TF2007/WW2 Fic - Ch. 2
Title: (Series is untitled thus far)
Chapter: Ch. 2 - The Curse of the Haunted Tank
Fandom: Transformers 2007 movie
Rating: PG (for now, rating will likely go up)
Summary: What if the Cybertronians had landed on Earth sixty years earlier than they did during their search for the Allspark? They would have landed smack in the middle of one of the largest and most devastating conflicts of the 20th century. How would their presence change things, both for themselves and for the people of Earth?
Notes: Before anyone comes down on me for being a ZOMG!NaziLover! please read my notes on the Afrika Korps at the bottom of the page.
September 13, 1942 A.D.
Siwa Oasis, Egypt.
“I’ve got a present for you, Captain!” Major Hans von Luck[1] called out cheerfully as he jumped down from his tank with a light step.
Captain Artur Becker emerged from the shade of a low, mud-brick building, wiping engine grease from his hands with a rag. “What have you got, Major?” he asked, squinting in the blazing sunlight.
Von Luck, the commanding officer of the 21st Division’s 3rd Reconnaissance battalion, waved at a rather decrepit-looking tank that was under tow by one of his own vehicles. “We found this Mark III Special[2] out in the Qattara Depression[3] - had quite time digging it out of the mud too,” he explained, “Though how it got there in the first place I have no idea.”
Becker gave an exasperated sigh, “And just what do you expect me to do with this piece of junk, Major?” he demanded, his glare daring Von Luck to be the wit and say “Repair it”. It was the downside of being the chief mechanic in charge of the Siwa garrison’s vehicle repair - everyone expected you to pull off miracles. “We’re already badly short of basic spare parts here,” he continued, “Given that most of our supplies are currently sitting at the bottom of the Mediterranean, and God knows when we’ll be getting more!”
“Have you tried swapping out parts from the Italian tanks?” Von Luck suggested, ever patient with other people’s quirks and tempers.
“The orders are to have these tanks repaired, not have them break down after twenty miles,” Becker snorted in disgust, “Those worthless spaghetti-eaters couldn’t make a working toy panzer if their lives depended on it!”
The major snorted in amusement although he didn’t agree or disagree with this statement, “Whatever the case keep an eye out, I’ve had patrol reports that suggest the LRDG might be lurking in the area.”
Becker nodded, not over concerned. The LRDG or Long Range Desert Group was the only British unit of any consequence this far south on the Alamein Line and they were more of an annoyance than anything else, performing acts of sabotage and spying out troop movements. Von Luck and his recon unit played a constant game of cat and mouse with Lt. Colonel Stirling, the officer in command of the LRDG, and there was a betting pool running on when Major von Luck would capture him.
“I’ll tell the soldiers on guard duty; that should give them a good kick in the arse.”
“Well we’ve lost a lot of panzers in the last offensive, we don’t need to loose more to sabotage,” Von Luck said frowning.
“Bad?” Becker asked apprehensively.
The recon officer grimaced and nodded slowly, “It’s not so much the numbers balance - we’ve beaten that before - but the lack of petrol. Without petrol for the tanks we can’t outmaneuver the Tommies so we’re stuck meeting them head-on.”
“Scheisse[4],” Becker muttered.
“I can trust you to keep this to yourself, right Artur?” Von Luck said quietly.
“Give me some credit,” Becker answered gruffly. He didn’t think much of combat officers in general but Von Luck was a good man who hadn’t let his rank or his good upbringing go to his head.
“Good, Rommel would have my head if he found everyone running around in a panic when he gets here.” Von Luck laughed.
“Rommel? I thought he was headed back home on sick leave?” Becker said in surprise.
“No one told you…? I guess not - before he leaves he, General Gause, and Colonel Bayerlein are going to fly in to inspect the garrison. They’ll be here on the 21st.”
