"Dust to dust, and earth to dust." A brethed rifle was plunged straight into the sand, and a sand-colored steel helmet was fastened to the top of the butt.

"All stand upright! Salute! Adjusting the neckline of his sand-yellow uniform, Randolph raised his right arm to bid farewell to the deceased. Behind the lieutenant colonel, three SS soldiers stood tall and solemn, raising their rifles with bayonets in their hands and saluting the victims.

"Ready! Shoot! Captain Horn shouted the order, and the soldier raised his rifle and shot into the air. Emptying the five rounds of live ammunition in the magazine, this simple battlefield funeral ceremony is officially completed.

"This is the fate of a warrior, although it is not a battlefield to die in battle, but it is better than dying in bed." Jürgen leaned down and grabbed a handful of sand, then let go of his fingers, the sliding dust drifting in the wind.

"What do we do next, do we seek our own way out, or do we stay where we are and wait for help." Ensign Krieger had a gray-green military hemostatic bandage wrapped around his head, and the blood oozing from the wound on the side of his head had congealed into brown blood spots.

"It's been a day, we have to find a way to save ourselves, the drinking water carried on the plane won't last long, we have to find that oasis before the fresh water runs out." Randolph walked up to the crowd and loudly announced his opinion. In fact, this is already equivalent to an order, after all, he has the highest military rank in the audience.

"Before we go, we're going to double-check this big guy and see if there's anything else we can put to good use." Randolph gave a thumbs up and pointed to the wreckage behind him.

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"Their route is clear, and if the plane doesn't yaw, we estimate that they may be forced to land in this area." It was a Major Staff Officer of the Royal Air Force, who was holding a whip and pointing out the range on a huge aerial map.

"As you can see, it's a large area, and we don't have enough search forces." It was a lieutenant colonel of the British Army who spoke.

"What about the results of the aerial reconnaissance? Haven't found any trace of that plane yet? "Colonel Dougan wears a blue-gray Waffen-SS colonel uniform with the Führer's headquarters black eagle shield on his left arm and a black armband of the Führer's Guard flag sewn on his cuff.

This is a figure from the heart of the Third Reich, and at this moment both the British and the Germans in the conference room are feeling that invisible pressure, because behind this colonel stands the legendary head of the Reich.

"I'm sorry, but there are no results yet. When the accident was discovered, the base in Yanbu Port immediately sent a light reconnaissance plane, but then the plane also disappeared, and in the last contact record, the pilot reported that the plane was attacked by wind and sand, and the whole sky was yellowed by sand and dust, and he wanted to climb above the clouds, but then the communication was suddenly cut off. A Luftwaffe major reported.

"They can't disappear into the world without a trace, there will always be some traces, and I can feel that Lieutenant Colonel Randolph is still alive, and he is somewhere in the desert, waiting for us to rush to the rescue. How much baggage did they carry when they set off? Dougan turned his head to look at the British lieutenant colonel.

They flew in a modified "Wellington" bomber, with a lot of space inside the cabin, and a total of eleven pilots. Because the original plan was to return to Yanbu Port on the same day, each person only carried standard individual rations, plus first-aid food and drinking water on the plane, which was estimated to ensure their survival needs for 48 hours. We are now only concerned that one of them will be injured in the fall, because the wounded will speed up their consumption of drinking water. The lieutenant colonel reported.

"Wellington's fuselage is very strong, and the pilot, Lieutenant Winter, is a veteran, with more than 9,000 hours of flight, most of which he flies in Wellington. We believe that after the accident of the plane, with Lieutenant Winter's skills, it should be possible to make a forced landing on the desert. The Royal Air Force Major added.

"It's been more than 24 hours since the incident, and we don't have much time left." Dogan said with a straight face.

"Sir, the 21st Panzer Regiment reports that they have sent a search force to the target area in accordance with your orders." The SS communications officer handed over a translation of the telegram.

"What happened to the search party you sent earlier? I heard that they are also missing. Dougan looked down at the telegram, then looked up at the British Army Lieutenant Colonel.

"It's just that they lost contact, maybe they ran into a communication failure, and the guides they hired are very experienced, so they shouldn't get lost in the desert." The lieutenant colonel reported.

