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"
Bloody
beautiful
,
"
said
Sergeant
Bob
Malloy
,
his
long
neck
tilting
his
head
at
the
sky
.
Three
days
later
he
was
dead
;
a
huge
piece
of
shrapnel
took
off
his
arm
and
half
his
side
in
a
fresh
advance
,
but
no
one
had
time
to
stop
except
to
pluck
his
whistle
from
what
was
left
of
his
mouth
.
Men
were
going
down
now
like
flies
,
too
tired
to
maintain
the
initial
pitch
of
vigilance
and
swiftness
;
but
what
miserable
barren
ground
they
took
they
held
on
to
,
in
the
face
of
a
bitter
defense
by
the
cream
of
a
magnificent
army
.
It
had
become
to
them
all
no
more
than
a
dumb
,
stubborn
refusal
to
be
defeated
.
The
Ninth
held
off
Graf
von
Sponeck
and
Lungerhausen
while
the
tanks
broke
out
to
the
south
,
and
finally
Rommel
was
beaten
.
By
November
8
he
was
trying
to
rally
beyond
the
Egyptian
border
,
and
Montgomery
was
left
in
command
of
the
entire
field
.
A
very
important
tactical
victory
,
Second
Alamein
;
Rommel
had
been
forced
to
leave
behind
many
of
his
tanks
,
guns
and
equipment
.
Operation
Torch
could
commence
its
push
eastward
from
Morocco
and
Algeria
with
more
security
.
There
was
still
plenty
of
fight
in
the
Desert
Fox
,
but
a
large
part
of
his
brush
was
on
the
ground
at
El
Alamein
.
The
biggest
and
most
decisive
battle
of
the
North
African
theater
had
been
fought
,
and
Field
Marshal
Viscount
Montgomery
of
Alamein
was
its
victor
.
Second
Alamein
was
the
swan
song
of
the
Ninth
Australian
Division
in
North
Africa
.
They
were
finally
going
home
to
contend
with
the
Japanese
,
on
the
mainland
of
New
Guinea
.
Since
March
of
1941
they
had
been
more
or
less
permanently
in
the
front
line
,
arriving
poorly
trained
and
equipped
,
but
going
home
now
with
a
reputation
exceeded
only
by
the
Fourth
Indian
Division
.
And
with
the
Ninth
went
Jims
and
Patsy
,
safe
and
whole
.
*
*
*
Of
course
they
were
granted
leave
to
go
home
to
Drogheda
.
Bob
drove
into
Gilly
to
collect
them
from
the
Goondiwindi
train
,
for
the
Ninth
was
based
in
Brisbane
and
would
depart
after
jungle
training
for
New
Guinea
.
When
the
Rolls
swept
round
the
drive
all
the
women
were
out
on
the
lawn
waiting
,
Jack
and
Hughie
hanging
back
a
little
but
just
as
eager
to
see
their
young
brothers
.
Every
sheep
left
alive
on
Drogheda
could
drop
dead
if
it
so
desired
,
but
this
was
a
holiday
.
Even
after
the
car
stopped
and
they
got
out
,
no
one
moved
.
They
looked
so
different
.
Two
years
in
the
desert
had
ruined
their
original
uniforms
;
they
were
dressed
in
a
new
issue
of
jungle
green
,
and
looked
like
strangers
.
For
one
thing
,
they
seemed
to
have
grown
inches
,
which
indeed
they
had
;
the
last
two
years
of
their
development
had
occurred
far
from
Drogheda
,
and
had
pushed
them
way
above
their
older
brothers
.
Not
boys
any
more
but
men
,
though
not
men
in
the
Bob-Jack-Hughie
mold
;
hardship
,
battle
euphoria
and
violent
death
had
made
something
out
of
them
Drogheda
never
could
.
The
North
African
sun
had
dried
and
darkened
them
to
rosy
mahogany
,
peeled
away
every
layer
of
childhood
.
Yes
,
it
was
possible
to
believe
these
two
men
in
their
simple
uniforms
,
slouch
hats
pinned
above
their
left
ears
with
the
badge
of
the
AIF
rising
sun
,
had
killed
fellow
men
.
It
was
in
their
eyes
,
blue
as
Paddy
's
but
sadder
,
without
his
gentleness
.
"
My
boys
,
my
boys
!
"
cried
Mrs.
Smith
,
running
to
them
,
tears
streaming
down
her
face
.
No
,
it
did
n't
matter
what
they
had
done
,
how
much
they
had
changed
;
they
were
still
her
little
babies
she
had
changed
;
they
were
still
her
little
babies
she
had
washed
,
diapered
,
fed
,
whose
tears
she
had
dried
,
whose
wounds
she
had
kissed
better
.
Only
the
wounds
they
harbored
now
were
beyond
her
power
to
heal
.
Then
everyone
was
around
them
,
British
reserve
broken
down
,
laughing
,
crying
,
even
poor
Fee
patting
them
on
their
backs
,
trying
to
smile
.
After
Mrs.