“And of course I’m the last person to hear about it,” Becker grumbled, feeling hard done-by. He went on to mutter about nosy officers who couldn’t stay at their headquarters like they were supposed to, while Von Luck hid a smirk.
“Well, I suppose I'd better leave you to your work while I get back to mine,” he said.
“Good hunting, major,” Becker said.
“Thanks,” the younger man said, springing back up onto his panzer with an ease that Becker envied.
Not even waiting for the major to leave, Becker hurried back inside to round up some workers for the derelict tank.
********************************************************************************************************************
It was awhile before Becker noticed anything amiss, but three days after Major von Luck had salvaged the tank Becker noticed on his rounds that it was in exactly the same place and state of (dis)repair he’d left it in.
Cornering the shop foreman he proceeded to dress down the unfortunate man.
“What the hell is this? You call this being efficient?!” he snapped, “The bloody Arabs could do a better job of repairing our tanks if I paid them in nails and iron filings!”
The young sergeant turned red and opened his mouth to protest, but Becker cut him off, “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you, the Panzerarmee[5] needs every operational tank it can get, and then you just let this one sit here?!”
“But you don’t understand, it’s not like that, sir!” the foreman blurted out, visibly stung by the accusation.
“What? What don’t I understand?” Becker growled, “The fact that you’ve been doing a slack job?”
The foreman was silent for a moment, “It’s the tank,” he said finally, “There’s something…strange about it. Really strange.”
Becker raised a bushy eyebrow, “This had better be good.”
“Nobody wants to work on the tank. It keeps making these odd sounds - sounds that a tank shouldn’t be able to make. It's terribly uncanny.”
“Sounds.” Becker deadpanned.
“Yeah, that’s right,” the younger man said, not meeting his superior's eye. “At first it was these weird buzzes and clicks, a bit like a radio, except…not. But the radio was one of the first things we disconnected and nobody could find where the noise was coming from or how to turn it off. Then it got even stranger - it started to sound almost like words, except they weren’t in any language I’ve ever heard.”
“It scared the shit out of everyone, hell, it scared the shit out of me and I spent five months facing winter and the Russians on the Eastern Front! The locals won’t go near it either. They’re saying that it’s, uh…haunted, sir.” This last was slightly strangled as it he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.
Becker gave a snort of laughter, “Pull the other one why don’t you,” he said. When the foreman’s expression didn’t change the officer rolled his eyes, “You don’t seriously expect me to believe that pack of nonsense, do you? I’d expect that sort of gullible stupidity out of the Italians, not a proper German soldier like you!”
“I really don’t have any other explanation, sir. As strange as it sounds.”
“Then you obviously don’t have the brains you were supposedly born with. If you can’t do your job properly then your sorry ass will be demoted and I’ll find someone who can!” Becker snarled at the unfortunate man, feeling fed up, “You’re dismissed.”
*******************************************************************************************************************
During the day the workshop was a hive of activity with German and a few Italian mechanics working like slaves to repair the guns and vehicles the enemy or the desert had taken a toll on. A few of the locals assisted, fetching and carrying in exchange for a few Reichsmarks[6] or various items from the soldiers’ kits. Becker personally disapproved of this practice, convinced that the Arabs would steal anything that wasn't tied down.[7] But he knew that without them they didn't have the manpower to get repairs completed as quickly as they did now.
During the day the place was an oven, the shade only offering some relief from the relentless heat. But at the moment it was late in the evening and the oppressive midday heat had been replaced by the chill only desert nights could muster up. Most of the workers had gone back to their homes or their tents or to the impromptu mess leaving the shop all but empty.
Becker stalked over to the offending tank and yanked off the canvas tarp that have been covering it. “If you want something done right you have to do it yourself!” the German mechanic growled in disgust. The few people still working ignored him, being well-used to his constant grumbling.
He examined the salvaged hulk. It wasn’t as bad as he’d originally thought, it was plastered with dried mud right up to the turret but as he scrapped it off he saw that the chassis itself wasn’t beyond hope.
