The Sand Panthers (6 page)

‘Be that as it may, a combination of changing trade winds and the fact that the Romans chopped down most of the forests on the littoral to obtain timber for their galleys changed the whole weather picture of the area. The rains washed the humus from the fertile fields, leaving the bare rock which eventually turned into sand. With no vegetation, there was no rain. So we have an arid, barren area which cannot support much in the way of population. The people began to leave. But not all. Some remained behind and because of the climatic conditions they changed from peaceful farmers into robbers, men who preyed off the coastal settlements and who had their own laws and customs, completely different from those of their brothers who had moved north. Two thousand years later, Major von Dodenburg, they are still out here, having in the meantime become more vicious and stranger in their ways.’

‘But how do they live?’ von Dodenburg asked, intrigued by the fact that men actually lived in this burning sand waste.

‘Just as their forefathers lived. Raping and plundering. I’m afraid it’s a little beyond my own particular province, Major,’ the ‘Prof’ continued, ‘but I have heard that in this section of what you choose to call a miserable wilderness, there lives the Blue Veil People.’

‘Blue Veil People?’ von Dodenburg echoed ‘A strange name!’

‘And a strange people, too, Major. Like the Toureg, the men veil themselves. But for different reasons. The Blue Veil are, I regret to say, given to the English perversion.’

‘You mean homosexuality?’

‘I do.’

‘But how do they continue as a tribe,’ von Dodenburg objected, ‘If they’re warm brothers? Where do the kids come from?’

‘At regular intervals prescribed by their tribal laws, they seize women and procreate. In the mid-thirties the Italians had a great deal of trouble with them when they began to carry off the wives of the Italian settlers. But in essence they find the Greek vice a more noble form of sexual activity…. But do not be misled by the fact that they are homosexual,’ the ‘Prof’ pronounced the word as if it were in quotation marks – ‘they are a bold, brave and completely ruthless tribe.’

‘So you think I might well have seen a Blue Veil out there?’

‘You might indeed.’

‘And on whose side are they?’ von Dodenburg queried, ‘The Italians’ or the Tommies’?’

Reichert’s leathery face cracked in a weary smile. He made a gesture signifying money. ‘On the side of those who pay most, my dear Major. And now I think it is time for me to retire for what is left of the night.’ With that he was gone, leaving Major von Dodenburg staring into the desert, as if he could already visualize the strange, veiled tribesmen crawling towards the sleeping encampment.

Next morning von Dodenburg’s sense of foreboding had disappeared. The sky was perfect and the air was cool. Followed by Schulze, he strode purposefully from vehicle to vehicle checking them and their crews, ensuring that the drivers turned over the engines with the starting handle to avoid any chance of damage to the bottom cylinder by a hydrostatic lock.

By six, the column was on its way again, ploughing ever further into the depths of the uncharted sand-sea.

Now the character of the desert started to change. The razor-edged dunes gave way to rough terrain, broken here and there by flat-topped hills. The column picked up speed, much to von Dodenburg’s pleasure. All the same he was worried by the terrain; ideal country for an ambush. Leaving the navigation completely to the ‘Prof’ and guiding of the column to Schulze, he scanned the desert ahead constantly with his binoculars for any sign of life. It remained empty. At midday, after covering nearly forty kilometres, von Dodenburg ordered a thirty minutes halt. While Schulze and Matz cooked looted Australian sausages over the petrol-and-sand fire on the blade of a shovel, von Dodenburg and the ‘Prof’ conferred over the map. But von Dodenburg could see the other man’s mind was elsewhere and finally he asked: ‘Come on, Prof, what is it? You’ve got a face like forty days’ rain.’

The ‘Prof’ pointed to the sky. ‘Look at that.’

The sky was the colour of wood smoke. From it the sun shone down like a coin seen dimly at the bottom of a dirty country pool. ‘Well?’ he demanded.

‘Do you not notice, Major, that the wind has stopped blowing? Well, all the signs are there, my dear Major,’ the ‘Prof’ said severely, pursing his cracked lips.

‘All the signs of what?’ von Dodenburg barked, biting into a red-hot sausage.

‘Sand storm!’

*  *  *

The sand storm hit them one hour later. A gust of wind hit the tank with such force that it shuddered violently. In an instant it was as black as night. ‘I told you so!’ the ‘Prof’ screamed above the sudden vicious howl.

