now?'
The sergeant
snorted. 'A few yards up the road, I reckon.'
Simon saw that he
was not, as he had thought, sullen or remote. He was dejected by defeat. 'We
had Gazala. We had Tobruk. It was hunkey-dorey. Looked like in no time we'd be
back in Benghazi, then this happened.'
'What did happen?'
'Came down on us
like a bat out'a hell.'
Arnold called,
'Blue flag, sir?'
'Oh, yes. Yes.
Blue flag.' Looking towards the horizon where the heat was thickening into a
pall, Simon could imagine the German tanks appearing like monstrous bats,
advancing with such speed and fury, the convoy could be wiped out before it had
time to turn round. But the horizon was empty and even the eastbound traffic
had stopped. 'Quiet, isn't it!'
Arnold said,
'Jerry's too busy to bother us,' and as he spoke, a Heinkel, returning from a
reconnaissance flight, dived over the convoy. He braked sharply. The Heinkel,
returning, sprayed the sand like a gesture of contempt. The bullets winged
harmlessly into the sand. The plane flew off.
As the sun began
to sink, Simon was concerned about the routine for the night. At some place and
point in time he should give the order to make camp but before the need became
an anxiety Arnold said, 'Think we should leaguer here, sir?'
There was a
glimmer of white on the coast. The glimmer grew into a village of pleasant
holiday homes with a bay, like a long white bone, that curved into the desert's
cinderous buffs and browns.
'Who lives out
here?' Simon asked. 'No one, now. They all moved away long ago.' The lorries
were positioned into a close-rank formation that served as camp and defence.
Arnold, smiling as though he had begun to feel a protective affection for
Simon, asked him, 'Permission to bathe, sir.'
Simon followed as
the men, running between the dunes, shouting at each other, pulling off their
shirts and shorts, went naked into a sea as warm and clinging as milk. Lying on
the sea, in the haze of evening, he looked back at the village and was surprise
to find it was still there. Had he been asked as they covered mile after mile
of sand, 'Where would you choose to be?' he might well have chosen this oasis
beside the white shore, with its villas under a shelter of palm trees. He
raised his head to look westwards into the foggy distance of the desert coast
and seeing nothing, he had an illusion of safety. The enemy must be further
away than the sergeant imagined. Content filled him and he smiled at the man
nearest to him. 'We didn't expect this, did we?'
The man laughed
and twisted his head in a movement of appreciation. 'Dead cushy,' he said.
That night,
startled out of sleep by the rising moon, Simon felt the earth vibrating
beneath him. He sat up, uncertain where he was, and saw the brilliant whiteness
of the houses patterned over by the palm fronds. There was a booming in the
air, distant but heavy, and he knew it must be artillery. Pulling himself
down into his sleeping-bag, he put his hands over his ears and sank back into
sleep.
For most of the
next day the convoy seemed alone in the desert Occasionally a dispatch rider
passed on a motorcycle and once a staff car came up-behind them and went by
with the speed of a police car. Then, in mid-morning, a pinkish smudge appeared
on the horizon. Simon asked Arnold what he thought it was. 'Could be a
sandstorm.'
The smudge, pale
and indefinite at first, deepened in colour and expanded, swelling towards the
convoy until, less than a mile away, it revealed itself as a sand cloud, rising
so thickly into the heat fuzz of the upper air that the sun was almost occluded.
Inside the cloud, the dark shapes of vehicles were visible. The first of them
was a supply truck, lurching, top-heavy with mess equipment. The procession
that followed stretched away to the horizon. Like the convoy, it moved slowly,
creaking and clanking amid the stench of its own exhausts and petrol fumes. As
they reached and passed it, Simon felt the heat from the vehicles that followed
one after
The sergeant
snorted. 'A few yards up the road, I reckon.'
Simon saw that he
was not, as he had thought, sullen or remote. He was dejected by defeat. 'We
had Gazala. We had Tobruk. It was hunkey-dorey. Looked like in no time we'd be
back in Benghazi, then this happened.'
'What did happen?'
'Came down on us
like a bat out'a hell.'
Arnold called,
'Blue flag, sir?'
'Oh, yes. Yes.
Blue flag.' Looking towards the horizon where the heat was thickening into a
pall, Simon could imagine the German tanks appearing like monstrous bats,
advancing with such speed and fury, the convoy could be wiped out before it had
time to turn round. But the horizon was empty and even the eastbound traffic
had stopped. 'Quiet, isn't it!'
Arnold said,
'Jerry's too busy to bother us,' and as he spoke, a Heinkel, returning from a
reconnaissance flight, dived over the convoy. He braked sharply. The Heinkel,
returning, sprayed the sand like a gesture of contempt. The bullets winged
harmlessly into the sand. The plane flew off.
As the sun began
to sink, Simon was concerned about the routine for the night. At some place and
point in time he should give the order to make camp but before the need became
an anxiety Arnold said, 'Think we should leaguer here, sir?'
There was a
glimmer of white on the coast. The glimmer grew into a village of pleasant
holiday homes with a bay, like a long white bone, that curved into the desert's
cinderous buffs and browns.
'Who lives out
here?' Simon asked. 'No one, now. They all moved away long ago.' The lorries
were positioned into a close-rank formation that served as camp and defence.
Arnold, smiling as though he had begun to feel a protective affection for
Simon, asked him, 'Permission to bathe, sir.'
Simon followed as
the men, running between the dunes, shouting at each other, pulling off their
shirts and shorts, went naked into a sea as warm and clinging as milk. Lying on
the sea, in the haze of evening, he looked back at the village and was surprise
to find it was still there. Had he been asked as they covered mile after mile
of sand, 'Where would you choose to be?' he might well have chosen this oasis
beside the white shore, with its villas under a shelter of palm trees. He
raised his head to look westwards into the foggy distance of the desert coast
and seeing nothing, he had an illusion of safety. The enemy must be further
away than the sergeant imagined. Content filled him and he smiled at the man
nearest to him. 'We didn't expect this, did we?'
The man laughed
and twisted his head in a movement of appreciation. 'Dead cushy,' he said.
That night,
startled out of sleep by the rising moon, Simon felt the earth vibrating
beneath him. He sat up, uncertain where he was, and saw the brilliant whiteness
of the houses patterned over by the palm fronds. There was a booming in the
air, distant but heavy, and he knew it must be artillery. Pulling himself
down into his sleeping-bag, he put his hands over his ears and sank back into
sleep.
For most of the
next day the convoy seemed alone in the desert Occasionally a dispatch rider
passed on a motorcycle and once a staff car came up-behind them and went by
with the speed of a police car. Then, in mid-morning, a pinkish smudge appeared
on the horizon. Simon asked Arnold what he thought it was. 'Could be a
sandstorm.'
The smudge, pale
and indefinite at first, deepened in colour and expanded, swelling towards the
convoy until, less than a mile away, it revealed itself as a sand cloud, rising
so thickly into the heat fuzz of the upper air that the sun was almost occluded.
Inside the cloud, the dark shapes of vehicles were visible. The first of them
was a supply truck, lurching, top-heavy with mess equipment. The procession
that followed stretched away to the horizon. Like the convoy, it moved slowly,
creaking and clanking amid the stench of its own exhausts and petrol fumes. As
they reached and passed it, Simon felt the heat from the vehicles that followed
one after
Similar Books
