Tomb of the Lost

Chapter TWENTY TWO



The tyres skidded to a stop and tiny stones skittered to either side. The Jeep’s driver and three passengers jumped out of their vehicle and surveyed the scene. The small aeroplane was on its roof. It was German. Its markings still clearly visible under all the dust covering it. The wreckage was scattered over a quarter of a mile.

The Jeeps driver sergeant Harry Doyle whistled through his teeth at the wreckage.

“Sarge,” one of his men spoke.

Doyle looked across the desert at the other vehicles. They were part of the Long Range Desert Group. An elite group of men linked to the S.A.S.

“What do you want us to do Sarge?” Albert Simmonds asked again.

“Look for anything salvageable, anything we can use. Water, food, fuel, anything. This didn’t crash that long ago so there may be something. Oh and by the way….” he said as his men had started to move off. They stopped.

“….The crew may still be in there. So be warned it may not be pretty.”

“Sarge!” they all chorused.

“Just grab anything useful,” Harry repeated. He took his Sten gun off his shoulder and placed it on the bonnet of the jeep. He put his back to the vehicle and began to roll a cigarette.

Bert Simmonds and Alan “Dougie” Thomas surveyed the wreckage. The fourth man, George Potts, followed the trail of wreckage searching for anything of use. He kicked pieces of debris, prodding bigger bits with his toe. He reached the end of the trail and looked toward the direction the plane had obviously come. There was nothing else in the desert to indicate what had happened. The German pilot must have just crashed simple as that. George looked back at the plane. Then he eased himself out of his trousers and relieved himself. He shook himself when finished and then slowly made his way back to the wreck. Bert and Dougie picked their way over the ruined aircraft. Bert bent down to inspect a petrol can. The sand around it had recently been wet and when he picked the can up petrol trickled from a bullet hole in its side.

“I think we may have found what brought her down,” he said putting his finger in the hole to show Doug.

Doug lifted up a large piece of ripped canvas revealing the planes skeleton sides. It was riddled with bullet holes. He peered through a gash. On the floor which was in fact the roof he could see spent bullets.

“Someone shot the hell out of her.”

Bert nodded.

“She didn’t just crash then. Or run out of fuel.”

“Let’s take a look inside.”

Bert followed Doug. They had to get down onto their knees to look in through the smashed windows.

“They’re in there all right.”

Bert got to his feet and shouted across at Harry Doyle.

“The crew are still inside Sarge.”

“Any of them still alive?”

“No don’t think so. No signs of movement. Couldn’t see exactly how many. At least three I think.”

Doyle puffed on his cigarette.

“Leave them where they are. The Germans can bury them if they want to,” Doyle said now walking towards the wrecked plane, “Just quickly search it and return to the Jeep.”

Doug pulled open the passenger door with difficulty. It was stuck at first and he had to put a foot on the bodywork and yank it. The first thing he came across was the inert form of Kleber. He had a large bruise to his forehead. Doug put two fingers inside Kleber’s collar and felt for a pulse.

Nothing!

Kleber was cold. Doug had to pull him roughly about to be able to see past him. He could see a pair of legs sticking out from behind the passenger seat, which had been ripped from the floor and now lay upended on the plane’s roof. The other body was laying face down, its legs tangled in amongst the debris. Doug turned at the door as Doyle approached.

“Anything?”

“No they’re all dead. I don’t think there’s anything we can salvage.”

Doyle peered in through the door.

“Have you checked them over?”

“Just the first one there. They’re definitely dead Sarge.”

“Anything else to report?”

“No Sarge.”

“Sure?”

“Like what Sarge?”

“Like why two of them are wearing British uniforms.”

“Are they Sarge?” Doug pushed past Doyle to look back inside the wreckage. They both looked up as they heard another vehicle approaching.

“It’s the Major,” Doug said.

“What! Oh shit! Let me do all the talking, okay.”

The Jeep pulled up with a squealing of brakes. Major John Rushton jumped out and rushed up to Doug and Harry.

“You’re taking your time Sargeant. You were supposed to just search the wreckage.”

Doyle saluted.

“Yes sir. But we’ve found something.”

“What,” Rushton asked smoothing his fingers over his black bushy moustache.

“Well sir it looks like there may have been two spies on board.”

Both of Rushtons eyebrows went up.”

