Rommel_ Gunner Who__ A Confrontation in - Spike Milligan [44]
“Sorry old boy, this is a one-man trench.”
I dived in head first as fresh shells landed.
“Well now it’s a bloody two-man trench.” I tell you! They are willing to let you die rather than move over! The shelling stopped. I got out and returned to duty—more shells—I found a small depression in the lee of some rocks.
“Where are you,” shouted a voice.
“I’m in a depression,” I said.
“Aren’t we all,” was the reply.
So far we hadn’t passed any fire orders, it was very hot, I asked Maunders on the wireless if he had any water. Yes. I started to run down to get some. A fresh mortar barrage. I lay face down, sweating. It stopped. An infantry man stopped by me, God knows where he came from.
God:
He came from the 2/4 Hampshire my son.
Me:
Ta.
The soldier delighted in telling me, “It’s no good hiding there, he’ll get you no matter what, if you haven’t got a trench, any minute now he should start his mortars, he dropped some this morning just where you’re lying.” All this got my back up (which by now was down by my ankles), “Why don’t you fuck off and join the German Army?” I thought he was going to shoot me but he cleared off. I was learning the strange quality of the human race. His kick was to find somebody who looked scared, and try and make him terrified. I suppose he liked feeling little girls’ bicycle saddles as well. A Hampshire private popped his head up from a funk hole. “If they attack, do you think we can hold ‘em?”
“Yes,” I said confidently, “there’s a barrage going down at 2.”
“Oh good,” he said.
I got some water from Maunders, then dashed up to my remote control in time to pass fire orders. It was 13.59 hours. At 14.00 the barrage went over followed by the infantry attack. From the crest I watched the P.B.I, going forward, down the slopes of Djbel Mahdi, across the valley and up the slope opposite. Men fell sideways and lay still, no one stopped, they reached the German F.D.L’.s, from the distance it looked comic. Men jumping out of holes with hands up, men running behind trees, leaping out of windows; it took about an hour. By 3 o’clock we had taken the position, but Jerry counter-attacked, we shelled him, and broke up the attack. Around a hill comes a British Officer, clowning at the head of about 50 PoW’s from the 1/755 Grenadier Rgt, the young officer was Goose-stepping and shouting in Cod German “Zis is our last Territorial demand in Africa.” Be-him a stiff, bitter-faced Afrika Korp Oberlieutenant marched with all the military dignity he could muster, none of his men looked like the master-race. As they passed, our lads stood up in their fox-holes farting, and giving Nazi salutes; recalling the ritual of ancient conquerors riding on a palanquin and parading their prisoners of war behind them. Here there were shouts of “you square-head bastards” and “I bet we could beat you at fucking football as well.” Behind us across the valley Churchill tanks were attacking a low hill, up the valley came a squadron of FW log’s. We all let fly, we were feeling good, suddenly the leader burst into flames. Bdr Sherwood shouted “Look Spike, look!” The plane left the formation, went on its back in a slow death agony, then raced to the hills opposite and exploded. “Woah-ho!↓ Mahomed” we yelled.
≡ 1st Army battle cry.
“That’s for my brother,” said a bitter Irish voice. We were not out of mortar range but we kept getting small ‘Stonks’↓ of 88 mm’s landing behind the crest.
≡ Concentrations of Artillery fire.
I suddenly heard a scream. “I can’t stand it any longer, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” A young infantry lad came past, his face buried in his hands, accompanied by two old sweats. “There, there, lad,” one was saying, as they led him away. Poor bastard, sitting in a hole in the ground, just waiting,