When he worked his way around to the front he noticed a strange smear of what looked like red paint. A closer look revealed that it was some sort of symbol that had mostly been scratched away. It didn’t look like any official symbol that he recognized so the tank’s crew had probably put it there themselves.
“Verdamnt tankers,” he muttered, “Always messing with things, trying to maker them ‘better’, bah!” It was only cosmetic so he would’ve normally left it, but it irritated him for some reason. Taking a piece steel wool he scoured the armored surface, finishing the job the desert sand had begun.
Standing back he nodded in satisfaction and left to get his tools. He was back in a few minutes and began setting out his equipment. It took him a few seconds to notice that something was amiss but when he did he stopped and stared. The tank had moved from where it had been parked. It was only about a foot or so, but Becker could clearly see the fresh tread marks in the dirt floor.
He frowned, he couldn’t see how it could possibly have moved, the ground was perfectly level and the tank had been sitting firmly on its treads, so even if the breaks had failed it shouldn’t have gone anywhere. He watched the tank for a few minutes but nothing else out of the ordinary happened, it was just sat there, looking quite ordinary.
If this is someone's idea of a joke, I’ll knock their heads together when I find them! he groused, shaking his head.
The wireless radial was gone and the turret ring, which controlled the turret's rotation, seemed to be badly damaged. But surprisingly the 50 mm main cannon looked relatively intact, though he'd have to inspect it further.
Rounding the side, he examined the tracks on the tank's left side. What he found made him frown. He could have sworn that when Major von Luck had brought it in the tracks had been badly damaged near the front, almost completely torn away. But looking again he could barely see any evidence of damage. "That's odd," he muttered, tapping the thick side-armor with his wrench. There was a grunt, and then a murmuring sound, like a man being awoken from a deep sleep. Becker jerked back with a yell and fell on his backside.
Swearing, he staggered upright and glared around, "Alright Sergeant, you and your friends have had your fun, now show yourselves!" he shouted.
Silence.
"Don't think you can hide from me! I'll have you all digging latrines tomorrow!" he promised.
Still nothing.
He eyed the tank warily and tapped its side again, hesitantly. This time there was no reaction and he laughed at his own foolishness, "Those boys have me imagining things; haunted tanks indeed, what a load of rubbish!"
Furious, Becker stomped over to the back portion of the tank where the engine was located. It was then that he noticed a patch of wet sand underneath the chassis. There couldn't be any fuel left in the fuel tanks, surely? Getting down on his hands and knees he crawled underneath the tank. Turning on his flashlight it took him a moment to make sense of what he was seeing and when he did his mouth dropped open in disbelief.
There was a great big, gaping hole torn in the armored underside of the tank and through it showed a complex mess of wires and gleaming metal. There was also a collection of thin, translucent-looking tubes running through the whole structure. Raising his light to get a closer look, the mechanic realized that the tubes were actually pulsing slightly like veins and that some odd-looking, pinkish fluid seemed to be running through them.
Becker was flabbergasted. He'd never seen a tank like this before - he was pretty sure he'd never seen anything like this before! "What in God's name..." Peering closer he saw that some of the tubing appeared to be ripped, and the pinkish fluid leaking out of them was the source of the puddle on the ground.
Fascinated, despite his better judgment he reached into the hole and pushed the tubes and wires aside, trying to get a better look. Then it moved. He actually felt it jerk under his hand like a startled animal. There was that murmuring sound again, louder this time. It seemed to come from all around him and this time it didn’t stop, even when Becker scrambled out from underneath the tank in terror. The sound varied its pitch and intonation and almost seemed to form words that Becker could half-recognize; but none of it made sense to his fear-stricken mind. As he watched, the tank almost seemed to flex and breathe as if its armored skin was just a shell hiding something supernatural beneath.