“Spies! What makes you think that?”

“Two of the men in there are wearing British uniforms.”

Rushton looked inside the door.

“Well better get them out of there Sargeant. Look for clues. Documents, maps, anything.”

“Yes sir,” Doyle turned to Doug “Drag them out of the wreckage. Come on. Go! Go!” he yelled clapping his hands at his men.

Bert and Doug grabbed one of Kleber’s legs each and pulled him from the plane. They laid him on the desert floor. All could see that he was dead. His eyes stared up at them, lifeless.

When they grabbed hold of Alf a groan escaped his lips.

“Did you hear that?” Bert asked “’Ere this one’s still alive.”

“Get him out quickly,” Rushton ordered.

They lay Alf next to Kleber.

“Check his injuries.”

Alf lay on his back, his head was pounding. His eyes were rolling from side to side. He tried to focus them as faces appeared above him. They were talking foreign, it sounded foreign, no wait! It could be English but their words were slow and distorted.

“Give him some water.”

Doyle did as the Major ordered. He took his own water bottle and held it to Alf’s lips. The water trickled into Alf’s mouth. At first he swallowed the flow, then as he couldn’t keep up he gagged on it, coughing it back up. Doyle reached into Alf’s shirt and pulled the dog tags out to inspect.

“Alfred Dennis Royal Engineers,” Doyle looked up at Rushton.

“This one’s alive also,” Bert and Doug pulled Johnny Larder out. Though unconscious his chest heaved up and down. Rushton picked up the telephone receiver in his Jeep.

“Get a medical orderly over here now.”

He watched the other vehicles far away and he saw Corporal Luke Downing jump into action, get behind the wheel and swing the Jeep around and head towards him. It only took Downing a few minutes to reach them. He pulled up, jumped out of the drivers seat, walked round to the passenger side and took his medical kit from the passenger seat. He saluted Rushton smartly.

“Never mind all that,” Rushton spoke “These two men here urgently need your attention. Begin with the unconscious one. We’ll keep a watch on this one. The other one is dead.”

Downing got down onto his knees next to Larder. He put his fingers on Johnny’s wrist and counted his pulse. He then placed his ear on Johnny’s chest and listened to his breathing. He opened Johnny’s shirt and felt all around the chest and abdomen. He opened the eyes and looked into them. Then he checked over the fresh scarring on Larder’s face and neck.

“Private John Larder Royal Engineers,” Doyle said taking Johnny’s dog tags from around his neck.

Rushton looked from the two Englishmen, to the German, to the plane.

“What the hell’s going on Sir?” Doyle asked his Major.

“I don’t know. But I intend to find out. How are you doing Corporal?”

Downing had moved on to Alf.

“That one seems well. I think he has a concussion. I won’t know until he comes round Sir. We’ll have to keep him like that,” Downing turned back to Alf “Now then chum let’s have a look at you.”

Alf looked at the man staring down at him. He couldn’t understand the words being said so he focused on the mouth. He tried to lip read but most of what was being said to him was lost. His head was killing him and he reached up with a shaky hand to touch it. He regretted it instantly. Pain shot down one side of his neck. Gently Alf let his arm fall back down. There was now a terrific ringing in his ears. He once again focused on the mouth in front of him. He still couldn’t understand the words. Downing smiled at him and Alf tried a weak smile back. He now knew he was in the company of friends. Downing continued his examination. He opened Alf’s shirt and whistled.

“Sir this man has been shot recently,” Downing showed them the healed bullet wound.

To Downing’s concern Alf’s eyes closed. He quickly checked the breathing and pulse.

“Is he dead?” Rushton asked.

“No just sleeping. He’s had a big knock to the head. It will make him want to sleep.”

“Can we move him?”

“Yes I don’t see why not. I don’t think his injuries are life threatening. Looking at this wound I’d say we’ve got a fighter here.”

“Thank you Corporal. Just keep him alive long enough for me to talk to him.”

“Sir the other one’s coming round.”

Johnny lay on his back blinking his eyes. He started to sit up and was helped. Rushton stood directly in front of him.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Johnny nodded.

“Are you able to stand?”

“Yes I think so.”

“Help him up.”

Hands helped Johnny to his feet.

“It says on your dog tags that your name is Private John Larder of the Royal Engineers. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Johnny said rubbing the back of his neck.

