Tomb of the Lost

Chapter TWENTY SEVEN



Private Willi Hoefel closed the door to the toilet behind him. He was glad to be out. The toilet was no more than a crude wooden hole above a pit. There was no running water and the smell was hideous.

He’d had an upset stomach all day and was concerned it may become dysentery. Many of his unit at Gabes were now ill, some seriously. His friend Gunther Shroess, had read somewhere that it was contagious and was spread by direct contact with a sufferer and by the flies. Over the winter months the fly population was reduced but now it was April the weather was warming up again. So far he and Shroess had avoided the sickness. This morning though he had woken up with what he’d thought was bad wind. He only just made it to the toilet. Now he was leaving the latrine for the fifth time that day. He didn’t feel ill and had a good appetite. He’d left an unfinished can of sardines and some bread and was looking forward to finishing them when he got back. Time for them soon enough. Willi reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a half smoked cigarette. He’d hand rolled some earlier but only ever smoked half at a time. He cupped his hands around the flame of his lighter in case he was seen by anyone, particularly an officer. He was, still, officially, on duty. He knew Gunther would cover for him though. Gunther was a good friend. But Gunther hated cigarette smoke and would never let Willi smoke in the tower. Other men smoked in theirs. Gunther said that the officers knew it went on but had to actually catch a sentry in the act before they could do anything about it. Willi took a pull on the cigarette. It felt warming to him.

’How could anyone not get pleasure from it?” he asked himself ’I mean what else do we men have all out here if not this.’

A large puppy with gangly legs and big feet came loping around a corner. It stopped to sniff at something. Then realising the item wasn’t edible it raised its head and sniffed the air for some time. Then it caught sight of Willi and came running over, its clumsy feet flicking out in all directions. The puppy sniffed around his feet and he watched it from above, clicking his tongue at it.

“Hello,” he said “Hello,” between tongue clicks. The puppy threw itself into a sitting position bumping his leg. It looked up at him with big, bright, shiny eyes. Willi flicked his cigarette butt into the road and bent down to ruffle the hair on the puppy’s head.

“You’re a handsome little fellow aren’t you.”

Willi reached under the dog’s front legs and picked it up to cuddle it. The puppy turned its head and a big pink tongue came out and lapped at his face.

“Hello,” Willi said again to it “You’re a little small to be out here on your own aren’t you? Where’s your mother?”

The puppy was sniffing at his jacket pocket, not the one with the cigarettes in, the other one, something better. Willi smiled and reached into the pocket.

“I know what you can smell.”

He took out four squares of chocolate, blew some fluff off them and held them to the puppy’s nose. The tongue came out again and licked at the chocolate. Then tiny little milk teeth bit at it. The puppy bit some chocolate off but dropped it. Willi put him down and quickly broke the squares up and put them on the road. The puppy happily munched through one of them, leaving a trail of drool over the others. Then he promptly lost interest and proceeded to sit and lick his bits.

“I guess you are trying to say that tastes better than my chocolate then. Ah well I didn’t want it anyway.”

Not far away an adult dog began barking and the puppy got up and bounded off in the direction of its mother’s voice.

“Goodbye little one! For I won’t be here this time tomorrow.”

He took another cigarette from his jacket and lit it. Gunther wouldn’t miss him for a few more minutes.

‘Perhaps I should have named the puppy Gunther!’

Willi chuckled but he knew Gunther would have seen the funny side of it.

‘Gunther would have probably called him Adolf! Secretly of course. No one would dare say that out loud. No one would dare question the final victory.’

But tonight the final victory for Germany was a long way away as her forces were planning to flee Tunisia.

Willi stood staring at the night sky enjoying his second cigarette. Occasionally he could see glimpses of the moon and stars through the breaks in the clouds. From afar came the sound of boat engines as they chugged backwards and forwards from the harbour. They were several streets away. The puppy’s mother was still barking. She was now joined by other dogs. Rushton and his men approaching the Medina stopped.

“Why the hell are those dogs barking?”

His men waited in silence. With signs he told them to stay still and he moved through some bushes for a better view from cover. The walls of the Medina were fifty feet high in places and crenelated. All was quiet. Of the guards he could see none seemed agitated. In one of the four gateways he could see a machine gun nest surrounded by sandbags. Two German soldiers lolling around nearby. Rushton watched for a further minute then backtracked to his men. Clearly the barking dogs a sign that they’d not been given away. Then the dogs stopped and it was only one that could be heard. Finally this one fell quiet as well. Rushton made his way back to his men.

“Move out,” he whispered.

They followed him in silence.

