Clearing "Hill" 5

Imperial War Museum

"So this is what it's like to have a real, professional driver." Billy O'Shea tried, and failed, to keep the laughter out of his voice as he spoke over the intercom.

Truth be told, even Fitzhugh would admit it, the new man, Caddick, was indeed a superb driver. But still, Fitzhugh reached over the breech of the 2-pounder gun and slapped O'Shea in the back of the head.

"Hey, just speaking the ..."

"Knock it off, stay off the intercom." Sergeant O'Connell was a little on edge today.

The platoon had been sent forward with a party of Australian infantry to check out a slight rise in the desert floor which higher thought might contain a spotting party. German artillery had been falling with some accuracy on the supply lines leading to the border. Their job was to clear the slight knoll and establish their own forward post.

The sight of numerous burned out vehicles along the way, both British and German, made him apprehensive. This area was not controlled by either side, frequent fire fights had broken out between recovery parties trying to salvage what they could from the wrecks. It had gotten bad enough that both sides stayed out of the area. If they could.

"Fitzie, keep yer eyes peeled to the nor'west, ye should see the land start to rise in that direction. I expect trouble from that spot. Cheat the turret to that bearing, the 2-pounder is useless against infantry, but the coaxial machine gun will help keep any Jerry heads down. And if they have an armored vehicle, we can kill it with the main gun." O'Connell had explained all this before they set out, but it didn't hurt to repeat it.

"Well, I'll be damned ..." Fitzhugh didn't finish the sentence as he focused on engaging a target which had just presented itself. He fired the main gun, yelling for another round at the same time. There was something else behind what he was shooting at.

O'Connell couldn't see what his gunner was shooting at, then he saw a flash slightly to his right. Field glasses to his eyes and he saw the target, a Mark Four!

Feldwebel Marcus Lichterfeld swore as he spotted the British tanks, just half a second before one of them fired and hit his own Panzer in the engine compartment. As the vehicle ground to a halt he could hear his driver yelling, "Marcus! What the Hell?"

"Engine's hit lads, be ready to bail. Wolf, engage that Tommy bastard."

The short barreled 7.5 cm cannon barked, the loader screaming "Panzergranate geladen!" as soon as the breech was clear.

Lichterfeld watched through his field glasses as a British tank turned its turret towards them. His first shot had missed, there was no time for a second.

Flames were starting to issue from the back deck, something in the engine compartment was on fire.

"Aussteigen Männer! Wir brennen!¹" Lichterfeld yelled over the intercom just before tearing his headset off and sliding down the side of the turret.

"Another Mark Four, Fitzie. Eleven o'clock!"

Fitzhugh slewed the turret in that direction but that tank brewed up before he could fire, one of the other tanks in the platoon had killed that one. He searched through his sights but could see nothing else, "I'm blind down here Teddy!"

O'Connell watched as mortar rounds began to impact the area which had been occupied by at least one German tank platoon. He had to assume, as the infantry commander accompanying his tank must have assumed, that there had to be infantry there, supporting the tanks on the approach to the small knoll. He could barely make out anything himself, other than two burning Mark Fours.

Lichterfeld and his crew were sheltering in the defensive positions which had been created by the previous British occupants of the small knoll. Though it was raised from the desert floor enough to provide decent visibility for quite some ways into Egypt, it wasn't really high enough to merit a mention on the map. The infantry lieutenant commanding his support platoon jokingly called it "Hill Five," as it was at least five meters high, but no higher.

"Wolf, if we have artillery observers up on this hill, why aren't they returning fire?"

"I saw their position take a near miss from those British mortars, if they're still alive they're probably keeping their heads down." Wolf Müller was starting to get a bit nervous. The Tommies had infantry out there, he knew they had scarcely a platoon, maybe thirty men, with the Panzers. If the Tommies came in force, they wouldn't last long.

Captain Gerald Wiltshire blew his whistle and pointed at the knoll ahead. He and his company had moved up under the cover of the mortar barrage until they were practically on top of the German positions not 200 yards ahead.

The Australians were up and moving, firing as they advanced. Wiltshire knew that his men were anxious to relieve their mates besieged in Tobruk. Battleaxe had failed, but the high command was still determined to move forward. This operation was a small affair but it might lay the groundwork for pushing the Germans and Italians back far enough to prepare a springboard for another advance.

But Wiltshire knew his "Diggers" were simply anxious to kill more Germans. Splendid men, he thought, even if a bit unruly.

Sergeant Bill Murphy saw movement to his front, he reflexively fired his Thompson in that direction. He heard a scream then a voice saying something in German.

"'Ere Willy, go winkle those Jerry bastards out of that hole, if they don't want ta quit, toss a grenade in on 'em!"

Willy Jenkins yelled out in German, "Kommt raus ihr deutschen Bastarde.²" then fired three or four rounds from his Lee-Enfield in that direction.

"Bitte! Nicht schiessen³!"

Two Germans came out of the foxhole with their hands in the air, one of them was bleeding profusely from a laceration on his head. One of the Germans said, in broken English, "My man is there," he said nodding back at the foxhole, "he is bad hurt, you have doctor?"

Jenkins laughed then said, "Yeah mate, I've got yer f**king doctor right here," then proceeded to fire down into the foxhole, killing the wounded German cowering at the bottom of the hole.

Sergeant Murphy came over after reporting the position clear to his lieutenant, "Now, now, Willy, play nice, the wankers don't want ta fight no more."

"Tell that ta Roberts, Sarge. One of this lot did for him on the way up the hill."

"Roberts? Dead?" Murphy was surprised, Donny Roberts was an old soldier, very experienced.

"Yup, Donny's cactus,⁴ Sarge."

"Damn it!"

Lichterfeld and his crew were being marched back to the British lines. They passed by the burning hulk of their Panzer. The driver, Hans Kolb, muttered, "I left my best f**king tunic in there."

Fritz Schoerner, the bow gunner shook his head, "Don't think you'll need that in a Tommy prisoner camp."

Lichterfeld was about to tell the men to shut up when one of the Tommies took care of that for him. Swinging the butt of his Lee-Enfield in Kolb's direction, the Tommy shouted, "Stop yer bleedin' gob ya Hun bastard!"

Though none of the Germans understood a word of what the Australian soldier had said, not even Lichterfeld who spoke some English, they all understood the meaning.

They were quiet until turned over to a detachment of British military police who were collecting prisoners in a barbed-wire enclosure some five kilometers from where they were captured. At which point Lichterfeld said, "I guess our war is over boys."

¹ Get out men! We're burning!

² Come out you German bastards.

³ Please! Don't shoot!

⁴ Australian slang expression for "dead." (Source)