“I am Major John Rushton of the Long Range Desert Group. This is Sergeant Doyle.”

“Sir,” Johnny tried to salute, swayed and almost fell.

“That’s all right Private there is no need to salute. Who is the other fellow with you?”

“Sergeant Alfred Dennis Royal Engineers Sir.”

“Who is your commanding officer?”

“Colonel Harold Sharp Sir.”

Johnny looked across at Alf, his eyes widened.

“Is he going to be all right?”

“He’s fine. Just got the stuffing knocked out of him. You’ve had a very bad crash. The other fellow with you is dead. Can you tell me anything about him?”

Johnny’s throat was dry.

“Could I have some water please Sir.”

A bottle was offered. Johnny took a long swig. He wiped his hand across the back of his mouth.

“Thank you.”

“Private. Johnny. If I may call you that.”

“Of course Sir.”

“My name is also John. You may call me it when answering or don’t call me anything for the moment. You don’t need to answer every question with Sir,” Rushton smiled “Understood.”

“Yes Sir. Sorry Sir.”

“Now try and think clearly about what has happened. I know you’ve had a bump to your head.”

“My head hurts like hell Sir. Sorry didn’t mean to call you Sir.”

“That’s all right. We’ll get you something for your headache in a moment. Now Johnny about the other chap.”

“He’s a German,” Larder looked at Kleber “Is he dead?”

Rushton nodded. Larder looked into Rushtons eyes.”

Rushton shook his head.

“No. He was dead when we found him. We are not in the habit of murdering people Private!”

“No of course not Sir. I meant no offence.”

“None taken. Now about the German.”

“His name is Gottfried Kleber. It was his plane. He is the pilot.”

“What were the two of you doing flying in a German aeroplane with a German pilot?”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Johnny leaned over and vomited in the sand. He felt terrible.

“I’m sorry.”

Downing helped clean Larders face.

“Sir I really think he needs to rest. If this could wait a while.”

Despite Rushton’s burning to continue the interrogation he reluctantly agreed.

“Very well,” he said desperately wanting to continue “Very well give him a shot to help him sleep.”

Downing prepared a syringe.

“Here this will help you sleep.”

“Johnny please answer the question.”

“Which one sir?”

“What were you doing in the plane?”

“That’s easy Sir. We stole it.”

“What! Stole it? Stole it from where? How?”

Johnny’s eyes were starting to close. He couldn’t keep them open. When he tried to answer his words were slurred.

“Damn it!”

“He won’t be of much use to you for a few hours now sir.”

“Damn I need answers,” Rushton puffed out his chest and then exhaled loudly.

“Very well. Load and strap them in the back of a Jeep. We’ll move back to our base.”

“Aye Sir. Simmonds, Thomas, Potts, you heard the man. Let’s get them loaded and ready to move.”

“Sir. They all jumped into action. Eager to please their Major.”

“What about him?” Doyle asked jerking his thumb at Kleber.

“Get a shovel.”

Rushton got back into his Jeep. Doyle saluted and Rushton sped off alone. Bert waited until the Major was safely away.

“We have to bury him sir?”

“Once you’ve done what you’re doing now,” Doyle took a cigarette out of his pocket, put it in his mouth and lit it, “And remove all his personal effects.”



During the remainder of that day and through the night the convoy of vehicles of the Long Range Desert Group moved through the desert back to their base camp. Hundreds of questions were filling Rushtons mind. What he’d heard already, unbelievable.

’German aeroplane and pilot stolen! Stolen? From where? Stolen and then shot down. No air bases for many, many miles from the crash site. My group just happening across it. Two Englishmen inside the plane. Miraculously the two that survived. Both Englishmen already severely injured. None of it makes sense’

His head was buzzing.

He looked up at the starry sky and saw Orion’s belt. The Egyptian God Osiris. It was freezing in the open top Jeep despite his extra jacket and scarf around his neck. The cold wind making his eyes water was the only thing keeping him awake and it was a very tired Major John Rushton of the S.A.S who crawled into his own bed that night.



Having snatched only a few hours sleep he was awake again just after dawn. Doyle entered the tent with hot black coffee.

“Here you go Sir.”

“Thanks Harry,” Rushton said slurping the hot liquid. They had all got used to coffee without milk or sugar. Coffee that tasted of petrol. The whole of the allied forces in North Africa were drinking it.