Willi took a last drag on his second cigarette and flicked it away to join the other. He checked that he had everything. His tin helmet he’d left in the tower.

’I’d better get back’ he told himself.

He adjusted his rifle over his shoulder and climbed the ladder to the tower. At the top he instantly saw that Gunther had fallen asleep in the chair.

“I’m back,” he called softly.

No reaction. Willi smiled.

’How long should I let him sleep? He can’t have been asleep for more than ten minutes. It’s lucky an officer hasn’t climbed the tower or we’d both be for it.’

“Hey sleepyhead at least you didn’t finish my sardines.”

Willi picked up the unfinished can of fish, wiped the fork on his trousers and got stuck in. They were strong tasting and oily. The way he liked them.

“I saw a really cute puppy while I was gone. You would have loved him. I know how you love dogs. He had a broad head and big feet. He’s going to be huge when he’s grown up. I wish we could have adopted him. Take him back to Germany. Poor mite. He can’t have much of a life here. Probably scrounging for scraps to eat everyday and never a decent meal. Perhaps we could take his mother as well or why not the whole litter. They could grow up with me in my village in the mountains.

Willi began daydreaming of his home in the village of Altenahr, near the Rhine, near Cologne and Aachen. His family growing grapes on the slopes of the hills surrounding the black knights castle, the Borg Ahre. He could see in his mind his parents and both sisters working to produce the wine that they made, the family business. He, also working, his dogs running freely, chasing birds, bees and butterflies in the summer months. Both his sisters beautiful. Neither yet taken by a man to be their husband. His father as strong as an ox. His mother as tough as a nut. One day they would inherit the vineyard and in their turn his son or sons.

“I will have at least four,” he said out loud “I miss them,” he said to Gunther. The ache of being away from them so strong, so painful.

Gunther’s right arm slipped off his lap and dangled down by his side. Willi waited to see if he would wake up. He didn’t. He just sat motionless, with his helmet pushed down over his head, obscuring most of his face. Willi could only see his mouth.

Motionless.

Too motionless!

Willi moved a step closer and called his friends name.

Then he noticed the thin trickle of blood in the corner of Gunther’s mouth. He felt a fear of dread sweep through him. He picked up a lamp and held it towards his companion, shielding his own face with his free hand from the light.

“Gunther!” he called again much louder.

Then he saw the wet patch on his friends jacket. Just below his left breast. Willi shakily moved forward almost trance like and reached out with shaking fingers and touched the damp. He turned his hand and brought it up to his face.

It was covered in blood.

Gunther’s blood!

Panic overtook him. He was shaking Gunther’s lifeless body. Afraid now of being left on his own. Then in the next instant he was scrabbling to get to the big, red, alarm button mounted on top of the electric box. He reached it and smacked it down with all his might.



Rushton and his men were in place ready to storm the first of the machine gun nests. The scoped Enfield trained on the guard on the left. Tosh Wilkes the man behind the sight.

“Could you guarantee killing them with the silenced pistol Tosh?” Rushton asked.

“Not at this distance.”

Rushton and all knew that the scoped rifle would make enough noise to alert the whole garrison but they had no choice. The sentries needed to be taken out quickly. Tosh the best marksman any of them had ever seen. The three Germans were lolling about near their post. Two of them were craftily smoking. The third was clearly telling them a story. Tosh sighted on the man talking. He was the closest to the MG42. Tosh would have just seconds to get off three shots. Two of which would be on, undoubtedly, moving targets. He took two deep breaths and held it on the third. He trained the scope on the German’s midriff and slowly brought it up past his chest, his neck, his face and settled it on the forehead. Tosh pulled his finger back on the trigger. It reached its zenith. Then he released at the same time his eyes widened. The Germans had suddenly sprung into life. The two smokers throwing down their cigarettes and rushing for their weapons. The man Tosh had been about to kill lunging for the MG42.

“What the hell….?” Rushton stopped in mid sentence as the sound of the far away alarm reached them.

The German guards were randomly pointing their weapons, unsure as to where the threat lay. One of them ran over and pushed a red button. Their alarm now began sounding, accompanied by a red flashing light. Tosh took careful aim and sent two bullets into the electrical box silencing the alarm. The noise of his rifle wicked. A third bullet took out the red flashing light smashing it. The German MG42 suddenly burst into life. Its gunner sending red hot deadly bullets to all sides as he moved it to and fro strafing the area just ahead of the British. Rushton and his men lay flat on their faces, their hands covering their features until the bullets stopped.

