“Shit this looks bad Wilf. His legs are pretty shot up.”
“Alf I’m sure that those planes were American. P40’s I think they are called.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I thought I saw a white star under the wing.”
Time seemed to stand still. Alf was watching the two planes as they banked two miles away.
“Alf trust me they’re American.”
To Alf’s memory Burroughs had never been wrong about anything ever before.
“Alf I swear it. They’re American.”
“We must do something to stop them.”
“Like what?”
“When they come round again I’m going to try and convince them that we’re surrendering. Get me something white to use as a flag.”
“Alf no it’s too dangerous.”
Alf found a white sheet and tore a large piece off. He quickly tied two ends into knots around a spade handle. He walked out into the middle of the square. Every gun barrel ready to shoot the planes down should Alf fall. They were circling far out then turned and came straight at him. Alf stood still and watched as death approached at 300mph!
“Crazy fool, is he trying to get himself killed,” Rogers shouted as he threw himself down next to Burroughs.
“Ready boys,” Wilf shouted “shoot these bastards down if they so much as scratch him.”
At a thousand yards distance Chuck Holts levelled his wings and put his finger lightly on the machine cannon trigger. He looked into his sights and then peered above it. Some fool appeared to be in the middle of the square waving what looked to be some sort of white flag. He grinned and spoke into his headset to Billy.
“This one’s mine. Kiss your arse goodbye Jerry.”
“Holy shit! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Billy screamed “They’re British!”
It took a moment for the words to sink in.
“Bank left! Bank left!” Billy yelled.
Their engines laboured as they banked steeply away.
Alf was left in the middle of the square. His heart was thumping, his breathing deep. He had faced death many times but this had been the closest yet.
The noise from the fighter planes deepened as they climbed.
“How did you know that they’re British?” Chuck called into his headset.
“H.Q. said over the transmission that we were to look out for a British group mine clearing in the area of Matmata. Didn’t you hear it?”
Chuck looked down at his radio.
“No it’s turned off.”
“You bloody idiot!”
“Shit! I hope we didn’t hurt anyone!”
“We’ll fly past slow so that they know we know. I hope you’re right. Chuck I think I saw blood in the road.”
“Aww no! Sure hope not.”
The british men all met in the centre surrounding Alf.
“It worked Alf, you did it. You saved us.”
“Somehow they knew. It could have been a decoy but they knew.”
“Here they come again,” It was Johnny Larder. He still couldn’t believe that he’d survived the first strafing run without a scratch.
This time the planes came in much slower, one of them dipped its wings at them, “Everybody wave at them” Alf said.
They could see the pilots wave back.
“Well done” Alf said, “yes well done you nearly fucking killed us!”
Burrows was beside the wounded men, “Alf?” He called.
All attention now diverted to the two wounded.
“Poor old Jack’s dead Alf!”
There was a stunned silence. Burrows closed the dead mans eyes.
Alf watched the two disappearing aircraft.
“They’ll probably never know what they did here today.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Beyond the hills where the planes had circled the land was flat. Here it was blisteringly hot in summer, warm in winter, freezing at night.
Obergefreiter Klaus Stuck was wondering for the umpteenth time how that was possible. He was the lead motorcycle in the convoy, his side car empty. He was the lucky one. He had a clear road ahead of him. He looked into the small round mirrors attached to his handlebars. The first two bikes behind he could see. They were abreast of him but some distance back. Beyond them he couldn’t see the convoy of trucks that were following. They were there though. Carrying the team of archaeologists just arrived from Germany led by the Colonel of the Wehrmacht and the Major of the SS. Both officers travelling in a Mercedes saloon with the Doctor. The anaemic looking man in the white suit.
The Doctor was furious. They had passed through the small village of Matmata four days before and had travelled over two hundred miles from the town only to find they were travelling in the wrong direction. They had come full circle and were now approaching Matmata again.
“It’s just over those next few hills Herr doctor,” the Colonel said.
“That’s provided of course that there are no more mistakes on your army map Herr Colonel,” the Doctor replied sarcastically.
“The map is accurate enough Herr doctor. The Herr Majors map is the same as mine. The problem lies with the British Herr Doctor. They are the ones who have removed all the road signs and to be honest with you, out here in the desert, all the roads look the same.”
“Do you not follow rivers and railroads?”
“What railroads? What rivers? Most rivers here in North Africa run dry during the summer months. Why you could be standing in a dried up river bed right now and not even know it.”
“I have spent most of my adult life in deserts excavating. I could have made the greatest archaeological discovery ever. Carter found it first! Why? Because I took a wrong turn once. Ended up in a dry river bed. It was so vast that we didn’t even know it. We camped there for the night. Then it rained. It quickly became a flash flood that took away three quarters of my team and equipment. I had to wait six weeks for replacements. I would appreciate it gentlemen if these events weren’t repeated here. We are on the brink here Colonel of the greatest archaeological find ever. The tomb of Alexander the great.”
It gave the Doctor an unexplainable shiver. The Colonel felt no emotion. He wished he was back in Berlin.
On the lead motorcycle Stuck shook his head. He was tired. So tired. He had been fighting the war for almost three years. Most of it here in Tunisia.
Then unexpectedly a month ago a new assignment. He was to be part of an escort for a team of archaeologists who would be excavating some distance from the front line fighting which had moved further north.
He couldn’t wait for the war to be over. For whoever to win. He didn’t particularly care which side won, he just wanted to go home. He had joined the army in 1936 because there was no work available in his village on the Rhine near Cologne. As a boy he had driven motorcycles on his grandfathers farm and it was only natural for him to join a motorcycle regiment. He had been accepted and spent his war years riding bikes in the Wehrmacht. He wanted to leave the army and pursue a career racing them. This was his dream and he thought about it every day. It kept him going all those lonely months away from home. He was married with a young wife and baby. He thought about them now. His beautiful wife Lotte and daughter Giselle. He had seen them only for a few days since Giselle had been born. To have left them was the worst pain he had ever known. It had been heartbreaking. He carried a photograph of them in his wallet. He looked into his rear view mirrors again. Would anyone notice if he stole a quick look at the photo. It was black and white and worn around the edges from looking at it so much. But Klaus Stuck couldn’t resist its charms. He reached into his left breast pocket with his right hand and pulled out his wallet and opened it. Through his dusty goggles he could see them, his loved ones, Lotte holding the baby up for the camera. Her seductive smile. Klaus felt the ache in his heart again.