Tobruk North Africa – August 3^rd 1941

In the early hours of the morning, the Australians waiting in the assembly area knew what was about to happen but the noise still came as a shock. Seventy Australian guns of all calibres crashed and spat in a bombardment that made Private Bill Kelly – Ned to his friends - wonder how the enemy could survive. He was among the waiting diggers.

After the second salvo, the enemy replied with an even bigger barrage creating havoc among the advancing Australians. Bill crouched behind the mound as German artillery shells shrieked in at the advancing diggers causing screams of agony as fragments hit the Australians. The infantrymen around Bill stalled and cowered, eyes wide with fear, some unable to move. A soldier making for the mound disappeared when a shell landed near him. Bill lifted his head to see where the soldier went but couldn’t see him. Seconds later, the chest of another running digger exploded spreading blood over Bill. Bill's palms began to sweat, and his heart raced, as he smelled burnt flesh and spilled blood. The percussion and the noise battered him. When he touched the old wound in his shoulder, the memory of the pain flooded back and he couldn't see how he could live through the night. He pressed his body as hard as he could against the ground and hoped he could stay there and never move. The earth was his friend, his only friend, and he wanted to burrow deeper into it so he would feel safe.

Artillery shells and machine guns set up a constant barrage and he could hear the screams of his mates during lulls in the firing. Officers and NCOs shrieked, "Move out, advance, advance." Bill thought it was madness; there were not enough of them left. Diggers filed past in the early morning darkness and Bill slowly lifted his head and joined them, sure, he would never see daylight again.

He crawled away trying to stay lower than the raking machine gun fire and found it was safe to stand after crawling for fifty yards. Corporal John Cross – Angry to his friends - motioned towards the first enemy machine gun nest. "We have to take it out. Ned, reckon you can get close enough to lob a grenade in?" Bill rolled over and clipped his bayonet onto his Lee Enfield; the task was difficult because his hand was shaking.

He looked towards the enemy. "I'll get behind them."

"How long?"

"As long as it fucking takes. Blast shit out of them."

Bill crawled away on his elbows and knees with his rifle across his arms; he was in no hurry. Tommy guns, Bren guns and rifles started and the Germans returned fire while Bill checked for mines as he crawled. He had to keep his fear in check and concentrate. Get the hate out, hate these bastards hate, hate, hate. He kept telling himself the enemy were just as scared as he was. Slowly he, made it to the blind side.

Bill heard a shout in German during a lull in firing. This was followed by a shout in English. "Come on you English bastards. Fight, instead of hiding like sniveling cowards."

"We’re coming," whispered Bill. "And we’re Australian not fucking English."

The Germans were firing at his section as he slowly came to within ten metres of the nest. He slipped a grenade off his belt and pulled the pin. Holding the lever with his hand, he looked for a target. The Germans had stacked sand bags around them to form a safe area to fire from. The grenade had a six second fuse; he let go of the lever, counted to three and lobbed it over the sand bags then lay as flat as he could.

The explosion was not as loud as he expected with the sandbags muffling the noise. Scrambling up onto what was left of them, he peered into the nest as the dust cleared and saw four German soldiers lying on the ground, one with his head missing. Feeling sickened, Bill jumped into the nest. He realised he had killed and he felt bile rise in his throat. I hate these bastards. I hate these bastards, he thought. He yelled, "Aaaaaahhhh," at the top of his voice, and then rushed at the soldiers ready to use his bayonet if any of them were still alive.

The rest of the section arrived.

The grenade had exploded near the machine gun; one of the soldiers had much of his stomach oozing onto the ground. Another had been thrown hard against the sandbags and from the angle of his head his neck was broken. That left only the soldier with his head missing and one lying three metres away from the others against the sandbags on the other side of the nest. As Bill approached the German moved.

"This bloke's not dead," said Bill.

"No prisoners. Haven't got time," said John.

Bill nodded, sickened by what he had to do, but strangely exhilarated, needing the hate. Bill screamed again, the German put his arms up and shrieked in English, "No! no."

The cry made Bill pause. The use of familiar words made the German appear not as alien somehow. He was human and not just the enemy. This must be the one who yelled, he thought. The German’s eyes were locked onto Bill’s, pleading with him. Bill yelled to cover his hesitation; the soldier screamed, "I surrender. Please don’t kill me."

Bill yelled, "Fuck you."

He slammed the bayonet into the man’s stomach and was surprised how easily it entered the flesh, but still threw his weight onto the weapon until he felt it stop when it hit the ground. The German screamed louder as blood pumped from the wound and he clasped the bayonet with his hands. Their eyes met again as Bill placed his foot on the man's stomach. The bayonet was stuck so he twisted the blade causing the soldier to scream again as he ripped the weapon free.

"Die you Hun bastard!" Bill screamed, "Die like the Hitler shit you are."

The German was whimpering. Bill felt disgusted. He had to shut him up. He smashed the butt of his rifle into the man's head; he stopped screaming. Bill stopped and stared at the misshapen jaw, and then watched blood oozing onto the ground from the stomach wound. He knelt down and touched the unconscious body and felt bile rise in his throat but forced it down again afraid of what the others would say if he was sick.

"He was a noisy bastard," said Private Daisy Day as Bill helped the diggers destroy the German machine gun. "Why didn’t you just shoot the bastard? The sticker’s a bit messy."

An officer rushed up to John and yelled at him to retreat. The main attack had failed.                                                                 

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