Steel Shards

Bareheaded, Leutnant Gerhard Krieger, aged 20, pushed up his sand goggles to a point above his eyebrows. His tousled blond hair was as filthy as the unprotected skin of his face, the latter accented by the owlish area around his eyes. The column was halted while Oberstleutnant Renze, commander of the 8th Panzer Regiment, conferred with Oberst Maucke, 15th Panzer Division commander. Ahead lay Alam el Halfa Ridge, their objective. The date was the 1st of September, 1942. This deepest penetration of the German forces into British Egypt had brought the Panzers to the 'gates of Alexandria' seventy miles to the east. Libya and the major port facility at Tobruk were 250 miles to the west 'Herr Leutnant' came a faint voice from Krieger's feet, 'do we have a minute' Dietel, the speaker, was not employing the intercom 'Possibly' 'I must water the desert' 'Out. All of you. Buy chocolate. Bring me a cigar' Krieger said into his mike. 'Please, Herr Leutnant, your future does not lie with the theatre' Dietel slammed back the driver's hatch, leaped out and attended to his business. Fahr, the gunner, slipped out the same opening, held up a chunk of yellowish-orange cheese. 'Genuine Swiss, Herr Leutnant' Krieger laughed, watched as Fahr sectioned the rock-hard brick and spread the pieces over the blistering hot engine plate. That done, he again used his pocket knife to carve up a quarter loaf of bread. The jagged slices joined the simmering hunks of cheese on his impromptu stove. Krieger remained in the PzKw IV's turret. As the platoon commander he must be alert to all aspects of the situation. Visual and radio. Four months ago he had been at Kaiserslautern, the training and replacement center of Wehrkreis XII, a mere fifty kilometers from his home in Saarbrcken. He wondered if the pleasant house, a villa on the east side of the city, was still standing. English bombers had carpeted Saarbrcken several times before his hurried tran