Artur Becker, soldier of the infamous Afrika Korps, couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
Authors Notes: I realized that the Nazis tend to provoke a knee-jerk reaction in many people. In no way do I agree with their actions and philosophies, or the horrific crimes they committed. However, I'm not so narrow minded as to believe that the crimes committed by the Nazi government mean that every, single German person was unspeakably evil.
The Afrika Korps, or more accurately Panzerarmee Afrika, was the only German unit to never have any war crimes laid to its account. Their leader, Erwin Rommel, was stickler for the 'rules of war' laid down in the Geneva Convention and he and his men behaved just as well, if not better in a few cases, than the Allied soldiers they faced. They respected the Allied soldiers and any Allied prisoners were treated well.
In addition, although civilians were much fewer in North Africa than say in France, Rommel none the less made sure that the Axis soldiers treated the Arab population well. He gets the prize for being one of the only German leaders to realize that having the locals pissed off at you and trying to screw you over every time you turn around is NOT a good thing. XD
[1] Major Hans von Luck: Hans von Luck was a real person who was serving with the Afrika Korps at the time. He wrote a great book about his experiences during the war called 'Panzer Commander'. It's considered by many to be one of the most un-biased personal accounts of WW2 combat. He's too interesting a guy for me to pass up the opportunity to insert him in the story.
[2] Mark III Special: The mainstay tank of the German Army was the Panzer Mark III. 'Specials' were later models of this tanks that were fitted with a larger canon and thicker armor.
[3] Qattara Depression: A desert basin with an area of about 7,000 square miles that is covered with salt marshes and mud. At the time it was generally considered to be impassable to any vehicle.
[4] Scheisse: Do I even need to translate this one? ;)
[5] Panzerarmee: The name given to the combined German and Italian forces. The term 'Afrika Korps' usually refers to the two German divisions in the Panzerarmee.
[6] Reichsmarks: The form of currency used by the Third Reich.
[7] ...the Arabs would steal anything that wasn't tied down: It should go without saying that this isn't my own opinion. 'Politically correct' pretty much didn't exist during the 30's and 40's, I don't care what country you lived in!
Chapter: Ch. 2 - The Curse of the Haunted Tank
Fandom: Transformers 2007 movie
Rating: PG (for now, rating will likely go up)
Summary: What if the Cybertronians had landed on Earth sixty years earlier than they did during their search for the Allspark? They would have landed smack in the middle of one of the largest and most devastating conflicts of the 20th century. How would their presence change things, both for themselves and for the people of Earth?
Notes: Before anyone comes down on me for being a ZOMG!NaziLover! please read my notes on the Afrika Korps at the bottom of the page.
September 13, 1942 A.D.
Siwa Oasis, Egypt.
“I’ve got a present for you, Captain!” Major Hans von Luck[1] called out cheerfully as he jumped down from his tank with a light step.
Captain Artur Becker emerged from the shade of a low, mud-brick building, wiping engine grease from his hands with a rag. “What have you got, Major?” he asked, squinting in the blazing sunlight.
Von Luck, the commanding officer of the 21st Division’s 3rd Reconnaissance battalion, waved at a rather decrepit-looking tank that was under tow by one of his own vehicles. “We found this Mark III Special[2] out in the Qattara Depression[3] - had quite time digging it out of the mud too,” he explained, “Though how it got there in the first place I have no idea.”
Becker gave an exasperated sigh, “And just what do you expect me to do with this piece of junk, Major?” he demanded, his glare daring Von Luck to be the wit and say “Repair it”. It was the downside of being the chief mechanic in charge of the Siwa garrison’s vehicle repair - everyone expected you to pull off miracles. “We’re already badly short of basic spare parts here,” he continued, “Given that most of our supplies are currently sitting at the bottom of the Mediterranean, and God knows when we’ll be getting more!”
“Have you tried swapping out parts from the Italian tanks?” Von Luck suggested, ever patient with other people’s quirks and tempers.