After Randolph's plane crashed, the news alarmed the British Army units that were landing in Yanbu Harbor, and the British Army volunteered to send an elite airborne team to fly over the Hejaz Mountains in three gliders. According to the towed plane's report, all three gliders successfully landed in the desert, but when the scheduled communication time came, the Yanbu base did not receive the radio signal from the other side, and the search team composed of 22 British paratroopers seemed to have evaporated under the scorching desert sun, which made the British army feel a little inexplicable.

"Tell me about the missing reconnaissance plane." Dougan turned his eyes to the Luftwaffe major.

"It was a White Stork reconnaissance plane belonging to the Afrika Korps Command, piloted by Second Lieutenant Lehard, and the observer in the back seat was Sergeant Major Corrisson. Lehard was an excellent pilot, having fought in Polish and French campaigns and was awarded the Cross of the Sword for Military Merit. As long as the structure of the plane is not damaged, he will be able to land the plane safely. The Air Force Major's tone was quite affirmative, clearly confident in the pilot's technique.

"You know this... Second Lieutenant Lehard? Dougan asked.

"Yes, sir, he's the best White Stork pilot I've ever seen." The Air Force Major replied loudly.

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"Leave the radio alone, this thing is finished." With a short knife, Lehard cut off a canvas skin on the tail fin, on which was the shield emblem of the Afrika Corps Command flying team.

"It's been twenty-six hours since contact was cut off, and there must be troops moving up there to search, and we have to let them know that we're all alive." The observer burrowed half of his body into the engine room that was tilted into the dunes, trying to adjust the radio transmitter in the aft cabin.

"If we stay here, we won't survive." Lehard tucked the canvas into a soft combat cap and added a sunshade to herself.

"We are now in a position to the south of the intended route, at least ten kilometers off." Lehard sat down in the shadows under the fuselage, looking at the aerial map spread out in the sand.

"The on-board compass worked, and I brought an extra compass." Lehard adjusted the orientation of the map.

"If I'm correct, we're going in that direction, there's an ancient water source fifteen kilometers away, and if we can find fresh water there, we should be able to hold out until the search party finds us." The Air Force lieutenant pointed to a small dot on the map.

"I don't think it's a good idea, we should stay near the plane." The observer gave up on efforts to restore radio contact, and as the pilot said, the thing was completely finished.

"And let those barbaric Arabs take you for it? They will skin you alive. Lehard scared his comrades.

"Are there Arabs around here?" Sergeant Major Corrison subconsciously grasped the holster on his waist.

"Who knows, they wander around in the desert, and maybe behind that dune there will be a bunch of tents with steeples full of live cannibal Arabs."

"They still eat people's hearts alive?!" The sergeant's eyes widened in horror, he had never heard of anything like this.

"They also liked to strip their captives naked, then pierce them on a pointed stake that stood on the sand, and let the captives wail in agony under the scorching sun, and it often took two or three days for the prisoners to die." The pilot continued to terrorize the sergeant major as he sorted out his glove bag.

"I remember hearing about this kind of thing, in the Middle Ages in Transvala... It was still somewhere with a similar name, but I did not expect that there would be people who used such barbaric punishments on prisoners, which was a serious violation of the Geneva Conventions. ”

"Transylvania." The pilot shook the spare kettle, which he usually kept in the cabin or two, just to get it in case of an accident.

"What did you say?" Sergeant Major asked.

"The name of the place you mentioned, Transylvania. In addition, the Arabs did not sign the Geneva Conventions at all. ”

"Didn't they sign it?"

"I didn't sign it." The pilot nodded affirmatively.

"What the hell." The sergeant major kicked hard into the sand.

"Okay, don't complain, put on your backpack, we're ready to go, we have a long way to go today." The pilot checked the Mauser holster on his waist and picked up the military satchel containing emergency food.

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"Haven't you been in touch yet?" Captain Falk crouched in the shadow of the sand dunes, questioning the communications man who was debugging the radio.

"It's all noise." The communications soldier shook his head and said.

"Sir, I suggest we should return to the landing site." An ensign suggested to Falk.