Rushton and Tosh looked up. The two German guards with the rifles were running, keeping close to the wall. Inside the fortress German Wehrmacht soldiers were rushing out of the main building to take up the fight. Rushton fired a burst from his Sten into the chest of the first German running along the fifty foot high Medina wall. Tosh brought the second one down with a shot from the Enfield. It took the German in the throat and he collapsed in a spray of blood. The MG42 began spitting its deadly projectiles in all directions until another bullet from Tosh punctured the gunner’s steel helmet. The force of the impact spun him around and he collapsed, sprawled over the sandbags surrounding the machine gun, dead.

Rushton sprang to his feet.

“Go! Go! Go!” he shouted.

His men jumped up and followed, running doubled over, guns at the ready. They covered the open area in seconds and dashed through the stone archway. The German who’d been hit in the neck was still alive and a well aimed boot from Tosh crushed his throat killing him.

Inside the Medina courtyard there were a variety of motor vehicles, trucks, cars, Kubels, motorcycles. In front of the main steps leading up to the German HQ were two machine gun nests. These opened fire at the British immediately forcing the S.A.S to dive for cover. The Germans stopped firing. Not wishing to waste ammo or hit their own vehicles unnecessarily. Everytime a British soldier raised his head though it was greeted with a burst from a forty two.

Shouts in German echoed across the square.

Rushton peered between the front wheel of a half track and its bumper. He could see Wehrmacht running from a corner gateway into the Medina. The men of the Long Range Desert Group were being boxed in and for now there was nothing they could do.



Alf and Johnny kept in the shadows between buildings. From where they hid they could see boats anchored at the harbour. Sentries were patrolling. Pacing up and down near the water’s edge. On the submarine now there was activity. The hatches were open and occasionally crew members would enter and leave via them. There were some crates nearby. A soldier was checking their contents with a crowbar and then when satisfied he nailed the lids back down. A small tractor came rumbling along pulling trailers loaded with cans full of fuel. Boat crews began offloading them onto their vessels, storing them anywhere and everywhere. All available space was filled.

Another boat, a motor torpedo boat, entered the harbour from the sea. It motored down to a crawling speed and circled the harbour slowly and nosed its way in to dock. Securing lines were thrown overboard and crew members jumped ashore and lashed the boat to the jetty. The Captain gunned down the engine and switched it off. A last puff of black diesel smoke and the engine was silent. The boat rocked slowly from side to side.

Captain Johann Hapfoel stepped neatly ashore. He was tall, well over six feet, highly experienced, but also disgraced. He had for a time in his career served in a penal regiment. Though retaining his rank he had lost his position as a U-boat commander. He still dressed as though he was a submarine captain. Black boots, black trousers, white polo neck sweater, black uniform jacket with his medals and badges of rank and black leather hat which he sometimes substituted for a black, commando style, wool hat. He also smoked a pipe and sometimes, rarely, cigars. Tonight he chose a cigar. He took one from an inside pocket, bit the end off and spat it out, and lit it. A waft of cigar smoke blew across the dockside until Johnny and Alf smelt it.

Another man ran up to Hapfoel and they began talking. The new man gestured three times at the U-boat and twice at the gunboats. Alf watched as they walked away deep in discussion. Johnny turned and put his back to the wall.

“How the hell are we supposed to take this Alf? The place is swarming with Germans.”

“I don’t know son. But we must find a way.”

To their horror the situation suddenly got a lot worse. Lights appeared on the crates in front of them causing Alf and Johnny to shrink further against the wall.

German army lorries thundered in from the road to the East. They pulled up one behind the other. Soldiers jumped out and lowered the tailboards and dozens of Wehrmacht piled out of each one. All were carrying rifles. A Mercedes saloon drew up alongside and out stepped Otto Wurtz, Hans Koenig and Doctor Werner Von Brest. Alf and Johnny recognised them all instantly.

“Oh God Alf. It’s him!”

Johnny felt dread as he saw the chilling black uniform.

“He’s the bastard that was going to kill us,” Johnny felt panicked “I never wanted to see him ever again. Alf let’s get out of here….”

“Johnny calm down. Sh! You’re talking too loud. Calm down lad. He’s a bastard all right. But he’s just one man. We wait for Doyle and his men to get here.”

“Alf let’s leave. Let’s get back to Rushton and tell him we weren’t able to take the port….”

“We’ll do no such thing Johnny. We’ll wait. There’ll be an opportunity.”

“I hope you’re right Alf.”

“So do I. But I promise you one thing. The moment this kicks off that SS bastard will be the first to die.”



“We’ve done very well Colonel, Major. I congratulate you both on a job well done. The submarine is still here as planned. Had we been late it would undoubtedly have sailed leaving us stuck here. On behalf of the Fuhrer gentlemen thank you.”