“The orders are to have these tanks repaired, not have them break down after twenty miles,” Becker snorted in disgust, “Those worthless spaghetti-eaters couldn’t make a working toy panzer if their lives depended on it!”
The major snorted in amusement although he didn’t agree or disagree with this statement, “Whatever the case keep an eye out, I’ve had patrol reports that suggest the LRDG might be lurking in the area.”
Becker nodded, not over concerned. The LRDG or Long Range Desert Group was the only British unit of any consequence this far south on the Alamein Line and they were more of an annoyance than anything else, performing acts of sabotage and spying out troop movements. Von Luck and his recon unit played a constant game of cat and mouse with Lt. Colonel Stirling, the officer in command of the LRDG, and there was a betting pool running on when Major von Luck would capture him.
“I’ll tell the soldiers on guard duty; that should give them a good kick in the arse.”
“Well we’ve lost a lot of panzers in the last offensive, we don’t need to loose more to sabotage,” Von Luck said frowning.
“Bad?” Becker asked apprehensively.
The recon officer grimaced and nodded slowly, “It’s not so much the numbers balance - we’ve beaten that before - but the lack of petrol. Without petrol for the tanks we can’t outmaneuver the Tommies so we’re stuck meeting them head-on.”
“Scheisse[4],” Becker muttered.
“I can trust you to keep this to yourself, right Artur?” Von Luck said quietly.
“Give me some credit,” Becker answered gruffly. He didn’t think much of combat officers in general but Von Luck was a good man who hadn’t let his rank or his good upbringing go to his head.
“Good, Rommel would have my head if he found everyone running around in a panic when he gets here.” Von Luck laughed.
“Rommel? I thought he was headed back home on sick leave?” Becker said in surprise.
“No one told you…? I guess not - before he leaves he, General Gause, and Colonel Bayerlein are going to fly in to inspect the garrison. They’ll be here on the 21st.”
“And of course I’m the last person to hear about it,” Becker grumbled, feeling hard done-by. He went on to mutter about nosy officers who couldn’t stay at their headquarters like they were supposed to, while Von Luck hid a smirk.
“Well, I suppose I'd better leave you to your work while I get back to mine,” he said.
“Good hunting, major,” Becker said.
“Thanks,” the younger man said, springing back up onto his panzer with an ease that Becker envied.
Not even waiting for the major to leave, Becker hurried back inside to round up some workers for the derelict tank.
********************************************************************************************************************
It was awhile before Becker noticed anything amiss, but three days after Major von Luck had salvaged the tank Becker noticed on his rounds that it was in exactly the same place and state of (dis)repair he’d left it in.
Cornering the shop foreman he proceeded to dress down the unfortunate man.
“What the hell is this? You call this being efficient?!” he snapped, “The bloody Arabs could do a better job of repairing our tanks if I paid them in nails and iron filings!”
The young sergeant turned red and opened his mouth to protest, but Becker cut him off, “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you, the Panzerarmee[5] needs every operational tank it can get, and then you just let this one sit here?!”
“But you don’t understand, it’s not like that, sir!” the foreman blurted out, visibly stung by the accusation.
“What? What don’t I understand?” Becker growled, “The fact that you’ve been doing a slack job?”
The foreman was silent for a moment, “It’s the tank,” he said finally, “There’s something…strange about it. Really strange.”
Becker raised a bushy eyebrow, “This had better be good.”
“Nobody wants to work on the tank. It keeps making these odd sounds - sounds that a tank shouldn’t be able to make. It's terribly uncanny.”
“Sounds.” Becker deadpanned.
“Yeah, that’s right,” the younger man said, not meeting his superior's eye. “At first it was these weird buzzes and clicks, a bit like a radio, except…not. But the radio was one of the first things we disconnected and nobody could find where the noise was coming from or how to turn it off. Then it got even stranger - it started to sound almost like words, except they weren’t in any language I’ve ever heard.”
