Take or Destroy! (37 page)

Opposite naval headquarters, von Steen, Hrabak and Tarnow, determined to do the thing with dignity, had lined up what remained of the garrison outside the ruins of the Boujaffar. A huge ventilator, which had peered myopically at the world from the deck of
Giuseppe Bianchi,
lay by the remains of the front door,
along with a dead mule and a car which had been blown on to its side.

As the lorries stopped, von Steen saluted, not a Nazi salute but a naval salute. Hockold’s men stared back at him not without sympathy because there was something they all possessed but could not communicate to each other. The war correspondents in London and Berlin were describing them to their readers as ‘Our boys’, shining heroes bursting with enthusiasm, when in fact most of them hated the war, and would much have preferred to have been drunk or full of food or in bed with a girl. Exhausted and dried-out, their bodies bruised by battle, their brains addled by the sun, their skins abrasive under the dust and mud, they had no high notions of glory. All they wanted was to win the war and go home to the wife and kids and English beer.

Hockold accepted von Steen’s pistol without comment. Then, as the Germans were marched away to join the other men in the POW compound, Murdoch raised his eyebrows in a question.

Hockold nodded and turned to Curtiss.

‘Contact Eighth Army,’ he ordered. ‘Tell them we’re in possession of Qaba.’