‘Perhaps,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘we’d do better if we went at it a bit more slowly.’
Chapter 7
During the evening, to the sound of Italian bugles, they moved further east. All round them over the chirp of the crickets they could hear the quiet voices of men sitting on the ground, their rifles propped on ammunition boxes as they waited to go into battle. Then the engines started up with explosive barks and a few vehicles moved past, men huddled in the back, blank-faced, busy with their thoughts, clutching their weapons, the dust cloud they kicked up tinted pink by the setting sun. As the light vanished, in the growing darkness it was just possible to see stubby Italian helmets with their spherical grenade insignia, and a sergeant with a carbide torch directing the traffic.
As the men of 64 Light Vehicle Repair Unit waited in their lorries, the wind got up to blow the sand about their legs in gritty swathes. The bombing was still going on in the west but a few aircraft had begun to appear overhead now, heading in a north-south direction, their motors swamping the rumble of the moving tanks. Immediately, searchlights behind the British lines began to probe the sky. The aircraft noises grew louder, then a Very light arced up from the desert and they heard the growling of tank engines as the slow Italian M13s began to edge forward.
Grunting at the pain in his back, Dampier climbed from his seat and stood alongside Erwin’s staff car staring eastwards. Morton, Coffin and Rafferty joined him.
‘I think it’s about time we moved up,’ Coffin said.
They climbed into their vehicles and started to edge slowly ahead, conscious of a whole alien army moving with them. For another quarter of an hour they moved forward, their eyes flickering from right to left, conscious of half-hidden shapes in the darkness.
‘The Italians should be entering the gap in the minefield soon,’ Rafferty said.
As they approached Sofi, the Italian troops who had occupied it were also moving eastwards, joining the rest of the army. Some of them were bleating like sheep. They had long known that their generals, often careerist and riddled with jealousies and personal antipathies, were good only for emotional demands for the defence of Italian territory and, with their limited mobility, weak armament and little striking power, they had few illusions. Something was always lacking, food, vehicles, or ammunition, and they had a defensive mentality because they knew the Duce’s war machine didn’t work, and there were even stories of officers leaping from trenches to lead advances only to find their men had stayed where they were, clapping their hands to applaud their courage.
‘Poor devils,’ Dampier said with all the compassion of a conscientious officer for his men. ‘Even their lorries will break down. Clutterbuck must have peed in half the petrol tanks in Libya.’
Just outside the town they saw lights and realized they had reached the prisoner-of-war compound. Over the noise of engines they could hear angry voices.
‘Right, Fee,’ Dampier said. Since Fee didn’t address him by his rank, he saw no reason to use Fee’s. ‘Off you go. Will your chaps do as they’re told?’
‘They might not,’ Fee admitted bluntly. ‘Aussies only do what suits ’em.’
‘Well, you’d better convince ’em,’ Dampier said shortly. ‘How do you propose to let us know you’re in?’
Fee gestured. ‘You can hear ’em arguin’,’ he said. ‘That’s Aussie all over. I’ll get ’em singin’. When you hear “Waltzing Matilda” you’ll know I’ve put the word about and they’re ready.’
He started to walk forward and within seconds had vanished from sight. The others settled down to wait again. Twenty minutes passed.
‘How far do you reckon we are from the British outposts?’ Dampier said.
Coffin rubbed his nose. ‘Fifteen miles, I reckon.’
‘It’s a long way.’
‘Not on wheels. It’s not even far to walk if you’re willing.’
Another half-hour passed, then they caught the sound of male voices singing.
‘Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
Who’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me—’
‘That’s us,’ Rafferty said.
As they turned to the lorries, there was a colossal bang that made them jump and the ground seemed to vibrate under their feet like the skin of a kettledrum. Darts of red tracer shot through the air in arabesques with luminous yellow slots whirring overhead like beads on a rod, and suddenly the whole eastern horizon was lit up with searchlights that caught the flanks of the rolling clouds of dust. The swish and crash and the trumpeting of guns filled the air with sudden demonic sounds. Their hearts began to thump.
‘It looks to me,’ Coffin said dryly, ‘as though the Italians have been caught bang in the middle of the minefield and that our lot have turned the tables on ’em by starting first.’
Clambering into the vehicles, they edged forward again until they were in sight of the barbed-wire compound. The sudden crash of the guns when none had been expected had brought the Italians out of the guardhouse to see what was happening and they caught glimpses of stubby helmets silhouetted against the distant flashes.
‘Let’s go,’ Coffin said.
The four LRDG trucks hurtled off, followed at a discreet distance by the vehicles of 64 Light Vehicle Repair Unit. Then, just ahead, they saw fresh lines of tracer and, against the flashes of the explosions in the distance, Italian soldiers running for their lives. As they moved forward, men hurtled past them, heading westwards.
‘Ocio che te copo!’ one of them yelled. ‘Guardatevi!’
‘What’s he say?’ Dampier demanded.
‘He says, in effect,’ Morton explained calmly, ‘“Woe betide you. Look out.” I think the LRDGs must have arrived.’
More men ran past them, shouting, then they found themselves hard up against the compound. Inside, they could see men scuttling in every direction and tents lurching and falling flat. The terrified Italian guards, startled by an attack from the wrong side, were already being chased out of their quarters. Fee’s wire cutters had obviously done their work and the Australians were in the process of rescuing themselves. The