Both men were pleased with the Doctor’s praise. Hapfoel approached. Von Brest turned to intercept him.

“Captain Hapfoel I presume.”

“Yes Herr Doctor Von Brest.”

“I am. May I present Colonel Koenig. Major Wurtz.”

The men all shook hands.

Wurtz had an obvious look of displeasure on his face. He looked the Captain up and down. He took in the black jacket which had seen better days. It was so dirty it was shiny. The white polo neck jumper, holes in the body and frayed sleeves The hat at least appeared to be clean. Around the man was the overpowering stink of diesel. Hapfoel was unaware of it. The smell of the fuel, the sea and unwashed bodies had been with him his whole adult life.

Wurtz was even more horrified to hear that Hapfoel was the newly promoted Captain of the submarine. The previous Captain had only two days before been killed in an accident involving scalding oil.

“Is the artefact being stowed on board the submarine?” Wurtz asked.

“No Herr Major. The submarine is not equipped to deal with such a precious cargo. No that freighter over there is to have the privilege. It has a civilian crew. I would be most grateful if your men were to accompany it.”

“Of course Herr Doctor my men will be honoured,” Wurtz’ chest puffed out, filled with pride. The honour of bringing Hitler’s gift would be his and with it unknown personal honours. Wurtz imagination suddenly whisked him back to Berlin. In the presence of the Fuhrer. ‘What could come next. Promotion? Ah yes. Colonel Otto Wurtz of the SS. What about? Command of one of the death camps. It’s mine for the taking. Should I ask Hitler for it? My dream position. Helping in the final solution.’

His ears snapped his attention back.

“Your men also Colonel.”

“Yes of course Doctor. May I be permitted to know exactly where we are sailing to.”

“To the island of Malta. Then from Malta to Naples, Italy. Then we shall continue our journey overland. I myself will be sailing with the freighter. I couldn’t possibly imagine letting the artefact out of my sight. I will of course be accepting the Captain’s quarters for the duration of the journey. You will have to fight amongst yourselves for who gets the first mate’s bunk.”

Koenig couldn’t imagine how bad the Captain’s cabin would be on the rusting hunk of scrap that was the freighter let alone any of the other bunks.

“I think it would be useful to you now if you met the crew of the Tangipito,” the Doctor turned and bellowed to four men who came over. They were three negroes and a man with eastern oriental features. The man in the black polo neck jumper and incredibly filthy white cap introduced himself.

“I am Captain Eli Mufasa. These are my officers,” Mufasa spoke very good English with a very heavy accent. He extended his hand. Von Brest shook it firmly, so did Koenig who was not at all surprised at the strength of the grip. Wurtz ignored the offered hand.

“May I ask which country you’re from captain.”

“Of course. I am from the Ivory Coast.”

“Which is where Captain?”

Mufasa got down and crudely drew a map of Africa in the dust. In the poor light the others strained to see. Then he drew his country roughly.

“Ah then your country is a French province. That’s what I can trace in your accent, French.”

“Yes Sir the Cote D’Ivoire.”

“Excellent,” Wurtz was pleased. He extended his hand and shook Mufasa’s vigorously.

’What are you about? Wurtz?’ Koenig asked inside his head ’What treachery is going through your mind?’

He couldn’t have been further from the truth. Wurtz loved the French, their food, their drink, their women.

“You like my country?”

“I like the French,” Wurtz cleverly twisted it, “Especially their wine.”

“In that case Major. I have a very fine bottle of cognac in my cabin. I’ll go and fetch it.”

“Lead the way man.”

They soon returned with the bottle and an array of drinking vessels. The one, clean glass they filled and offered to the Doctor. He accepted it but didn’t sip. Once they each had a drink Wurtz raised his cup high.

“To the Fuhrer.”

They drank the toast. Wurtz refilled his cup. Behind his back Mufasa jammed the cork back into the bottle.

’This damned German will drink it all.’

“You have not touched your drink Herr Doctor.”

“No Major, it’s not to my liking,” inwardly Von Brest was irritated at how easily Wurtz had been distracted by the alcohol.

“May I?” Wurtz held out his hand for the glass.

“Of course,” Von Brest handed him the glass accompanied by a sickly smile, “Now if you’ll excuse me we have work to do.”

Von Brest went over to the heavily guarded truck that carried the sarcophagus. The guards at the tailgate moved out of his way. He handed his walking cane to one of them and spoke to the soldiers inside.

“Help me up.”

