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’em down there with those baggy long drawers of theirs, boiling up more of that tea-shit that they always swig by the litre. They’re settling in, as if they’re gonna be there forever!’
    Von Dodenhurg took one last long look at the British positions: a circle of armoured cars and light tanks, with men squatting round blue-flickering petrol fires, while the officers gathered round the radio truck for some sort of conference. He made his decision. ‘We’ll have to attack, Schulze. Come on, let’s get back to the tank and get on with it.
    Bodies bent low, the two men scurried back to the command tank, which was now dug in in the hull-down position in the centre of the others. The commanders, poised alertly on their turrets, looked at him anxiously and von Dodenburg placed his hand on top of his khaki cap, fingers outstretched in the infantry signal for them to rally on him (he had ordered complete radio silence one hour before). A moment later they had dropped from their turrets and came doubling over to where the CO stood.
    ‘All right, we are going to attack. For two reasons. One, we can’t waste any more time here. Two. Now that they’ve stopped their own motors, they’re bound to hear us, even if we did attempt to sneak our way round them.’ He paused and glanced around at the dust-covered faces. Their weariness seemed to have vanished almost instantly and their red-rimmed eyes gleamed with sudden excitement. Young and as inexperienced as they were, they were obviously eager for battle. Von Dodenburg noted the point gratefully. ‘Now most of you are new to battle,’ he continued, ‘and I don’t want you taking any foolish risks. So this is the way we’re going to do it. I shall take my tank up to the top of the ridge and show myself. My guess is that the Tommies will assume there is only a lone tank facing them and although that tank outguns those 37mm popguns their vehicles are armed with, they’ll have a crack at me with their light tanks. Once they start their motors, you start up. Meier, you’ll command the left wing. Seitz, the right.’
    The two 18-year second-lieutenants snapped to attention.
    ‘Once I open up with my 75, you will come in from the flanks in a wide swoop and envelop them like this.’ He drew in his arms as if he were hugging a girl in a passionate embrace. ‘You Sergeant Doerr.’
    ‘Sir,’ the one-eyed veteran NCO in charge of the panzer grenadiers barked.
    ‘As soon as the two flanks go in, I shall advance down the slope and you’ll follow with your halftracks.’
    ‘ Jawohl, Hauptsturm ,’ Doerr snapped. ‘My boys’ll tickle up those Tommies’ asses for you, sir.’
    ‘I don’t want their asses just tickled,’ von Dodenburg answered with unusual severity. ‘Understand this – all of you. I want all those unfortunate Tommies killed. Not one of them must escape. All right, be off with you – and the best of luck.’
    ‘Best of luck to you, too, sir,’ they replied breathlessly and doubled back to their tanks.
    Wotan was going to battle again!

    *  *  *

    ‘All right, Matz. Start up – now !’ The 300 HP engines burst into life with a tremendous roar. Matz thrust home the gear and the tank rattled to the brow of the hill. Down below the Tommies had spun round to discover the cause of the sudden row. If what was going to happen next had not been so tragic, von Dodenburg could have burst out laughing at the comic look of surprise on their gawping British faces.
    It seemed to take them an age to react to the appearance of an enemy tank in their midst. Then suddenly a white-haired man dropped the canteen from which he was drinking, and started to pelt for the radio truck with surprising speed for such an elderly man. ‘Stop him, Schulze,’ von Dodenburg rapped.
    Schulze crouched behind the 75mm, pressed the trigger of one of the machine-guns almost automatically. A burst of tracer zipped flatly across the desert. The elderly officer faltered, flung up his