‘Oh shut up!’ von Dodenburg yelled. He grabbed the mike. ‘Commander to all vehicles,’ he roared above the ever increasing howl, trying to ignore the sand particles striking his face like angry hailstones, ‘Proceed to the high ground at two o’clock and stop motors! I repeat – high ground at two o’clock and stop motors. Over and out!’ He dropped the mike and ducked behind the cover of the turret as the sandstorm struck the column at 150 kilometres an hour. Next to him Schulze howled with pain as the flying sand particles cut into his broad face like a myriad, red-hot stilettos.

The rest of the column vanished in the whirling storm of sand. Breathing became difficult. Von Dodenburg felt as if he were being garrotted. The hellish fog of sand snatched the air from his lungs. Next to him Schulze and the ‘Prof’ were choking for breath like asthmatics.

Pulling down his sand-goggles, von Dodenburg glanced over the turret. If the rest of his force was there somewhere, he could not see them. They had vanished into the flying wall of sand. For all he knew they were all alone in this crazy anarchic world. Full of apprehension he ducked his head behind cover again.

Somehow Matz managed to drive on, while the wind shrieked furiously across the desert, as if some God on high had ordained that these puny mortals, who had had the temerity to venture into this burning world, should be wiped from the face of the earth.

Over the intercom von Dodenhurg heard Matz curse. The Mark IV lurched to a stop. Had Matz managed to reach the ridge at two o’clock? Or had something broken down? At that moment, von Dodenburg neither knew nor cared. Nothing mattered, save the task of surviving the elemental fury of the storm.

Then as suddenly as it had started, the storm declined. The terrifying howl gave way to a lower keening, which soon disappeared altogether, leaving behind an echoing silence.

Like blind men the soldiers in the turret stretched out their hands to feel their bodies. Von Dodenburg rubbed his sand-goggles clean. Next to him Schulze and the ‘Prof’ were clearing away the thick layer of sand which covered their bodies. He stood up, sand pouring from his body and stared over the turret.

The desert was transformed. The ridge he had directed his vehicles to had inexplicably vanished. So had the rest of the column. They were alone.

‘Christ Almighty!’ he cursed and pressed his throat mike urgently. ‘Matz, get the thing started up again. We’ve got to find the rest of the column – at once,’ he ordered.

‘Sorry, sir,’ Matz’s voice came over the intercom. ‘I think we’ve shot a track. I’m getting no traction.’

‘
Scheisse!
All right, Matz, I’ll have a look.’

Swiftly von Dodenburg dropped over the side into the sand which had buried the lower track. He grubbed away the sand the whole length of the track, trying to find the source of trouble. Then he found it. Something had caught a connecting pin and had twisted it out of all recognition. One of the pin’s jagged ends had been carried over the sprocket wheel until it had become embedded in the sand-shield on that side of the tank? Now there was a mass of tangled metal stuck there.

Matz joined von Dodenburg. ‘What a shitty mess!’

‘What a shitty mess, indeed!’ von Dodenburg agreed.

For a few minutes the two of them stood there surveying the wreckage in silence until Matz said: ‘It can be fixed, sir. But it’ll take a bit of time. And I’ll need that big Hamburg ox up there to give me a hand.’

‘All right,’ von Dodenburg made a quick decision. ‘Prof you give these two rogues here a bit of cover. I’m going to see if I can find the others. They can’t have got far,’ he added hopefully. He pulled down a water bottle and slung it over his shoulder next to his machine pistol. ‘If I don’t find them in the next fifteen minutes, I’ll come back and give you a hand. We’ll try to raise the rest of the Company by radio, though God knows how I’ll be able to give them a fix on us when I don’t know where the hell we are.’ With that he started on his search.

*  *  *

He could barely hear the clang of Schulze’s sledge hammer on the jammed metal and the tank itself was hidden behind a ridge. He glanced at his watch. He had already been walking ten minutes. But there was still no sign of the rest of the column. Von Dodenburg frowned with irritation. Had they gone blundering on, blinded by the storm, and thinking that the command tank was still in the lead?

‘Damn the two of them,’ he cursed the 18-year-old second-lieutenants. ‘They should have tumbled to the fact that we’re missing by –’ The angry words died on his lips.

On the far horizon, a line of dark figures had suddenly appeared. He breathed a sigh of relief and pulling his binoculars out of their case, focused them hurriedly.

He saw immediately that they were not his men. The strangers, strung out in a long line, were dressed in the flowing robes of the desert Arab and they were riding on camels. He adjusted the glasses more finely and tried to pick out the details of the first rider. Suddenly he gasped and lowered the glasses hurriedly. An instant later he was running heavily through the soft sand the way he had come.
The leading rider’s face was covered by a blue veil!

