Authors: Julian Noyce
“
To let the wind take me wherever sir,
”
Kleber added, enjoying the game.
“
You must find yourself up here alone sometimes.
”
“
Yes sir.
”
“
What is that like?
”
“
To me? Paradise sir. Sometimes my missions mean I get to fly by myself at night with just the stars above me and a full moon. It is the most beautiful thing on earth General.
”
Von Brockhorst thought about his life as a soldier, as a tank commander. The smell of petrol, oil, burning, dust, dirt, filth, the stench of decay.
“
Yes you are most fortunate Corporal Kleber.
”
Later in the morning Kleber spotted a squadron of fighters and he pointed them out to his passenger.
“
Can you get us closer?
”
“
I
’
ll get us as close as I can but from this distance I can
’
t tell who they are.
”
Von Brockhorst wasn
’
t at all afraid. Flying fascinated him and he was very glad that he
’
d asked to sit up in the cockpit. Kleber was afraid. Not for himself but for his Important passenger.
’
What a great coup for the allies if they could shoot down and kill the third in command of the German forces North Africa.
’
Kleber knew he could never forgive himself. As long as he was in the aeroplane Von Brockhorst was his responsibility.
Kleber approached the fighters carefully from behind and below. They could easily outrun his plane even with the weapons they carried but they were cruising. He got within a quarter of a mile of them and then cursed his luck. They were British!
Von Brockhorst had also seen the roundels on their under wings. They continued on their way seemingly unaware of the intruder. Kleber
’
s heart was pounding. If any of the British pilots looked into their rear view mirrors they would surely see him. Von Brockhorst was impressed.
“
Get me a bit closer.
”
“
Sir?
”
“
I want to see them closer.
”
“
But General
…
.
”
“
That
’
s an order.
”
Kleber said a silent prayer and opened up the throttle. He kept low and closed in on the Spitfires hoping that their Rolls Royce engines would drown out the sound of his smaller engine labouring as it gathered altitude. Kleber closed to within three hundred yards, his adrenalin flowing. He felt a cold sweat at the base of his neck. He glanced across at Von Brockhorst. The man had nerves of steel it seemed. Kleber guessed that was what separated officers from men.
Von Brockhorst was just looking from plane to plane.
“
Thank you Kleber that
’
s close enough. I
’
ve seen all I need to see.
”
Kleber closed the throttle down and the British planes began to pull away when suddenly two more Spitfires drew up either side of the Fieseler Storch. Kleber looked from one side of his plane to the next. The two British pilots were flanking them. Von Brockhorst was watching them with interest. The pilot on his side waved and Von Brockhorst put his hand up to wave back.
“
I
’
m guessing if we just act normally they might not suspect anything.
”
Kleber hoped the General was right. Personally he couldn
’
t see how the British pilots had failed to notice that a German aeroplane was in their midst.
’
Thank goodness Von Brockhorst isn
’
t wearing his hat.
’
“
What are you going to do Kleber?
”
Kleber was racking his brain as to what exactly to do. Then a thought struck him.
“
I
’
m going to signal to the one my side that we are burning up too much fuel and that I
’
m going to drop to one thousand feet to conserve as much as possible.
”
“
Will they believe it?
”
“
I hope so.
”
Kleber got the attention of the pilot on his side. With hand signals he explained what he was going to do and then repeated it. The English pilot gave him the thumbs up.
“
He
’
s gone for it,
”
Kleber said pushing forward on his controls and sending the Storch into a shallow dive,
“
I just hope he doesn
’
t radio the others.
”
Bill smith gave the other pilot the thumbs up. He understood clearly the hand signals.
‘
Using too much fuel. Will level out at a thousand.
’
Bill watched the small aeroplane with its German markings go into a shallow dive. He waited until the small plane was just a dot below and behind him before making his report.
Squadron leader Snowy Roberts listened to his right wing
’
s report and asked for it to be repeated.
“
What small aeroplane? German markings! What the devil are you talking about man?
”
Bill repeated his report feeling anxiety now. It had definitely been a German aeroplane. One he
’
d never seen before. One he was sure he would recognise again. Roberts knew nothing of a German marked plane. He hadn
’
t seen it. Smith and the pilot John Wilkins had returned from a scouting mission to rejoin the squadron. Both men were now claiming the little German aeroplane had been there. Roberts had no doubt about that.
‘
But what was it doing there?
’
“
Do you want us to go after it sir?
”
Bill felt the adrenalin flowing, desperately wanting the kill.
“
Negative. It could be anywhere by now,
”
Roberts unclipped his mask so it hung down one side of his face.
’
I don
’
t know what he was doing up here with us,
’
he said to himself looking down at the mountains below
’
But the cheeky bastard got away with it.
