When darkness came, Private Kev Kendall looked over at Private Mick Smith, who returned an anxious glance. Soldiers were sucking in air. It was electric with anticipation. A golden moon climbed through the fast dwindling storm clouds revealing shadowy figures moving around the Bren-gun carrier. The silence that usually marked the night didn’t come. Fighting vehicles moved to their battle positions and caused a low throbbing hum. At 21:00 hours, the noise ceased, and in the silence, Kev felt the tension as he watched men shaking hands with their fellow men knowing what was about to happen.

At precisely 21:40 hours, on October 23rd 1942 the Battle of El Alamein began.

‘Fire! Fire! Fire!’ screamed over and over broke the stillness of the night. Artillery of the 8th Army crashed into action with a terrifying, earth-shaking roar. A wall of flashing lights and the exultant shriek turned into a long malignant howl that rose and rose into a rampant ferocity that echoed from the coast to the Qattara Depression as over nine hundred guns stabbed the air with livid flame. The night was vibrant with dancing flashes and roaring guns. The roar of heavy artillery, with the screech of shells and the base booms from heavy ordnance filled the night. Kev was stunned as the sound, flashing lights, and vibrating earth made his existence seem insignificant. An ugly crump filtered back after a minute of firing, with a red angry smudge rising from the enemy gun line and ammunition dumps.

      For about fifteen terrible minutes, the weapons thundered. Kev wanted the salvo to smash the enemy until there wouldn’t be anyone left to kill him. Then suddenly, far to the east, two searchlights flashed into the sky like a celestial sign and remained stationary. The guns ceased firing. The darkness and the abnormal silence were more terrifying than the noise. It felt like everybody on earth had died. Yellow cordite mingled with stirred up dust and ghostly figures floated past the watchers. Five long-drawn out minutes passed. Kev felt as if the whole world was holding its breath. The searchlights waved and crossed. Scarlet flame stabbed into the grey night like a thousand angry dragons.

      ‘Cop that!’ said Corporal Alby Macintosh, commander and Vickers gunner of the Bren gun carrier. Mick was the Bren Gunner and Kev the driver.

At zero hour, red signal flares hissed, illuminating the waiting army in lurid, light like ghostly apparitions. The rumbling of hundreds of tanks and the rattle from equipment of thousands of foot soldiers filled the silence left by the now soundless guns. They loomed out of the red light and into the moon glow like messengers from Hell. Overhead a continuous stream of angry red and white tracer from two Bofors guns marked the line of advance.

      Approaching Tel el Eisa in the carrier, Kev watched as a column of grim faced diggers ran through the 2/43rd Battalion’s lines. Vehicles pulling six pounder guns followed. German artillery roared in and smashed into a tank near Kev. A sheet of flame shot into the sky leaving a great steaming brown hole and the tank a blackened pile of metal. One wheel wobbled off into the darkness. No survivors emerged from the tank. More shells landed but other than shrapnel damage, there were no more direct hits.

      Mortars with smaller but more accurate detonations blistered around them, and joined crashing enemy artillery. Kev thought it was time to move. The 18th Platoon of the 2/43rd Battalion moved forward to raid Kilo 110 north of the railway line. An angry red-faced officer ran up to Alby and spoke briefly to him, and then ran away again.

      ‘We’re nursemaids for the 18th,’ said Alby.

      They jumped into the carrier; Alby came in behind the Vickers, with Mick on the Bren.

‘Not too close,’ said Alby.

      ‘Why?’ asked Kev.

      ‘I don’t bloody know. It’s the Army. You do as you’re bloody well told.’

      ‘Keep your shirt on. I only asked.’

      ‘Your problem is you want to be the full bottle on everything. Just do as you’re told.’ Kev moved off in the carrier concentrating on his driving.

      ‘Lighten up you two,’ said Mick.

After so much noise and mayhem, fear made Kev alert as the order to enter the fighting came. His hands shook on the steering wheel as the smell of battle, cordite, gun oil, and the carrier’s petrol fumes filtered into the air, but, his training took over and the vehicle responded to his handling.

      ‘What’d we do?’ asked Kev.

      ‘Mop up anything the 18th leaves,’ said Alby.

      ‘Yes, Sir!’ shouted Kev.

      ‘Don’t give me the shits, Kev. I might turn this fuckin’ Vickers on you,’ said Alby.