Von Dodenburg tensed over the radio. ‘Here Sunray…here Sunray,’ he called desperately…. ‘Do you read me, over?’ He flicked the mike switch and waited anxiously, while the other three stared up at him in taut anticipation.

There was no answering crackle.

Angrily he thrust the mike back on its hook. ‘The damned fools must be on radio silence – or something equally idiotic,’ he snapped.

‘What now?’ the ‘Prof asked.

Von Dodenburg straightened up and stared out of the turret. The horizon was still empty. ‘All right,’ he decided, ‘we’ll continue working.’ He unslung his machine pistol and slapped it in the ‘Prof’s’ unwilling hands. ‘I’m going to help Schulze and Matz. You stand guard.’

‘But I’ve never fired one of these,’ Reichart protested. ‘I don’t know how it works.’

‘Well, now is obviously a good time to find out,’ von Dodenburg cried, seizing the pin and holding it against the jammed part, while Schulze grunted and brought down the sledgehammer.

One blow sufficed. The track-pin parted and landed with a tinkle of metal on the pebbles, while the sound of the sledge echoed and re-echoed across the desert. Von Dodenburg dropped the other pin. Close at hand he heard the crackle of camel-thorn, or so he thought. He straightened up; the horizon was still empty. All the same, every nerve of his body tensed for the shock of discovery and rattle of rifle-fire which would follow. Surely the Arabs must have heard! He tried to dismiss the Blue Veils from his mind and snapped: ‘All right, Schulze, grab one of the crowbars! Matz, Schulze and I will lift up the sandshield, you grab the track. When I say “heave” –
heave!
’

Matz nodded. He took hold of the severed piece of track and prepared to pull, while von Dodenburg and Schulze thrust the crowbars underneath the sand-shield. The Major spat on his palms and commanded: ‘One, two, three –
heave!
’

There was a rending, metallic sound which von Dodenburg thought must have been heard for kilometres, but still Matz was unable to pull the trapped section free.

‘Christ on a crutch!’ Schulze roared in sudden anger at Matz. ‘What are you – a shitty pygmy or something? Too much wanking, Matzi, that’s your trouble. Sapping your strength you are!’

Von Dodenburg glanced at the horizon. It was still empty, thank God! ‘Come on,’ he gasped, ‘let’s save our breath and get on with it!’

Twice more they tried to free the section of trapped track and twice they failed. By now von Dodenburg’s nerves were jangling. His imagination was prey to every terror. Shapes which he had marked out of the corner of his eyes as bushes or patches of camel-thorn suddenly moved or disappeared. New shapes appeared momentarily where there had been none before.

‘Come on,’ he croaked, wiping away the beads of sweat which threatened to blind him, ‘let’s have another go at the sodding thing!’

Angrily the three of them took up their positions once more. ‘Now
HEAVE!
’ von Dodenburg cried.

There was the searing sound of metal freeing itself and then Matz was lying on his back in the sand, with a length of track draped across his skinny body. Slowly the rest of the track slithered over the runners and flopped to the ground like a suddenly severed limb.

Schulze dropped his crowbar and glared at Matz, pinned down by the weight of the track. ‘Well, don’t just lie there, you cripple, like a pissy-assed spare prick in a convent. Getup!’

‘I can’t,’ Matz said through gritted teeth. ‘I’ve got this shitty thing on my chest, you stupid bastard!’

‘Quick,’ von Dodenburg ordered. ‘There’s no time to be lost!’ Together the two men pulled the length of damaged track off Matz’s chest and then ran to the spares’ bin. Schulze grunted, and exerting all his tremendous strength, hauled out a replacement section of track. He dropped it to the ground. Swiftly the men went to work to fit the new section.

While von Dodenburg sweated and strained to loosen the idler wheel adjustment, Matz and Schulze linked the new part to the old track and started to thread it across the runners once more. The noise the three of them made was tremendous. But von Dodenburg knew it could not be helped. The Blue Veils would discover them soon and even behind the 80mm armour they would not be safe from them. It was an old adage in Assault Regiment Wotan that an immobilized tank was nothing better than a coffin, once it was surrounded by determined infantry. A carefully placed hand grenade would ensure that the biggest tank was soon dead. Thus he laboured with the others, sweating and cursing, expecting Reichert’s shout of warning at any moment.