We were in the cookhouse, eating bacon and eggs, when the call came through that a Military Police jeep had crashed on the Autobahn and could we take the recovery vehicle and see if any help was needed. We left the food and ran to the workshop, collected the Scammell, and drove to the guardroom to get details of where we had to go. The sergeant there looked at our dirty denims and greasy berets and said, "You're supposed to be solders," in a sarcastic tone of voice.
On the way along the Autobahn there were a few weak jokes about it being an MP jeep that had crashed but when we arrived at the scene we stopped joking because we could tell it had been a bad smash. An MP sergeant waved us down and asked what unit we were from, and then said, "And that's how they let you dress, is it?" He told us to wait at one side, there was already a recovery crew there, and he thought they might be able to handle the job without help.
A couple of doctors came up the bank and we heard one of them say, "They're both dead," and some medics went with stretchers and brought out the bodies. I looked down the bank, at the jeep, and it just seemed a mass of twisted metal mounted on wheels. One of the other recovery crew was leaning against a tree, throwing up.
They told us we weren't needed and we drove back along the Autobahn, the four of us huddled in the noisy, shaking cab, saying nothing and watching the cars racing past. Back at the camp we parked the Scammell and went to the cookhouse for some coffee. The food we'd left was still on the table and the grease had congealed over the half-eaten eggs and bits of bacon. A new duty-cook was in the kitchen and he looked at us and said, "Where did you tramps come from? I suppose you'll want me to fry you up some more eggs."
© Copyright Jim Burns 2001