Hands took his outstretched fingers and a guard pushed from below and together they hauled the Doctor into the back of the lorry. Once inside he smacked his hands together to dust them off.

The sarcophagus was huge. Nearly a ton in weight and almost as wide as it was long. He squeezed around it patting it with pride. When they had first discovered it a week ago he had been ecstatic at the discovery. This was archaeology’s greatest ever find. The resting place of Alexander the Great. The most important single find in the history of his profession. Howard Carter and Tutankhamun were nothing compared to this. Alexander the great, the greatest conqueror the world had ever seen and Von Brest now owned him. If only for a brief time. Von Brest once again thought about opening it. The overwhelming urge to gaze at the remains of the young King. But once again he resisted the temptation.

‘No. The first man to look at him in over two thousand years will be the Fuhrer. Alexander the great, once the most powerful man on earth will be looked upon by the current most powerful man on earth, Adolf Hitler.’

Von Brest studied the intricate carvings on the surface of the lid in the light from the spotlights the Germans had erected in the town when they had first arrived two years ago. Von Brest almost felt the power emanating from within. He had done it! He had his man!

“Soon you will sit in Berlin my friend alongside the man who admires you the most.”

As Alf and Johnny watched Wurtz, Koenig, Mufasa and his men all turned and stared westward. Then suddenly the bottle of cognac was heading for the ground where it smashed. Wurtz and Koenig sprinting towards the truck that they’d seen Von Brest climb into. Mufasa and his men raced for their ship.

“Now what the devil has got them so spooked?” Alf said.

Then they too heard the gunfire.

Wurtz made it to the truck first, Koenig a whisper behind. Von Brest was standing with his hands resting lovingly on the sarcophagus.

“Herr Doctor,” Wurtz began “Something is happening. There is machine gun fire coming from the west side of town.”

“Dear God! Is it the British?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so Sir. Probably just some fool getting spooked in the dark. My best advice is that Colonel Koenig and his men go to investigate and I and my men stay here to protect you. Agreed?”

“Yes. Yes Major. I’m not a military man so I agree with whatever the two of you decide.”

Wurtz turned to Koenig.

“Agreed?”

Koenig knew he was beaten. Wurtz had got there first.

“Very well. Gentlemen,” he said saluting “It has been an honour to serve with you.”

Wurtz returned the salute.

“Just get back here as quickly as you can Sir.”

Koenig took a whistle out of his jacket pocket and blew it.

“Come on men. Follow me at the double.”

He set off up the street, his Luger drawn and out in front of him. His men jogging directly behind as they fell into place.

“Bloody hell Alf our cover’s blown.”

“Well whoever is doing the shooting has just done us a favour lad.”

“How so?”

“Because they’ve just drawn off half our problem.”

Johnny swallowed hard.

“You’re not surely still going to try for those boats.”

“While those SS bastards are distracted that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

The freighter’s engine coughed into life.

“That’s it lad. Stay close to me.”



Alf set off back the way he and Johnny had come, the handful of Rushton’s men assigned to them following. Watching the scene before them Alf had decided their best way forward was to skirt around and approach the boats from the East side. The side Alf now hoped was furthest away from the gunfire. They moved silently, helped by the lack of street lighting on this side of the town. Unlike the cities in Europe there wasn’t much left out here to bomb, therefore no need for blackouts. Alf’s shoulder had ached so much now it was very much a part of him. Suddenly Johnny tripped and fell. He gave out a grunt as he hit the road face first. His Sten gun clattered on noisily for a couple of yards. Alf helped him to his feet. Johnny’s hands were grazed. Someone else picked his gun up and handed it to him.

“Are you all right lad?”

“Yes. It’s just my head is thumping again. I’m never going to get rid of these headaches am I?”

“Do you want to stay here son?”

Johnny was shaking his head.

“I don’t want you jeopardising this mission. If you’re not up to it say so now Johnny.”

“I’m all right Alf. It’s just sometimes my eyesight is blurred and in this darkness….I just lost my footing that’s all.”

“It’s up to you. You can stay here but you’ll be on your own. I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe.”

“I’m fine.”

“Might be better if we leave him here,” Doyle said.

Johnny got to his feet.

“I told you I’m all right to continue,” he said snatching his gun out of Doyle’s hand.

“Suit yourself mate. But if you fall behind you’re on your own. That goes for both of you,” he said pointing with his gun barrel at both the engineers. Doyle ran off , the rest of the S.A.S right behind him.

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

Johnny nodded.

“If we don’t,” he said looking after the running men “We’d never hear the end of it.”

Alf laughed and thumped Johnny on the back.

“Come on then. Let’s show them.”