Aftermath

(Source¹)

As the aircraft touched down, Fehrenbach surveyed the damage wrought by the P-40s. It didn't seem too bad at first, but when they got to the taxiway they had taken off from, he could see at least three burning Stukas and a couple that had gone off into the rocks and dirt lining the sides of the airfield. There was also a burning fuel bowser, which even he knew might be critical. Fuel was always at a premium in the desert.

"It's hard to believe that just a few enemy aircraft did this much damage." Wolfram said over the intercom.

Wolfram saw a ground crewman directing him where to park his aircraft, it was inside one of the partially constructed sandbag revetments. Once the aircraft was inside, he chopped the throttle and turned off the fuel cock.

As he often did after a mission, he sat there, watching the propeller slowly come to a stop, letting his mind wander over the events of the past few minutes. When he looked at his wristwatch, he realized that from the time they had begun to taxi until now was slightly over 45 minutes. It felt much longer.

He pulled back the cockpit hood, the first thing he noticed was the smell of burning things - fuel, rubber, aluminum, human flesh. He had smelled it all before and he was still not used to it.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around suddenly, startling his ground crew chief, Gefreiter Hollenbeck. "Sorry Klaus, you startled me."

"The Gruppenkommandeur² wants all aircrew in the maintenance tent in thirty minutes. Word is, we're moving again."

"Forwards? Back to Sicily?"

"Sorry Ernst, I don't know, Göring³ no longer confides in me."

Wolfram couldn't help but grin as Hollenbeck helped him with his straps, "Sorry old boy, but you've quite a mess to clean up in the gunner's seat."

But Fehrenbach had already climbed out of his position and he told Hollenbeck, "I'll clean it up, I puked, not you."

"It's all right kid, you're aircrew, you're going to be busy over the next hour or so, when we service your bird, we'll clean it up as well. Next time, be careful what you eat for breakfast, certain foods ..."

Fehrenbach smiled, "Got it, Danke, Herr Gefreiter."

"Klaus out here, call me Gefreiter in the mess, or if the big shots are around, out here, we're all one happy family."

Fehrenbach smiled, this operational thing wasn't bad, well, when the enemy wasn't trying to kill you it wasn't too bad.

A Scottish trench mortar crew marching to a firing position, Egypt, 4 June 1940.
(Source)

Krige came to a small dune, he swore he could smell the sea⁴ on the wind. He also heard vehicular traffic, so he crouched down as he approached the top of the dune. He went flat when he saw a truck pulled over with a group of infantry around it. As everyone in the desert seemed to prefer the same khaki colored clothing, it was tough to tell at a distance who was who.

The he noticed the very typical British helmet, so he slowly stood up.

"Hey chaps, glad I found you!" Krige advanced slowly, waving his arms and speaking English.

One of the infantrymen, a sergeant, turned and aimed his Lee-Enfield at Krige. "'Old it right there, mate!"

Krige, puzzled, did as he was told.

"Get yer 'ands up, ye Jerry bastid."

As the men advanced towards him, Krige realized that his flying kit, khaki colored, flying helmet, life vest, probably didn't look much different from what the German and Italian aircrews wore. He offered, "I'm South African lads, crashed my kite back there in the desert." He gestured behind him as he said that.

For his troubles he was poked in the belly with the muzzle of the sergeant's rifle. "'Old still, ye Jerry bastid."

Krige flushed, he was most emphatically not German, but his accent made him sound foreign to these men, who from their chatter he surmised were Australians. So he tried another approach.

"Look cobber, I've had a long walk, I could use a lager and a bath. I tell you, I'm an Allied pilot, South African, we speak Afrikaans and English."

"Well, innit that bloody amusing, 'ey lads?" The sergeant laughed as he turned to his men.

"Sergeant!"

Krige breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the shout of what could only be an officer.

"Sah!" All of the infantrymen snapped to attention, though the sergeant kept his eyes on Krige.

"What have we got here, Sergeant Masterson?

"Jerry pilot, Sir. claims he's South African, but he sounds like a Jerry."