"No, Second Lieutenant Hull, we must now move on to Hamill Springs on the map, where to replenish the clean water source. Now, even if we return to the landing site, I am afraid that there will be no way to cross the Hejaz Mountains. Captain Falk shoved a spoonful of corned beef into his mouth and passed the can to one of the paratroopers on his left.

Although there are only half of the paratrooper platoons here, each one is the elite of the army paratrooper regiment, who have been trained in special operations in the desert in Egypt and know how to survive and fight in this environment, otherwise the British command would not have sent them to complete this task. The operation involved not only an alliance between the British and German armies, but also an attempt to rebuild the honour of the British Army, but it now seems likely that this plan will be frustrated.

"We still have enough supplies, and the most important thing right now is to find a source of water to replenish them. If the guide hadn't pointed in the wrong direction, we would have been able to reach the ancient spring in three hours. Fifty kilometers east of there is Jubai, a village built around an oasis where we can get supplies and find a way to get in touch with our superiors. The captain removed the kettle from his waist, unscrewed the lid and took a sip of fresh water.

"And what about the task of searching for the Germans? Sir. The communications soldier asked.

"If the location given above is correct, they should have crashed around here, and we will search on the way to the oasis. Now the first thing I have to think about is the safety of my subordinates, and only after this premise is ensured, can I carry out the established orders. Fakker tightened the lid and tucked the kettle back into his waist.

"We're pretty much rested now, we're going to get to the water source by noon, everyone cheer up and go!" The captain stood up and slung his Thomson on his back.

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"Tanks! Advance! Lieutenant Sparou handsomely waved his arm forward, and the tank engine let out a deafening roar.

The 38T tank is an armored vehicle with excellent performance, but it is not very suitable for desert operations, and during the long march, the engine cooling system of the 38T has been severely tested, it was not designed for tropical warfare, and the average maximum temperature in the Czech summer does not exceed 25.

The German tank crews should be glad that it is a cool winter, with an average temperature of about 267 degrees, and if it were the hottest summer, I am afraid they would all be roasted in these tin cans.

Because the armored company left the desert road, which meant that they could no longer receive logistical supplies for a short time, the tanks had to stop and rest every once in a while in order to save valuable cooling water.

The second company was accompanied by two platoons of motorized infantry, which were crammed with various ammunition and supplies in each gap on the half-track personnel carriers they were riding.

The field supply squad of the 2nd Panzer Company is equipped with three off-road trucks, and the compartments are now filled with large and small wooden crates and iron drums, which are spare parts, fuel, fresh water and engine lubricants.

The tank itself has a strong load capacity, and in order to carry more baggage, the German tankers used almost every flat surface where supplies could be stacked, and even two ammunition boxes were stacked on top of the turret, which looked like a long-distance bus.

Don't think that they carried a lot of supplies, and the officers and men and vehicles of the two companies were consumed, which was only enough to support the combat operations of this armored unit for three days. This is the true face of modern warfare, and the story of mechanized troops abandoning their baggage and fighting independently only exists in the imagination of home.

"On the map, we are now seventy kilometers away from our destination." Sergeant Rem sat in the communications seat, holding a military map in his hand, and opened the entrance and exit cover above his head to ventilate the heat.

"They're going to airdrop a batch of supplies for us in this place called Hamill's well." Sparou untied the kettle from the bulkhead of the tank and took a long sip of water.

"So we have to get to our destination on time and clear an airdrop area as soon as possible. Be warned, we may encounter nomadic cavalry there, an ancient source of desert water that will surely attract many Arabs to replenish fresh water. Sparrow unscrewed the lid and hung the kettle back to the bulkhead.

"Don't worry, sir, whether it's a hundred or a thousand Arab cavalry, we'll wipe them out, it's just a matter of time." Heinz, the driver, interjected into the conversation.

"You're right, Heinz, it's just a matter of time." Sparrow flipped off the pedals, leaning half out of the turret, and he surveyed the march back and forth, then swung his arms forward in satisfaction.

"Tanks! Keep moving! ”

PS: 2-in-1 big chapter, thank you for your support, the author is still working hard.