Wurtz clicked his heels smartly together and saluted. He was seething.
’Does this pompous bastard not realise that I am an officer of the SS,’ he was thinking.
“That’s better. Now. Colonel.”
“Herr General it is as the Major was about to explain,” Koenig began trying not to laugh at Wurtz’ loss of face, “We are an expedition team sent here to locate and recover the sarcophagus of Alexander the Macedonian.”
“Ah yes Hitler’s dream.”
“Yes General. We were digging in the country near here when we realised that we were entirely in the wrong location. We should be digging east of this town not west. We were returning to Matmata when a British truck, the one that is shot up over there, when the truck came out of the desert at us. I think they were trying to get away. They made our car swerve sir and the Major ordered a pursuit which cost the lives of six of my men.”
The General raised an eyebrow at Wurtz but said nothing.
“The major insisted that we send a team into the town to capture these two and our group was ambushed, however they did overcome all opposition.”
“Have these men surrendered?” the General asked surveying them.
“Yes sir.”
“Some of them look badly hurt.”
“Yes Herr General. Their commanding officer was killed. The Doctor over there is a warrant officer. He has assumed command of them. He and his team of medics have been treating the wounded of both sides on my orders. Under guard of course.”
“Yes that’s fine.”
The General moved to a position where all could hear him.
“You soldiers of the British forces. I will accept your surrender. You are now prisoners of war of the Axis forces. You will be given food and water and be taken to a German field hospital. I cannot promise that the journey will be pleasant but for many of you it will be safe. Some of you will probably die. I can offer no better than that at this time!”
Those of the British that could gave a small cheer.
“Use their trucks to transport them. Don’t mix the wounded,” The General was instructing his right hand man.
Sanjay approached.
“Herr General on behalf of the men and myself thank you.”
He saluted smartly. The General returned the salute.
“Good luck Doctor. May God watch over all of you.”
They watched him climb into the half track and leave. Some of his troops remained to make up the numbers of those lost. Koenig and Wurtz were left looking at each other.
“Did you hear that Johnny? We’re going to get nice clean hospital beds to sleep in,” Tim said excitedly.
Johnny could barely raise a smile.
“Who was that old ’un?” Tim asked.
“That was the desert fox himself my son.”
“Who?”
“Field Marshall Erwin Rommel.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Alfred Dennis tried to sit up. He had been on his back in bed now for nearly a month. He gasped at the pain such action caused. Four weeks ago to this day he had been shot by a German sniper in Matmata, Tunisia. The wound was healing well. He was lucky the bullet was a high explosive and had punched a hole in his left shoulder a fingers thickness. It had travelled through his body, luckily for him missing organs and blood vessels and exited through his back. Leaving a wound six times greater than the entry point. Alf thanked his lucky stars again that it had happened in winter and not during the hot months when most wounds would fester. He had seen many men die from infection, men with body parts missing, faces burned beyond recognition, their skin….
’Stop it!’ he commanded himself.
Sometimes laying here in a hospital bed a man’s imagination could run away with him and they began to think of what could happen to them.
Alfred struggled to an upright position. He looked down at the near white dressing. It was too early to tell if he’d broken the scab just yet. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and put his bare feet on the floor. He wanted to stretch his aching muscles. He tried stretching the good shoulder but it pulled on the bad one and hurt. He looked at the bed next to him.
“Are you awake?” he called gently.
Johnny Larder was laying on his side, his back to Alf. He rolled over. His face was a mess. The Panzerschreck had left splinters of steel and stone in his face. The surgeons had removed almost all of it but one piece of metal lodged in his skull. It had been decided that unless the fragment moved it wouldn’t kill him. The risks of trying to remove it in the primitive conditions of the field hospital were too high the Doctors had decided. Johnny was lucky. The wound had healed around it, trapping it in place. He knew it was there though, he could feel it. Like an invader.
The swelling was now starting to go down. In its place the bruising was coming out. Johnny’s face was black and blue.
“Yes I’m awake old ’un.”
“I’m going for a walk. Do you want to come?”
Johnny got up. He felt giddy and swayed and almost fell. He put a hand out on the bed to steady himself. Instantly a medical orderly was there grabbing Johnny by the arm, pushing him back towards the bed, talking to him in German.
“We’re going for a walk,” Alf explained.
The German orderly was shaking his head. He tried again to get Johnny into bed.
“What is going on here?” a voice said in English with a heavy German accent. The orderly let go of Johnny and moved out of the way.
“We wish to go for a walk Herr Doctor,” Alf replied.
The Doctor looked from Alf to Johnny.
“This patient has a severe head injury.”
“I know. That is why I’m going with him.”
The Doctor thought about the options. He was a Doctor. He had a responsibility to save lives. This included the British under his care.
He remembered his meeting with Rommel. He had been treating German soldiers since the outbreak of war. He had been listening to a patient’s breathing with a stethoscope when he had been summoned away urgently. He had stormed through his hospital muttering all kinds of threats if this was a waste of his time. He burst into his office, which was just a desk surrounded by canvas screens, to find Field Marshall Rommel waiting for him. The Doctor stopped, sensing danger. His eyes inadvertently going to the iron cross, 1 class, around Rommel’s throat. The oak leaves with swords on his shoulders.
“You are the Chefartz?”
“Yes Herr General.”
“I am Erwin Rommel, Feldmarschall, supreme commander German forces, North Africa.”
The Doctor saluted.
“Yes sir of course sir,” he suddenly felt very sick himself.
“I have taken eighty one British prisoners of war. Many of them are injured. Some seriously. Those that are injured are being brought here. They should arrive tomorrow. Enemy aircraft permitting of course. The rest are to be detained here. I am leaving twenty of my men with you and tents and supplies. They will assist you in any way possible. They will erect the tents for the prisoners and surround it with barbed wire. You Doctor are responsible for their welfare do you understand?”
“Yes Herr Feldmarschall.”
Rommel ran over the plans until he was sure the Doctor understood exactly what was to happen.
The Doctor now looked at the two British prisoners before him. Rommel had put them personally in his care. Rommel had also said that if any of them died as a result of nature or wounds then so be it. The Doctor made a decision.
“Very well but you go on crutches,” he said to Larder “And no more than thirty minutes. Understood?” he said to Alf.
“Yes Doctor.”