"Quite."

Turning to Krige, the officer asked, "Waar kom jy vandaan?⁵"

Krige smiled and said, in English, "I'm from Pietermaritzburg, Sir."

"Very good, do you need a lift?"

"Yes Sir, I was on a raid this morning which shot up a Stuka base near Derna, got surprised and had to put my aircraft down on a salt flat, not too far from here."

"Right, Sergeant Masterson, let's load this lad up and take him down to Tobruk," Turning to Krige he said, "Good enough for you?"

"Beats walking, Sir. And thanks."

The assembled aircrew all snapped to attention when the Gruppenkommandeur, Major Artur Klemenz, an Austrian, entered the tent.

"At ease boys, I've got good news, and I've got bad news."

A groan issued from the crowd.

"The good news is we're going back to Sicily where we'll get replacement aircraft and crews. We should be there for at least two months. Generalfeldmarschall Rommel has been held up by logistics and the Italian High Command, for the moment. He expects reinforcements over the next few months."

A number of smiles were seen in the crowd at that news.

"Now the bad news is that we're going to hit a British convoy on the way to Sicily, then we'll be flying maritime missions and missions against Malta while we build back up again. I expect we'll be back here, in the desert, which I know you all love," groans from the crowd, "by summer."

"We have a group of transports flying in to transport equipment and ground personnel, along with those aircrew who have no aircraft, to Sicily. Those will have an escort of Me 109s. I expect that our remaining aircraft attacking the convoy will keep the British busy."

"Full briefing at 1400, headquarters wants us in the air by 1700. The convoy is trying to sneak into Tobruk at dusk. We shall see they receive a warm reception. Staffelkapitäne⁶, stick around after this meeting, we need to juggle some of the flights."

As they walked back to their aircraft, Fehrenbach asked, "What's Sicily like, Ernst?"

"It's nice, the food is good, the wine is better."

"And the women?"

"Ah, you need to be careful there, Junge. Sicilian families are very protective of their womenfolk. But the women are amazing. You'll see. But their fathers and brothers? As dangerous as a Spitfire or Hurricane on your tail."

"I see."

"A question Uwe. Where are you from?"

"The Rhineland, just outside Köln."

"Catholic?"

"Aber natürlich."

"So are the Sicilians, play your cards right ..."

As they prepared their aircraft for the bombing raid on the convoy, then the flight to Sicily, Fehrenbach couldn't stop grinning.

Hollenbeck noticed and took Wolfram aside, "Why'd you get the boy's hopes up, Ernst? He might not live long enough to get to Sicily, many of us might not."

Wolfram shook his head, "For now he's got something to look forward to, something to live for. Should I take that away from him, Klaus?"

"You're right. Now make me feel better, I'll be riding in a damn Tante Ju⁷. Hanging out there for any Tommy fighter pilot with a machine gun to send into the sea."

Wolfram shook his head, "Klaus, you worry too much. You sound like my mother."

Hollenbeck just looked at the pilot, then said, "You be f**king careful out there, bring my crate home in one piece, neh?"

"I will, Klaus, if it's in my power, I will. After all, young Fehrenbach needs to experience Sicily before he dies, yes?"

¹ Go read the article at that source, very interesting.

² Group Commander, this was a position title, not a rank. Each Luftwaffe wing (Geschwader- commanded by a Geschwaderkommodore) had three or more Gruppen (groups- each commanded by a Gruppenkommandeur), within each Gruppe there were three to four Staffeln (squadrons- each commanded by a Staffelkapitän). A Staffel had nine to twelve aircraft assigned.

³ Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring, chief of the Luftwaffe.

⁴ Most landsmen, when near the coast think that what they are smelling is the sea, it's actually the smell of the land beside the sea, especially the marshes and other places along the coast. Sailors say that it's the smell of the land. So I've been told.

⁵ Where are you from? (Afrikaans)

⁶ Squadron commanders

⁷ German nickname for the Ju 52 transport. "Aunt Ju," Ju for Junkers.