A Howl From The Sands

1

June 1942

North Africa

The fate of the scorpion had been decided the moment it had been born. It tried to put up a fight, and with its claws and stinger, one would figure it could, the creature did indeed look frightening. But hunger has a funny way of overshadowing fear sometimes. The scorpion skittered to the left, as it tried to confuse the Golden Jackal before it, but the canine was not deterred, indeed he simply licked his chops as he crept further onward towards the scorpion. Then it was over, the jackal pounced and quickly there was the crunching sound of the scorpion's exoskeleton, followed by the wet sounds of pulpy insides that went down the jackal's gullet.

Now sitting on his haunches the jackal observed the moonlit barren desert, of the Qattara depression. Didn't take long for the animal to find the small light, some fifteen meters away beside an outcropping of rock. The Jackals sniffed the air and recognized the scent of people, people where they should not be. The jackal howled, howled it's high pitched noise, and in the distance, another howl answered.

Oberfeldwebel Konrad Gradl cringed at the howling he heard, it was unnerving, to say the least, a sound he could never quite get used to which was odd when he thought about it, he had adapted to the sounds of screaming men, ripping machine guns and great explosions but a howl from a jackal? Never he supposed, but that is just the way life works, how one adapts to challenges, to things that would normally ruin people, and rightly so. Konrad thought about ruin for a moment and cursed himself again for using the flashlight to check the map once again, English commandos roaming the desert could have seen it, but dammit didn't the situation call for it? He and his crew and the other armored car where separated from the main reconnaissance unit, if it hadn't been for that sandstorm or "Ghibli" as the locals called it, they would be in the correct position now, if it hadn't been for that sandstorm the engines would be working and perhaps even the radios as well.

Konrad took off his worn and sun-bleached field cap and moved a gloved hand across his forehead, and grimaced at the decay of it all, how quickly things could go so wrong, and on the eve of a battle as well. Konrad knew the reason his unit was out in such a way, Rommel was going to punch through the Allied lines at El Alamein. Allied forces had been gradually falling back from the onslaught of the Afrika Korps and allied Italian formations, a veritable blitzkrieg across the desert. Konrad had seen and heard the propaganda coming from Goebbels about the Desert Fox Rommel and his unbeatable Afrika Korps. Konrad gave a sardonic grin, when he thought about that. Goebbels didn't know how supply-starved they all were, how the Luftwaffe in the area was having difficulty finding fuel for it's planes, how Allied warships pilled on the sunk tonnage of badly needed supplies into the Mediterranean, or how much of their equipment, supplies and even uniforms were from captured Allied stock? Would Goebbels make a propaganda film with booming Wagner in the background, about a private with sunken eyes and burnt skin, knowing that there might very well not be fresh rations making their way to the front that very night? Probably not and Konrad wondered that in this horrid game of tug of war in the desert, would this upcoming battle be the one where the rope was firmly on Tommie's side? 

 Another howl, this time closer and it broke Konrad out of his morose revelry. Hearing that sound made him shiver, as well as the cold of the night. That was something many people didn't count on in the desert, that during the nights it got cold, sometimes very very cold, though it makes sense really with how hot it is in the day. When Gefreiter Sven Weider spoke up from the engine compartment at the rear of the vehicle Konrad gave a short little jump, then shook his head. Konrad turned around in the turret of the car, the 20mm gun and mg34 coaxial gun behind him, and said: "What was that Gefreiter?"

"Engine air filter," said Sven, his voice subdued "clogged with sand, and a cable disconnected from one of the spark plugs."

Sven was behind a small tent made out of zeltbahns so that the flashlight he used, was hidden while he looked through the guts of the armored car. A v8 engine with a top off-road speed of 40 km powered their light armored reconnaissance vehicle, or specifically Sd.kfz 222, and with a range of 300 km, they had more than enough to scout ahead, and the range increased with the Jerry cans of gasoline that hung on a rack on the front bumper or on the single racks on both sides of the hull, but for now those ones held the drinking water cans. The thought of water brought a worrying thought to Konrad and he quickly shoved it aside. Konrad spoke, "Will we be able to move out?"

Sven looked thoughtful for a moment and said "The spark plug is an easy fix, some idiot at the motor pool must not have secured it. The filter might be more difficult and if anything got into the engine, well, even more difficult."

Konrad nodded and looked away at the vast emptiness of the desert, he said softly "Well, do what you can tonight. I will be starting a watch soon, I'll take first watch, then I'll come for Obersoldat Baumann and when he is done he will come for you. Enough space in that slit trench for two eh?"

Sven nodded, then spoke with a small tinge of worry in his voice that made Konrad raise an eyebrow slightly "To be honest Herr Oberfeldwebel I would feel more comfortable if our radios were working, I know nothing got into them, covered them up when we first saw the sandstorm."

"Yes, yes that is odd, perhaps static interference has blown a fuse?"

"Perhaps, I do hope that is just the worst of it."

Konrad nodded again, and pulled the collar of his greatcoat against the cold and stamped his feet a little. Konrad spoke his voice with some anger in it "I hate this stillness, we set off so well and then, damn, goddamn this desert to hell with the whole stinking lot of it! We stay here too long and the Tommie's will be bound to find us."

Sven didn't look up from his work and said "Or Rommel, flying down in his plane. Though from what I heard, I'd rather get chewed up by English bullets than chewed up by Herr Generalfeldmarschall's tongue lashings."

Konrad gave a short little chuckle. Rommel had been known at times to actually fly down from his private scout plane, and land beside his men that were falling behind and lambaste them to pick up the pace. Konrad said, "You know I would rather prefer that at least then someone would know we were here."

In the distance, another howl from a Jackal, and another shiver went up Konrad's spine.