To the left and right of Bill’s best mate Private Steve Nason, men were dropping from shell fragments and machine gun fire. He wondered what in God's name had hit them ‑‑ he saw artillery shells pounding the diggers waiting to advance, and bodies being thrown in the air. Three engineers, with Bangalore torpedoes, moved forward to blow a gap in the wire to make way for three bridges to be used to cross the tank traps. The torpedoes exploded before the engineers could clear the area and blew them into the air. Half of one landed near Steve. The rest of the digger was left tangled in the wire. The other two were intact but not moving, from the blood loss it looked like they were dead too. Steve's section couldn’t stop to look. They went through the gap in the wire blown by the torpedoes. Another soldier and Steve carried the bridge.

Steve carried his end of the bridge to the edge of the tank trap. A mortar landed and his companion copped some shrapnel in his back but carried on. His end of the bridge slipped and crashed into the wire surrounding the tank trap. Steve yanked at it but it wouldn’t budge. Two other diggers pushed him aside and were going to jump into the heavily mined ditch when a German machine gun started blasting them from twenty yards ahead. The Corporal told them to stop and ordered the section to withdraw.

Now he didn’t have to carry the bridge, Steve felt free and lay down and returned fire at the machine gun. The machine gun followed the eight men left in the section and they were forced to climb to the top of the gap. A mortar howled obscenely and scythed down the section. Steve felt the blast pick him up and slam him to the ground. He couldn't hear, but he could see through blurred eyes. Slowly, he moved his hand and saw traces of black soot. He touched his face and felt over his body; everything seemed intact as his vision cleared and he sat up. The smell of cordite and burnt flesh was all around him with blackened bodies spread about, some with limbs missing. Steve slowly checked the bodies, most of them unrecognisable. His stomach heaved and he was sick. He lay on the ground with the smell of his vomit in his nostrils. The loss of his mates revolted him. Then a movement – one of them was still alive, the soldier cautiously sat up.

They were lost and they argued about which way to go, but finally Steve was persuaded to follow. They came upon a badly wounded lieutenant holding a blackened stump where his leg should have been. They laid him on his back and tried to stop the blood with field dressings. Steve promised to send the stretcher-bearers because they couldn’t carry him the way he was. The lieutenant pointed to the way back.

After reaching the post where the medicos were attending the wounded, Steve headed towards the ridge and their lines. Three soldiers were carrying a badly wounded digger on crossed rifles; he needed two men to carry him and one man to hold his horribly mutilated leg. Steve noticed the pearly white jagged edges of his bones breaking through the flesh.

They found a wounded Lieutenant. "What happened, Sir?" he asked.

The lieutenant told Steve, "I copped it in the leg and the shoulder. The medics found me."

Steve looked at the stretcher-bearers in admiration as they came in, dropped their loads and went back again. Wounded men were struggling and helping more seriously injured mates.

It seemed impossible to Steve that anything would be left alive following so violent an eruption. His ears were ringing from the monstrous artillery, deadly machine guns, mines and booby traps with sometimes the crump of grenades.

He had survived; he had no idea why he was still alive when most of his section was dead. He grabbed his shaking hand trying to make it stop. Some of his mates took him to the regimental aid post where he was sedated. The high-pitched ringing in his ears, like a whistle that never stopped, was driving him mad. A nurse appeared with some orderlies; he felt the prick of a hypodermic needle and drifted into oblivion.

* * * * *

Bill looked out from his slit trench when the sun rose. The Germans were still in their positions and the 2/43rd's horrific losses were still being assessed. He watched an Australian ambulance slowly drive towards the enemy lines with a sergeant of the stretcher-bearers holding a large Red Cross flag. A padre was with him standing on the bonnet. They advanced on the enemies’ lines shouting at them not to shoot. Bill held his breath as he watched the drama unfold. It seemed as if time was frozen for the Germans to make up their minds to grant a truce or fire on the Australian ambulance. Bill let his breath escape as a German showed himself and walked towards the ambulance. Others followed and brought drinks, then helped to bring the dead and wounded from the minefield.

A German ambulance drove down on the enemy side and as they worked side by side, more soldiers joined the rescuers offering cigarettes to their enemy. After the furious battles in the night, Bill found this moment of peace pushing away the clouds of his despair and left to join the scene. He thought of two knights, in full armour, lifting their visors to glimpse the human faces behind the steel. This act of humanising the beast of war made him think about the German who spoke English. Did the bayonet kill him?

The sergeant and the padre recovered five wounded men and twenty‑eight bodies.

A few hours later, the truce was over and the war started again. The Germans bombarded the Australians with artillery, mortars and machine gun fire. Life for the diggers was back to normal. Bill couldn't help thinking the German behind the guns might be smoking an Australian cigarette.

The enemy bombardment forced him into his trench for some much needed rest. Although he thought the battle was futile, he was proud to be there. He was tested and he'd passed the test. He was tired and tried to sleep despite the noise. But, he couldn’t stop thinking about the German who yelled at him in English. The enemy up to now had been furtive grey figures slipping into his vision, not human. But, the pleading soldier was a person and he had died.

Did he have a wife and children? He thought of a solemn faced official knocking on the door and breaking the news that her husband was dead. He saw the woman collapsing and gathering her children in her arms and the official trying to console them. He had no idea how the Germans supported their war widows. Perhaps she would suffer now. Maybe he had not only caused the death of the soldier but his family as well.