“As wemoved out of the ghot at about seven o'clock I began to feel tight in thestomach. This action is not going to be pleasant. The idea of using bulldozers for the gun pits has been rejected. Too much noise. That means our guns are to be sited close up to the enemy's forward-defence-lines.
Anti-tankunits, artillery units, ack-ack and lorried infantry pass in an endlessstream. Most of the personnel are Australians. We are still permitted to smoke back here, and to sing. We roll cigarettes. We sing too. We do not sing because we feel like it, but because it loosens the stomach muscles. It is the Unknown that fills Man with trepidation.
We moveon to the bitumen. Bill sings old-fashioned songs and Joe joins in the chorus. Tom sings a phrase or two, but for the most part he is silent.
Alan-freshfaced, effeminate, selfish and incoherent-makes no sound. He looks about him quickly and nervously. I wonder about him.
Lofty,the gun-sergeant, our No. 1, sits in front with the driver, outwardlyimperturbable. Shorty sits on the hood, possibly the only one of us looking forward to what is ahead. For the little runt loves excitement. We pass signs: Are you prepared to act if ambushed on this road ? We pass a road branching off at right angles south past Alamein railway station. It is called Springbok Road-there is a sign up; and it leads to the South African sector.
We seemto have been travelling for years. My watch says midnight. There is a pause in the line while the Gun-Position-Officer checks up with Nos 1 at their gun-platforms, then we ease off the road north-westwards-skirting dug-outs, slit trenches, pillboxes. The moon sheds only a pale light, but it is sufficient to indicate obstacles. The tractor halts and we throw off personal gear and water-tins. We are here. We dig.
Firstly,we attack the slit-trenches and the work is difficult. The soil is packed into hard crust and flakes unwillingly. Alan works spasmodically, I notice, and occasionally attacks a slit-trench ferociously. We get the trenches finished about two o'clock; the gun pit has not even been started. Well, in the couple of hours left we can scoop out a shallow hole which will provide some protection. The longing for a cigarette becomes overwhelming. I obtain a blanket, drape it over the slit trench, and crawl underneath. A drowsiness creeps over me as I inhale great lungfuls. I am almost drunk with nicotine. Smoke fills the trench. I almost suffocate, but it is worth it. I come out into the quiet night feeling fitter for the task before me. Each of the others takes his turn under the blanket.
We worksteadily and doggedly at the obstinate crust. There is a whistle overhead and a shell bursts with a dull thud away behind us. A dog barks, I remember hearing the dog barking earlier. The Germans use dogs....
Thedigging is hard work. There is all the ammunition to prepare and it must be getting close to Zero Hour. Zero hour is 0500 hours. Better leave the gun-pit and get on with the ammunition-this pit will provide little protection. Lofty must think so too, for he gives orders to get the ammo. ready. We set to work emptying rounds from their cases, removing the caps and stacking them neatly. We take the cartridges from their cases, remove the cardboard shellac, check the charges and pile the cartridges besides the projectiles. All is in readiness now except for the laying of the gun. We wait for the gun-programmes. There's that dog again. Perhaps it belongs to the South Africans; there are a few of them about here. I feel sorry for Alan. His state of mind is wrong. All the others are calm, even nonchalant. They joke now and then. That low crest won't give us much flash-cover.
Nos 1Lofty sprints over to the command-post. Evidently the gun-programmes have arrived. Yes, he races back carrying the long white sheets.
It isstill fairly dark, so the layer uses a shaded torch to get the gun ready.
Shortyis laying. He works quickly. There are a couple minutes to go-then Fire! Yells the
Gun-Position-Officer.
The dinof the barking guns is indescribable. Everywhere there are gun-flashes; and the sound fills the brain. My eardrums are dulled and my head feels heavy. Automatically I pass over a projectile to Tom, who holds it while Lofty rams; then the cartridge, and I hear the click of the breech. There is a roar and a flash as Lofty, watch in hand, at each round orders; Fire ! Then a round. Then a cartridge. The air is filled with the reek of cordite. I feel a little sick in the stomach and belch cordite fumes. The taste is horrible. That is because I am breathing it in on an empty stomach.... Round-cartridge-roar-flash-blast-stink-headache... Then at last silence-complete and absolute and surprising. Get the ammo set aside for the task! Alan and Bill help me. I have a splitting headache. The steel helmet presses on my head painfully. The convulsions begin again. Again. At last-silence.
Now itis light. The sun has crept up behind us without our noticing it. Lofty tells us there are twenty minutes before the next task. We roll cigarettes.... The tobacco burns
rapidlyand sweats the rice-paper as we drag at them, for we need those cigarettes.
Thehate comes back without warning. As rounds burst around our position we go toground. They are all about our gun, which is No. 3, and Bluey's gun, No.4. There are four guns in a troop. The whine and burst makes me tense instinctively. Shorty and I lie together in the shallow gun-pit. The others in two slit-trenches. Here they come again... I tense and wait for it, a poor creature. Those burst close. Black smoke drifts over us. I don't feel at all happy. I wriggle towards the gun-trail, because I'll feel better if I talk to Shorty. I push my boot in his face and he curses me. I don't think he is too happy either. They are close. Within a few yards. They are 88 millimetre, the Huns all purpose gun.
Otherregiments of guns have opened up again. Above the noise I can hear thecommand-post calling ;No 3-No 3 ! The other guns in the troop are firing. Come on Shorty ! I yell, and we get off our stomachs and shout loudly for Lofty. He stumbles to the gun and Tom with him. Now we are firing again, and I do not even know whether we are still being shelled by the 88's. There is too much noise. It is overwhelming.... Another silence. There is only one more programme to be fired. The members of the gun-crew look haggard and dirty, dark about the eyes, covered with dust and spots of
cordite. Hullo, there is one man missing...It is Alan. Lofty finds him curled up in one end of a slit-trench, his head buried into one corner. Come on, get out and man the gun! Lofty talks quietly. We pretend not to notice. If he comes out, we think, we will be casual and act as if nothing has happened. The enemy shelling starts again and we flatten out, waiting for the burst. As soon as there is work to do we ignore the shelling. That young chap hasn't come out of that hole.
I workquickly on the ammunition for the rate is rapid. Alan is an ammo.-number. I hadn't noticed his absence during the last shoot, the ammo. All having been prepared, but now we have run out of prepared ammo. I must unbox projectiles and cartridges. Perspiration streams off me as I run backwards and forwards from gun to dump. Damn the kid ! He isn't even trying. Lofty shouts to him. I feel furious. He was demoralized before he came up here. That was it, he was bomb-happy back in the ghot. I remember the way he jerked himself up to look through the camouflage-net at every single plane which flew overhead. His movements were quick and nervous. Then, I remember, after a time he would sleep-he must have burned up a lot of nervous energy. Another plane would come over and he would jump up again. In his nervousness he was irritable as well as selfish. His manners were forgotten. He thought only of himself. He performed that little normal function within a few yards of the pit. Lofty must have warned him further away-a dozen times. Damn him! He has not made any determined effort to overcome his state of mind. He once told me he liked girls and jitter-bugging. But he's only a kid-nineteen I suppose. Come on Jim No 4 is calling me, waiting for a cartridge. I race back.