“It scared the shit out of everyone, hell, it scared the shit out of me and I spent five months facing winter and the Russians on the Eastern Front! The locals won’t go near it either. They’re saying that it’s, uh…haunted, sir.” This last was slightly strangled as it he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.
Becker gave a snort of laughter, “Pull the other one why don’t you,” he said. When the foreman’s expression didn’t change the officer rolled his eyes, “You don’t seriously expect me to believe that pack of nonsense, do you? I’d expect that sort of gullible stupidity out of the Italians, not a proper German soldier like you!”
“I really don’t have any other explanation, sir. As strange as it sounds.”
“Then you obviously don’t have the brains you were supposedly born with. If you can’t do your job properly then your sorry ass will be demoted and I’ll find someone who can!” Becker snarled at the unfortunate man, feeling fed up, “You’re dismissed.”
*******************************************************************************************************************
During the day the workshop was a hive of activity with German and a few Italian mechanics working like slaves to repair the guns and vehicles the enemy or the desert had taken a toll on. A few of the locals assisted, fetching and carrying in exchange for a few Reichsmarks[6] or various items from the soldiers’ kits. Becker personally disapproved of this practice, convinced that the Arabs would steal anything that wasn't tied down.[7] But he knew that without them they didn't have the manpower to get repairs completed as quickly as they did now.
During the day the place was an oven, the shade only offering some relief from the relentless heat. But at the moment it was late in the evening and the oppressive midday heat had been replaced by the chill only desert nights could muster up. Most of the workers had gone back to their homes or their tents or to the impromptu mess leaving the shop all but empty.
Becker stalked over to the offending tank and yanked off the canvas tarp that have been covering it. “If you want something done right you have to do it yourself!” the German mechanic growled in disgust. The few people still working ignored him, being well-used to his constant grumbling.
He examined the salvaged hulk. It wasn’t as bad as he’d originally thought, it was plastered with dried mud right up to the turret but as he scrapped it off he saw that the chassis itself wasn’t beyond hope.
When he worked his way around to the front he noticed a strange smear of what looked like red paint. A closer look revealed that it was some sort of symbol that had mostly been scratched away. It didn’t look like any official symbol that he recognized so the tank’s crew had probably put it there themselves.
“Verdamnt tankers,” he muttered, “Always messing with things, trying to maker them ‘better’, bah!” It was only cosmetic so he would’ve normally left it, but it irritated him for some reason. Taking a piece steel wool he scoured the armored surface, finishing the job the desert sand had begun.
Standing back he nodded in satisfaction and left to get his tools. He was back in a few minutes and began setting out his equipment. It took him a few seconds to notice that something was amiss but when he did he stopped and stared. The tank had moved from where it had been parked. It was only about a foot or so, but Becker could clearly see the fresh tread marks in the dirt floor.
He frowned, he couldn’t see how it could possibly have moved, the ground was perfectly level and the tank had been sitting firmly on its treads, so even if the breaks had failed it shouldn’t have gone anywhere. He watched the tank for a few minutes but nothing else out of the ordinary happened, it was just sat there, looking quite ordinary.
If this is someone's idea of a joke, I’ll knock their heads together when I find them! he groused, shaking his head.
The wireless radial was gone and the turret ring, which controlled the turret's rotation, seemed to be badly damaged. But surprisingly the 50 mm main cannon looked relatively intact, though he'd have to inspect it further.
Rounding the side, he examined the tracks on the tank's left side. What he found made him frown. He could have sworn that when Major von Luck had brought it in the tracks had been badly damaged near the front, almost completely torn away. But looking again he could barely see any evidence of damage. "That's odd," he muttered, tapping the thick side-armor with his wrench. There was a grunt, and then a murmuring sound, like a man being awoken from a deep sleep. Becker jerked back with a yell and fell on his backside.
Swearing, he staggered upright and glared around, "Alright Sergeant, you and your friends have had your fun, now show yourselves!" he shouted.
Silence.
