He handed around a tin and most of them took a cigarette. There was a silence until blue smoke hovered about them.
‘Basil’s all right,’ said Dunsford. ‘He needs a lot of understanding. but he’s all right. He shouts a lot, but mostly it doesn’t mean a thing. He’s a good bloke in action, and that’s what counts. We’ve a good sergeant, as you’ll find out if you live long enough.’
‘We’ve done a bit of scrapping, Corp.’ said Charlie Weeds. ‘Ever hear of the Afrika Korps? We know a thing or two about survival at the front.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ The Corporal grinned. ‘I’m getting browned off showing replacements the whys and wherefores. Now then, a few tips on what and what not to do in the proximity of the aggressive German Soldier.’
At Fourteen Hundred hours the First Battalion East Borderers began to march by Companies, Able Company leading, towards the front. The newly formed One Section, Able Company, preceded by guides, led the way. They were mostly silent as they marched out of the little town, their minds engrossed by the thought of approaching action. Already they were enveloped by the sense of unreality that gripped men on the brink of battle.
‘I don’t think this will prove to be any worse than anything we’ve seen,’ Cyril Hindley slowed his pace in order that Pete Keeler would come up closer behind. ‘We’re still on the winning side, mate.’
Keeler grunted. His face was expressionless. His mental processes were screwed into a ball and tucked away in the furthermost recesses of his mind. Pete had had enough, but would not recognise it. The tight, restless feeling inside stemmed from fear. He knew that, and realised that it wasn’t the healthy kind of scaredness that every man in the battalion suffered from. He knew that every man of them was afraid, but he could derive no comfort from that. A small muscle in his right cheek twitched occasionally, He had to command his mind with great effort to dwell only upon thoughts of his family.
The wife and kids! Would he ever see them again? Flashes of past battles in the desert sprang upon the screen of his mind. His heart pounded and his steps lagged. The rifle on his shoulder seemed to get heavier with each reluctant step. Whence came this inner strength that kept him going with the others when every animal instinct told him to stop? This road led to Hell! There were Germans at the end of it. Pete sweated and his knees felt rubbery. Oh, God, we’ve done our bit many times over! Why must it be us again?
Here and there in the long columns voices raised snatches of song, or a man whistled. There was the regular bracing thud of feet marching in step. The afternoon was dull and chill, with a breeze blowing sharply in their faces. Some of them marched erect, but they were mentally absent from this dreary road. Their minds had flashed through the great barrier of space to fill their thoughts with tender memories of loved ones. But still their bodies went forward, their heavy boots rapping smartly upon the road; and wherever their thoughts, each man had both feet in Hell.
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