大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Jock Watt. He fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Whilst 3 R.T.R. or what was left of it was involved in those sporadic actions, battles had been taking place in other areas of the Gazala/Hacheim line. In one such area fighting had been so fierce and the ground changed hands so often it became known as the Devil's Cauldron. Both sides had eventually withdrawn and on this day we were ordered to recce. the area and establish contact with the enemy.

I carefully approached the ridge above the cauldron, signalled my other two tanks to stay turret down, and approached to a position of observation. I scanned the area carefully and observed no movement; the air was so quiet and deathly still it gave me the creeps. Accustomed as I was to battlefield wreckage I was shocked at what I saw; this was indeed a Devil's Cauldron. This valley in front of me, really just a dip in the sand approximately 400 yards wide, disappeared into the horizon to north and south and was littered with an unimaginable mass of debris. The whole area was a confusion of burned out vehicles, trenches, barbed wire, clothing and equipment with a few bodies lying around like bundles of discarded rags; what a pathetic shambles. In the heat of this desert sun, a cold hand gripped my body and I shuddered.

The shimmering heat haze distorted shapes but I identified a German half-track silhouetted against the skyline on the other side of the valley. Through my binoculars I could see a large hole in the side of the armour plate, so considered it to be out of action and a possible source of useful information. I signalled my other two tanks to stay put and ordered my driver to reverse below the ridge, count twenty then drive straight over the top. This was a tactic I used frequently in these uncertain conditions where an Anti-Tank Gunner may have me in his sights, waiting for the whole tank to appear, and give him a better target. My hope was that he would give up when the tank disappeared and search for another target.

Leaving the other tanks behind the ridge my driver moved carefully across the valley floor to a position where, with the minimum of delay, we could get out again quickly. He stopped about 100 yards from our target and switched the engine off; the view through binoculars was much clearer without engine vibration. It was not a very comfortable situation and I took a long time to decide my next move. However, having got this far, I just had to go through with it or my image with the Troop would never be the same again.

I jumped to the ground with a Tommy Gun under my arm and moved slowly up the slope. In this tense atmosphere only the buzzing of flies and the crunching of grit under my feet disturbed the deathly silence and my heart was bumping like mad under my sweat sodden shirt. It was very frightening with a sense of death all around me and the possibility of mines under my feet. Only my stupid pride stopped me from running back to the protection of the tank. With every step I quickly scanned the ground ahead, nothing moved but I could feel the eyes of my Operator burning into the back of my neck. He probably had the microphone in his hand ready to start up and move out, with or without me.

It was as I suspected, the Halftrack had been knocked out and through the hole in the side I could see bodies lying around with a mass of filthy flies all over them. The stench of rotting flesh was overpowering and maggots were crawling everywhere. A fire extinguisher emptied through the hole helped to disperse or kill most of the flies and I climbed over the side, keeping my body as low as possible inside the vehicle.

Breathing in the heavy concentration of carbon tetrachloride from the fire extinguisher had me gasping for fresh air. I quickly found the driver's log book, grabbed a map and papers, but was delayed by the position of one body. He was an Officer crouched down behind the driver's seat which was empty; his head was hanging over the back of the seat with his chest resting against the back plate. There were papers in his shirt pocket which I could not retrieve but, having come this far, I was not going without them. I had already delayed too long in this dangerous situation, had a quick look around to make sure I was still alone, grabbed hold of his shoulders and pulled.

A most unearthly hideous gurgling sound issued from the body. It broke the deathly silence of this cauldron like a protest from hell and prompted a panic reaction. This was indeed the last straw for my over-stressed nervous system and I cleared the side of that six foot high vehicle like an Olympic hurdler. I was probably half way down the hill before my feet touched the ground with my heart thumping like mad as I raced towards the tank. I slowed to a walking pace as common sense prevailed. The driver had seen my hair raising acrobatics, started the engine and was ready to move.

"What's up", the operator called with a nervous tremor in his voice. My hurried departure from the scene had probably prompted a vision in his mind of a mass of German armour about to appear and blast us to kingdom come. Of course I had to lie, "Just came back for my gauntlets, there are dead bodies up there and we need their documents". Reluctantly I trudged back up the slope. I had left my Tommy Gun up there and I still had a job to do. As an afterthought I realised that the Officer had probably been knocked unconscious by the blast and was asphyxiated with his neck resting on the seat back plate. My action had opened up his lungs and sucked in air creating the most unearthly sound I ever heard.

Once again I scanned the area and everything was uncomfortably quiet but the job had to be done. Unfortunately the body had not moved back sufficiently for me to remove the papers so there was no choice, I had to go through it all again. This time I was prepared for any reaction and for good measure I liberated his watch and binoculars. By now the stench and moving mass of maggots was a little too much for my stomach, I began to feel sick. Well, we had been active since about 5 a.m. and breakfast had been a hard biscuit coated with jam gulped down on the move, not exactly an adequate preparation for this scene of death and decay. I hurriedly collected his papers, maps and driver鈥檚 logbook - that was always a good source of information, shouldered my gun and strolled down the hill. With a feeling of relief that I had completed the task, the nervous tension gradually left my body.

Casually but cautiously with eyes searching the area, I moved back towards the tank, the heat as usual was unbearable and the deathly stillness broken only by the movement of pebbles under my feet. The barbed wire, burnt out vehicles and other battle debris stood around like monuments, silent, but each telling its own story of the dreadful events that had occurred. It was but 50 yards from my haven that I detected movement on the left. I signalled the operator and indicated the direction. The turret swung round to cover me as I moved amongst the debris. An arm was sticking out of a shallow trench and it moved slowly as I approached. There in the trench was a wounded Asian soldier, his uniform at the waistline tattered and bloodstained and a mass of filthy greedy flies filled the air, hell bent on getting their share of whatever this poor devil had to give.

There was nothing I could do to help him. I reported his state and position and hoped that the ambulance service would do the rest. How long had this poor devil lain there. It must have been at least two days since our forces left that area. Someone must have known he was wounded but had they also died before reporting it? We are only aware of what is seen and heard, the greatest tragedies remain a mystery and the instinct to survive must be our most powerful ally. Here was a desecrated human body hovering at death's door and yet the instinct to detect sound and issue a call for help was still there. Such a human effort had earned that body the right to live.

Jock Watt 3rd R.T.R.

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