’
Captain Schwann blew his whistle for a break in the football match. The Germans, fit, strong members of the mighty German Afrika korps were losing 3-1 to a group of injured, recovering British soldiers and one Indian. A sizeable crowd had gathered to watch and the spectators were seated around the crudely marked out pitch.
Alf strode up to Schwann.
“
Is that the end of the game? Have we won?
”
“
I think not Sergeant. We cannot finish with Germany losing to England. No this is merely a break in play for both sides to drink some water. We will resume play in ten minutes time.
”
Alf looked at his men, they were all tired. Grimes was limping badly now.
“
Sir may I ask that we finish now and perhaps have a rematch another day. My men are
…
.
”
“
Certainly not,
”
Schwann said sitting on a wooden chair and swigging from a water bottle.
“
Captain my team are not fit. They have all come from the infirmary. Perhaps if you asked your team members they wouldn
’
t object to playing again, on, say Saturday.
”
Schwann took another swig from the water then screwed the little aluminium cap back on.
“
Impossible,
”
he spoke with arrogance
“
Why don
’
t you substitute your players for fresh ones.
”
“
The players you
’
ve been up against are the fittest we have. Any other team would not be good enough
…
.
”
Schwann held up his hand and cut Alf off mid sentence.
“
I am not interested in the individual problems of your players. You will have a team ready to play the guards in five minutes or you forfeit the game. Now it
’
s up to you but personally I would like to beat you fair and square,
”
Schwann got up and began stretching. Alf watched him for a minute until he finished stretching his right calf muscle and switched to his left. He held out a hand to Alf, gesturing towards the British.
“
Sergeant your team please.
”
Alf rejoined his men.
“
Arrogant sod wants to play again.
”
“
Alf mate I don
’
t think we can. We
’
re all shattered,
”
Burroughs said.
“
Or we forfeit the game. That
’
s what he said.
”
The English players protested.
“
Alf we
’
ve given it all we
’
ve got.
”
“
I don
’
t expect any of you to carry on playing. I must admit that my shoulder and arm are aching like hell. I don
’
t particularly want to carry on. I leave it up to you.
”
Johnny Larder was livid.
“
Cheating bastards,
”
he said
“
We
’
ve given it our best and we
’
ve beat them fair and square.
”
“
They know we are unfit,
”
Burroughs put in.
Alf looked at them. His team mates, his comrades, his friends. Wilf Burroughs, half an ear missing. Johnny Larder scarred neck and cheek, deaf now in one ear. Others hurt. Some lucky to be alive. They looked a sorry state.
“
I
’
ll tell him we concede,
”
Alf turned and started to walk towards Schwann and his guards who were lined up watching the British.
“
Alf,
”
Burroughs called fairly quietly though everyone heard it. Schwann and his men were confidently chuckling. Alf turned to face his men. Slowly Burroughs smiled at him. Alf nodded at them and grinned.
“
Captain Schwann your turn to kick off!
”
he shouted over his shoulder. The English cheered as their players moved onto the pitch. One or two hobbled. All were sore. Not just their injuries hurting now but muscles. All of them had not eaten well in months. The Germans gave them the best they could but it was never the fresh meat that they so desperately needed. Some of them were painfully thin. Bones showing through skin in extreme cases. But there was one thing they all had in plenty.
Spirit!
The will to fight!
Schwann
’
s smile vanished. In its place his mouth became a thin line of determination. He nodded his head. Now the Germans knew the measure of their opponents. Schwann blew his whistle and let it drop as before to his chest. He kicked the ball sideways to Kahler who rushed down the pitch with it. The English players keeping their distance afraid of Kahler
’
s methods. Johnny Larder suddenly rushed forward and although Kahler didn
’
t exactly see him through keeping his eye on the ball he was aware of the young Englishman coming at him. Kahler roared to try to scare him off but Larder was focused on the ball. The big German tried to side step him but Johnny stuck his foot out and with a smack he stopped Kahler
’
s advance. Kahler stumbled on with his own momentum. Johnny quickly recovered and dribbled the ball towards goal. Kahler whirled around and ran back. He out-sprinted Larder and was able to turn to defend. It was a brilliant piece of football.
“
Good! Good!
”
Schwann was encouraging.
Johnny feinted left, pretended to strike and as Kahler lunged to defend Johnny passed to Alf. Alf took his shot. The ball rose as it crossed the goal heading for the top left corner. Somehow Kahler got his head to some of the ball and it deflected straight at the goalkeeper. All he could do was kick it as hard as he could to clear it. The men on the pitch watched it as it cleared the perimeter fence and bounced a few times before coming to rest in the desert. Schwann looked around at the guards who were not playing.
“
Does anyone have a key for the gate?
”
No one came forward.
“
One of you must have one.
”