SAS Ghost Patrol: The Ultra-Secret Unit That Posed As Nazi Stormtroopers by Damien Lewis

Author:Damien Lewis [Lewis, Damien]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Quercus
Published: 2017-10-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

The first unexpected challenge faced by Haselden and his commandos was the terrain. In the flat dusk light none had realized just how steep and treacherous was the descent from the ridgeline. Search as they might there was no obvious track, and with no LRDG patrol to guide them the lead truck had to steer the best course it could.

As the three vehicles bumped, skidded and slithered their way down the dry, rocky surface, no one could believe that they hadn’t yet been heard or spotted from the road below. So slow was their descent that by the time the trucks were nearing the highway they were already a good thirty minutes behind schedule.

Suddenly, trouble seemed to be upon them: a pair of German light transport vehicles came barrelling along the highway. Unless the British convoy slowed, the two parties would surely collide as they converged, plus Haselden’s convoy was bound to be spotted making its way through the rough bush and scrub.

Beneath their shielding blankets the commandos gripped their weapons more tightly. All eyes were on the pair of German trucks, dreading the moment when they would slow to a stop on the road ahead. But they did nothing of the sort. Instead, they simply thundered past at top speed, seemingly finding nothing odd about a convoy of Afrika Korps vehicles crossing the scrub by the roadside.

Buck and Haselden knew they could afford no further delay. Their truck nosed its way up onto the road and turned left, accelerating onto the first proper stretch of Tarmac that any of them had driven on for three weeks or more. It might be potholed and sun-cracked, but to men in vehicles that had spent so long in the desert it felt as smooth as silk.

As the other trucks slotted in behind, Buck urged Chunky Hillman, his SIG driver, to put his foot down and steer hell for leather for Tobruk. The sun was already slipping below the horizon and no vehicles were supposed to be out after dark.

At first there was nothing but open scrub to either side of the road, but as they thundered west the first tents hove into view, marking the enemy encampments that sprawled outside the Tobruk wire. Moments later the speeding convoy was in among them, scattered ranks of grey, sun-bleached canvas stretching off to either side. In the rear truck Langton kept his gun trained on his ‘captives’, but even so his gaze strayed to left and right. He could see cookhouses, orderly rooms, sleeping quarters, medical tents and messes – with everywhere figures hurrying to their duties.

It struck him as appearing like any typical British military encampment, and he had to remind himself that they were in reality on the outskirts of one of the enemy’s most heavily defended strongholds. Occasionally, figures glanced up at their passing. Langton couldn’t help but wonder if any were suspicious as to the identity of those in the speeding vehicles.

He tried to imagine himself in their shoes.

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