"Don't think you can hide from me! I'll have you all digging latrines tomorrow!" he promised.
Still nothing.
He eyed the tank warily and tapped its side again, hesitantly. This time there was no reaction and he laughed at his own foolishness, "Those boys have me imagining things; haunted tanks indeed, what a load of rubbish!"
Furious, Becker stomped over to the back portion of the tank where the engine was located. It was then that he noticed a patch of wet sand underneath the chassis. There couldn't be any fuel left in the fuel tanks, surely? Getting down on his hands and knees he crawled underneath the tank. Turning on his flashlight it took him a moment to make sense of what he was seeing and when he did his mouth dropped open in disbelief.
There was a great big, gaping hole torn in the armored underside of the tank and through it showed a complex mess of wires and gleaming metal. There was also a collection of thin, translucent-looking tubes running through the whole structure. Raising his light to get a closer look, the mechanic realized that the tubes were actually pulsing slightly like veins and that some odd-looking, pinkish fluid seemed to be running through them.
Becker was flabbergasted. He'd never seen a tank like this before - he was pretty sure he'd never seen anything like this before! "What in God's name..." Peering closer he saw that some of the tubing appeared to be ripped, and the pinkish fluid leaking out of them was the source of the puddle on the ground.
Fascinated, despite his better judgment he reached into the hole and pushed the tubes and wires aside, trying to get a better look. Then it moved. He actually felt it jerk under his hand like a startled animal. There was that murmuring sound again, louder this time. It seemed to come from all around him and this time it didn’t stop, even when Becker scrambled out from underneath the tank in terror. The sound varied its pitch and intonation and almost seemed to form words that Becker could half-recognize; but none of it made sense to his fear-stricken mind. As he watched, the tank almost seemed to flex and breathe as if its armored skin was just a shell hiding something supernatural beneath.
Artur Becker, soldier of the infamous Afrika Korps, couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
Authors Notes: I realized that the Nazis tend to provoke a knee-jerk reaction in many people. In no way do I agree with their actions and philosophies, or the horrific crimes they committed. However, I'm not so narrow minded as to believe that the crimes committed by the Nazi government mean that every, single German person was unspeakably evil.
The Afrika Korps, or more accurately Panzerarmee Afrika, was the only German unit to never have any war crimes laid to its account. Their leader, Erwin Rommel, was stickler for the 'rules of war' laid down in the Geneva Convention and he and his men behaved just as well, if not better in a few cases, than the Allied soldiers they faced. They respected the Allied soldiers and any Allied prisoners were treated well.
In addition, although civilians were much fewer in North Africa than say in France, Rommel none the less made sure that the Axis soldiers treated the Arab population well. He gets the prize for being one of the only German leaders to realize that having the locals pissed off at you and trying to screw you over every time you turn around is NOT a good thing. XD
[1] Major Hans von Luck: Hans von Luck was a real person who was serving with the Afrika Korps at the time. He wrote a great book about his experiences during the war called 'Panzer Commander'. It's considered by many to be one of the most un-biased personal accounts of WW2 combat. He's too interesting a guy for me to pass up the opportunity to insert him in the story.
[2] Mark III Special: The mainstay tank of the German Army was the Panzer Mark III. 'Specials' were later models of this tanks that were fitted with a larger canon and thicker armor.
[3] Qattara Depression: A desert basin with an area of about 7,000 square miles that is covered with salt marshes and mud. At the time it was generally considered to be impassable to any vehicle.
[4] Scheisse: Do I even need to translate this one? ;)
[5] Panzerarmee: The name given to the combined German and Italian forces. The term 'Afrika Korps' usually refers to the two German divisions in the Panzerarmee.
[6] Reichsmarks: The form of currency used by the Third Reich.
[7] ...the Arabs would steal anything that wasn't tied down: It should go without saying that this isn't my own opinion. 'Politically correct' pretty much didn't exist during the 30's and 40's, I don't care what country you lived in!