Passing the Lines

Captured Italian tank

© IWM (E 2138)

"How are we going to get this crate through the lines, boss?" Will O'Shea asked of his tank commander. They were some miles from where they thought the army was, they needed to come up with some way of getting home. They were all sitting in the shade at the side of the vehicle. The inside of the crate was like an oven.

Sergeant O'Connell thought a bit before answering. Before he could do so, Private Caddick chimed in, "Well, if we had paint we could maybe paint a Union Flag somewhere."

The rest of the crew just looked at him.

Fitzhugh smirked and said, "Too right mate, and we had some extra steel and the like we could disguise the crate as a bleedin' Matilda."

Caddick blushed, "It's just a thought, Corp, no need to get vicious."

Fitzhugh bristled then stopped when O'Connell gave him a stern look. The entire crew was tired, stressed, and anxious to rejoin their unit.

"You might be on to something, Alan." O'Connell nodded at Caddick. Leaning over he drew something in the sand.

"Did I see a tin of grease down by your position, Ian?" Sullivan was the bow gunner in their regular tank, so that's where he was sitting. The Italian tank only had a four man crew, everyone sat in their regular positions except for O'Shea, he swapped out with Fitzhugh, the Italian tank's main gun only had a gunner and no separate loader. So O'Connell had one of them ride outside the tank, the other inside.

Now they all looked at what O'Connell had scratched in the dirt.

"What is that?" Fitzhugh thought the drawing rather crude, but it reminded him of something, before he could say another word, Caddick spoke.

"It's a desert rat! That could work!"

"Use the grease to paint it on the tarp, drape the tarp over the front of the crate, it just might work." Fitzhugh slapped Caddick on the back, "How are you with a brush, laddie?"

The final product bore a reasonable resemblance to 7th Armoured's jerboa insignia. With that and the tarp disguising the M13/40's turret and forward hull, O'Connell thought they stood a fair chance of not being killed by their own side.

"Ya know, Sarn't, some sort of white flag might be helpful as well. To let our blokes know we ain't, ya know, hostile." Fitzhugh shrugged, he felt badly about giving Caddick guff earlier. The kid's comment had sparked the whole grease-painted tarp idea.

"Where are we going to get white cloth?" Sullivan asked.

Fitzhugh perked up, "Our drawers are almost white!"

O'Connell chuckled and said, "Maybe when first issued, but now ..."

Fitzhugh finished the thought, "They're pale enough I wager, tie a pair to the Lee-Enfield, it'll get the point across."

"Better than nothin', Sarn't." Sullivan agreed.

"Leftenant, come 'ave a look at this, Sir. It's a tracked vehicle, but it's bloody odd looking. Some sort of insignia painted on the top, can't quite make it out."

Lieutenant Grimshaw came out of the makeshift bunker and into the main trench. It was a slapdash affair, not meant to be permanent. They were expecting orders to fall back all the way to Benghazi at any minute.

Lifting his field glasses, Grimshaw looked in the direction Sergeant Sanders was pointing. Sure enough, it was a small armored vehicle, apparently with a tarp over the top of the superstructure. The tarp had a crude jerboa painted on it, rather like that used by the 7th Armoured.

"Running gear looks Italian, too tall for a Semovente, my guess is an M13/40. Are those fellows on top waving a set of underwear from a stick?" Grimshaw was confused, his gut told him to hold fire, a lot of stragglers from the battle near Agedabia were still coming in, some in an odd assortment of vehicles.

"Ready the two-pounder, Sarn't, just in case."

"Sir!"

As the vehicle got closer, Grimshaw focused his glasses on the men on top of the vehicle. He counted four, knowing that the Italian tanks had a four man crew, he knew there were more men inside. The chaps on top, infantry? But one vehicle? If they were Italian, they were suicidal.

"Sir!"

"What is it, Sarn't?"

"The chaps on top are wearing British kit, and one of 'em is a ginger."

"A what?"

"A ginger, Sir, red hair. These chaps look burned to a crisp. I'd put a pound on them being Irish. Don't look like any Italian I've ever seen."

"Keep the gun trained on them, I'm going to wave them in. Heads up lads!" he shouted to the rest of the platoon. Grimshaw knew that northern Italy held a lot of fair-haired Italians, but redheads were rather rare in Italy.

Lieutenant Colonel Gilbert from regiment was shaking his head as he examined the tarp with its crude depiction of a desert rat, as the lads called them. "Quite effective, if somewhat crude, O'Connell. Well done."

"Thank you, Sir.  Can we keep the crate?"

"Well, we are short of armour, so we'll keep it, but I want you lads on the next lorry to Tobruk. Get you a proper tank. We'll probably dig this one in here as a bunker or something."

"Very good, Sir. Uh, can we keep the tarp? It's served us well."

"Oh yes, quite. I'd think about reproducing your rather fanciful jerboa on your next tank. Quite distinctive, if somewhat crude."

"We're tankers, Sir, not artists." O'Connell pointed out.

"Yes, it rather shows, doesn't it?" Gilbert smiled as he said that. "Carry on, Sergeant."

"Sir!" O'Connell saluted then led his crew to the supply point where they might get lucky and catch a ride to the rear. He rolled the tarp up as he walked.

"We keeping the Eyetie tank, Sarn't?" Fitzhugh asked as O'Connell walked up.

"The army is, we're back to Tobruk to get a proper tank."

As the crew followed them, O'Connell handed the tarp to Sullivan.  "Keep this, it's been lucky for us, hasn't it?"

"Sure has, Sarn't." Caddick answered.

As they walked, O'Connell was still a little steamed at the artist crack from the lieutenant colonel. He turned and said, "Fitzie, when we get our new crate, I want to name her Rembrandt. For the artist, ya know?"

"Sure Sarn't, but ... - Ah, I get it, for Caddick's artwork."

"Yes, the officer from regiment wasn't impressed, but the Leftenant who waved us in thought it damned clever. As do I. Now let's get hopping, Jerry and his Italian friends are expected shortly, I want to be well on the road to Tobruk when that happens."