‘Mamma!’ he moaned. ‘Aiuto! Help me, please! I am hurt!’
The prisoners themselves were kicking the surviving Italians into a group and snatching at their weapons. Then Coffin appeared in an Italian staff car, roaring round in a wild dust-laden turn to come to a stop near Dampier. Fee was with him in the front seat.
‘Get ’em formed up,’ he was yelling.
The Australians were running towards them. Among them was the tall lantern-jawed corporal who had recognized Clegg in Sofi. Grinning all over his face, he clutched Clegg to him.
‘Good on yer, cobber,’ he grinned. ‘I never expected to see you again. Was it you who got us out?’
Clegg saw no reason to suggest it was anyone else and the Australian hugged him and clapped him on the back.
‘Any time you’re in Sydney, mate,’ he said, ‘just ask for Ted McBean and the beer’s on me.’
They were without officers but had NCOs and, among the delirious shouts at gaining their freedom, there were harsher yells. Fee had got his story across well and the Australians reacted quickly and efficiently. In no time they were in a column of threes, with a group of terrified Italian prisoners in a bunch in the middle of them. An Italian corporal spoke to Morton.
‘They told us the Australians never took prisoners,’ he said nervously in English. ‘What will they do to us?’
‘Probably eat you,’ Morton said cheerfully. ‘But have no fear, they have good table manners.’
With the LRDG vehicles ahead and on the flanks, and Dampier with the staff car and the vehicles of 64 Light Vehicle Repair Unit bringing up the rear, they prepared to move off. The din of the battle that had started to the east had grown louder with distant flashes and flickers and low booming thuds. Few of the German and Italian guns seemed to be answering the deluge of British shells, but then rockets started to curve up into the sky and the Italian barrage finally started. First one battery then another came into action until a nearer pounding added to the general racket.
The Australians were excited and noisy but Fee’s voice rose above the din. ‘All right, you bloody Aussie bastards! Let’s go! By the Christ, quick march!’
It was light enough in the flashes of the explosions to see what was happening. With the terrified Italians, wiping away the blood and the tears, still in the middle, surrounded by tall vengeful Australians, the column of men began to move eastwards. They were heading across ground as furrowed by wheels as a ploughed field as daylight came, a thin grey daylight that seemed to have been strained by the dust clouds that hung over the desert floor. A few vehicles were moving backwards now towards the west, mostly ambulances and lorries full of injured men. Then in the distance they saw specks which, with the aid of the X12s, Rafferty was able to identify as an Italian tank squadron rattling up from the south.
Fee looked at Dampier. ‘Now what the Christ do we do?’ he demanded.
Dampier looked disconcerted for a moment, then an idea occurred to him. ‘Order ’em to about turn,’ he said.
‘About turn? Jesus, I can see ’em doin’ it! They’ll be marchin’ the wrong way.’
‘You have no weapons, so they’ll assume that you’re still prisoners and that those of us with Italian uniforms are guards. If you don’t, that lot over there will want to know what you’re up to. If you appear to be heading towards captivity, they won’t worry.’
‘Like the husband who caught the milkman in the sheila’s bedroom?’ Fee said. ‘Because he walked out backwards he thought he was just arriving. Okay, we’ll give it a go. We can always turn ’em round again when they’ve gone.’
He turned to the anxious files of men. ‘Okay, you lot. About – turn!’
There were yells of disgust but he shouted them down and explained. ‘So, for once, you stupid bloody Aussie bastards, do as you’re told!’
As those who had them hurriedly changed into Italian tunics and caps, the column about turned, strong Australian hands swinging the Italian prisoners round with them. As the tanks approached, the Australians glared aggressively. Struggling to fasten the buttons of his Italian tunic, Clegg groaned.
‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘As actors they’d make good dustmen.’
Fee caught on at once and began to shout. ‘You’re bloody prisoners, you stupid Aussie sods,’ he roared. ‘Don’t look so bleedin’ hostile!’
For a moment they stared at him, then they also began to catch on. There was a lot of nudging and the long Australian stride dwindled to a tired shuffle. Heads went down and shoulders hunched dejectedly.
‘Gawd,’ Fee said disgustedly. ‘There’s no need to overact.’
They got it right in the end and finally began to look like a column of prisoners. Intent on their task, the Italian tanks rolled by, kicking up clouds of dust, and Morton stood up in the Humber and saluted as they passed.
‘Prigionieri!’ he shouted. ‘Ordered to Zuq for Italy! How goes it?’
The Italian officer shouted back and Morton translated for Dampier.
‘He says they were caught with their trousers down,’ he explained. ‘They were just entering the minefield when our shells fell on them. At first they thought it was just a rearguard action, but he says he thinks now it’s developing into a full-out counter-attack while they’re off-balance.’
Delighted with the success of the deception, as the Italian tanks
