They heard small arms fire and the nasty purr of machine guns ahead. An engineer waved them down to show where he had cleared a path through a minefield. Through the field, the carrier’s armour sang as bullets cannoned into it.

‘C’mon Boxheads, I’ve got a present for you,’ yelled Mick as the Vickers, and then the Bren fired bursts towards the muzzle flashes. Kev pointed the carrier at the enemy. He noticed two bloodied dead Germans thrown off the track like bits of waste.

      The carrier came to a hole in the wire, blown by the engineers, and went through. Ahead, Kev heard gunfire and the screams of wounded soldiers. There was no way of knowing whether they were Australian, or the enemy. He felt the urge to turn around, but saw the grim look on Alby’s face and continued. They reached the fighting, and found the 18th Platoon had surprised the enemy. Kev was pleased to see German bodies in many parts of the clearing, some with their entrails spilling onto the ground.

      He stopped because there were dead bodies sprawled in his way. ‘What did you stop for?’ yelled Alby. ‘Keep going.’

      Kev’s face showed his disgust. He let the clutch out and felt the bump as the front of the carrier went over the first dead German and soon the vehicle was riding on a carpet of bodies. The flailing blood-red tracks slipped as traction decreased and Kev looked over the side and saw dead eyes staring at him from ashen faces. He looked back at his instruments as if they had the answer to how the tracks were churning and grinding the corpses. After whirling around for what seemed like minutes but was only seconds, the tracks reached ground and Kev bumped clear of the Germans’ mangled remains.

Fearful enemy wounded were trying to attend to their wounds. One was placing a bandage on a bloody seared stump that was once his arm. Some were crying out in pain, others were sitting stoically staring at the Australians who were too busy to care. The man with the severed arm tried to run and Kev saw a digger shoot him in the back. He sank to his knees like a priest in prayer, and then collapsed on the ground and kicked for a few minutes then lay still. Five glum prisoners sat with their hands on their heads. Engineers arrived and set charges in an enemy anti-tank gun. The gun exploded with a roar, lifted into the air and settled back with the breech blown out.

      Kev heard the rumble of tracks and an enormous shape lurched out of the gloom into the red light of a distress flare, its huge cannon swinging from side to side like the snout of a prehistoric beast. It seemed to fill his entire world. An Allied tank moved into its path. A scarlet flash and the crash of the German gun firing into the British tank sent flame shooting high into the air and lit up the battlefield for a moment. Kev’s ears rang, he couldn’t hear. Two of the British crew ran from the tank but German tank machine guns sent them crashing into the dirt like broken dolls. Kev sank lower in his seat as the tank’s heavy machine gun raked the area, and a digger was almost cut in two only three yards from the carrier. The carrier’s armour sounded like the battering machine gun, it was chewing it up and he was sitting inside a reverberating tank. The Platoon Commander stood and signalled withdrawal. A bullet hit him high on the chest; he spun around and crashed to the ground.

      ‘Hang around Kev. We’ll cover the withdrawal,’ yelled Alby.

      Alby’s rapid volleys made the barrel of the Vickers red-hot as he attacked the German infantry. Mick fired so often that empty magazines continually bounced near Kev, who tried to keep British tanks between him and the German tank. He was praying for the order to pull out, because he was worried the armour couldn’t take such a battering. The 18th Platoon gathered their wounded as the carrier’s constant firing delayed the German advance. Eventually, Kilo 110 was clear of Australians and Kev slowly backed away.

      Swinging the carrier around, he raced for the gap in the wire. Mick covered their retreat with a metallic storm from his Bren. They were almost through the wire when Kev yelled, ‘Boxheads. Two o’clock.’ Alby swung the machine gun around and attacked the new enemy.

Although the Germans only had small arms, the riflemen had good cover and were close to the gap in the wire where they spread out. One of them stood and threw a grenade. Mick fired and the German was thrown back with the force of the bullets slamming into him. The grenade bounced off the armour. Kev put his foot down and they were well away when, with a rush of air, the grenade exploded, splattering the carrier with shrapnel. They left the attack behind them, and slowed for the minefield.

      They found some of the retreating 18th Platoon’s diggers struggling with wounded. Kev stopped and Alby and Mick got out so two of the injured could ride. Other wounded were placed across the carrier and with six diggers walking; they took the injured soldiers to a field hospital. Other platoons were already back and Kev learned how units in the brigade had met with similar success. He heard the whistle of an artillery shell and dived behind sand bags. He stayed there for four hours while the enemy pounded the Australian lines.

Over the next few days, life was comparatively quiet. Other than the occasional artillery barrage, the enemy was occupied elsewhere. Kev watched teams of allied bombers; they called the “Football Team”, make regular sorties against the enemy.

Kev brought the carrier in behind the 2/43rd to relieve the beleagued 2/48th Battalion at the Blockhouse in pitch darkness. There was no noise; Alby had to walk in front so that they could find the way. There had been no prior reconnaissance and very little briefing.