“Did you sleep well?” Rushton asked.

“Not really. Did you?”

“No.”

Rushton poured himself a basin of clean water and began washing his face.

“Have you checked on the two Engineers?”

“Both awake last time I looked.”

Rushton reached for a towel and quickly dried his face.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Sir I’ve only just been told that you were awake.”

“Well then why the hell didn’t you bloody wake me.”

“Sorry Sir I thought you should rest. I’ve posted guards on them so that no one talks to them.”

Rushton simmered down at this.

“Very well,” he cleared his throat “Very well Harry thank you. I don’t want anyone talking to them except me. Theoretically they are under house arrest. They could still turn out to be spies or deserters. We don’t know yet. I want them closely watched until I can speak to them.”

Much as he wanted to speak to the two right away Rushton knew they had to be fed while he himself had delivery reports to deal with. He took his coffee and stepped outside his tent. It was still cold, the sky to the East bright, twilight to the West. The vehicles used the day before were being refuelled. Men holding cans of petrol to the fuel necks. He wandered across to the nearest Jeep and spoke to the maintenance men. The smell of petrol was overpowering. All of the vehicles reeked of it, from the many spills that covered the bodywork.

One man had removed, cleaned, serviced and was now replacing a Vickers ’K’ machine gun. These were mounted on the backs of the Jeeps, they stood above the heads of the Jeeps inhabitants and had a 360 degree turning circle, were very lightweight and good for bringing down enemy aircraft. Bren guns were mounted on the front.

Rushton had four such Jeeps at his disposal. He also had threee trucks and fifty men. He left the first of the Jeeps and quickly examined the others.

Albert Simmonds, George Potts and Dougie Thomas were recovering supplies that had been dropped by transporters the afternoon before. The sacks and canisters, most of them still attached to their parachutes, were scattered over a wide area. Once gathered there was not enough room to store anything so the majority of it stayed in its containers and was piled near the supply tent. Each had a label attached to it describing the goods inside.

“Hey,” Bert said as they handled a large packet “This one contains sausages.”

“Sausages?” from George.

“Sausages,” Bert repeated.

“I haven’t had sausages for ages,” Dougie said licking his lips at the parcel.

“I’ll bet they’re thick pork sausages,” Bert said feeling his stomach rumble.

“Big, thick, juicy, succulent, glistening pork sausages with a hint of seasoning, sizzling in a pan, bursting out of their skins, tender….”

“That’s enough you two,” Doug said “You’re enough to make a man sick.”

“Think of those poor bastards on the front line who don’t get food like this.”

“Yeah right. Glad I joined the L.R.D.G. “

“’Ere look out the Major’s coming. Better shut up and get on with it.”

“Good morning gentlemen,” Rushton said in a friendly voice.

“Good morning Sir,” The three replied pretending to have just seen him. They saluted smartly. Rushton returned the salute.

“At ease. How’s it going?”

“Not too bad Sir,” Bert always seemed to find himself to be the spokesman of the three, “Because the drop was made late afternoon and the light wasn’t too bad the pilots were pretty much able to target the drop zone. Our supplies weren’t spread too much.”

“Good. Well don’t let me keep you from your work.”

The three saluted again and Rushton returned it once again.

“What’s in that canister?”

“Sausages Sir.”

“Sausages eh! Lovely.”

“Sir,” they saluted again as he left.

“He’s not so bad you know,” Bert said to his comrades when Rushton was safely out of earshot.

“He’s all right.”

“Have you ever met the Colonel?”

“Yes he’s all right too.”

“I’m liking the way this war’s turning out,“ Bert said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we have a good job. We go out with a blank sheet of paper and chart everything we see. Sometimes hundreds of miles from the front line. We always receive good supplies. I’ve promised myself that I’m coming out of this man’s war alive and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”.

George Potts pointed at him.

“Don’t jinx yourself. You’ve just tempted fate.”

Bert shuddered.

“Why did you say that?” he made the sign of the cross in front of himself “You’ve no right to say that.”

George slapped him on the back.

“I’m just fooling with you.”

“Well don’t it’s not funny.”

“I thought it was.”

“Well it’s not.”

“What do you think Doug?”

“I think you two should stop talking so much crap and help me with this.”

They chuckled. Friends again.