In the early evening, German tank commanders clustered in a dugout outside Marcelcave, studying a map pinned to the log wall. Colonel Kessel, using his walking stick, pointed at various locations on the map. ‘Here is Elfriede, stranded in a quarry,’ he said. ‘The damned fool of a driver should never have taken his panzer in there. And here is where Nixe was first abandoned.’

‘I understand from Leutnant Biltz, Herr Oberst,’ said Captain Greiff, who had walked all the way from Rosières to join his commanding officer in the dugout, ‘that Nixe had been successfully brought back to our lines.’

‘Yes, that is correct,’ Kessel replied, looking around the group. ‘And where is Biltz? Why isn’t he here?’

‘He went back out with Siegfried after refuelling,’ said Greiff. ‘He is a brave man, that Biltz.’

Kessel nodded. ‘Biltz should be an example to all you laggards.’

Biltz had won new respect from his comrades that morning, first in leading the destruction of four British Whippet tanks and driving the other three Whippets from the battlefield. He would also be credited by his superiors with knocking out Frank Mitchell’s Mark IV.

‘So Nixe has been secured, Herr Oberst?’ Lieutenant Theunissen queried.

‘Yes, the surviving members of Nixe’s crew returned to their panzer,’ Kessel confirmed. ‘The engines were still running. The infernal crew had not even bothered turning them off when they left it in such a hurry. They were able to reverse Nixe back to here –’ he tapped the map – ‘where they ran out of fuel. Tonight, once darkness falls, we will get more fuel to the machine. Which leaves Mephisto, here.’ Again he tapped the map, this time at a location marked ‘the Orchard’.

‘My men are defending Mephisto from capture by the British,’ Theunissen declared.

‘But you say it is stuck fast in a shell crater?’

‘Er, yes, Herr Oberst,’ said Theunissen, sounding embarrassed. ‘It was all the fault of Heiber, my fool of a driver.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Kessel impatiently. ‘But the point is, it will be necessary to send another panzer to tow Mephisto out. Am I right, Theunissen?’

Theunissen dropped his eyes the floor. ‘Yes, Herr Oberst. That is so.’

‘And that can only be achieved once our infantry has retaken the Orchard. That should be achieved by tomorrow night. For the moment, your men must keep Mephisto out of British hands.’

‘Yes, Herr Oberst. I ordered the crew to fight to the last man to do so.’

‘Very good. I will ask the artillery to give them as much support as possible. On the other hand, it seems that Elfriede is beyond retrieval. That panzer must not be allowed to fall into enemy hands intact. Tonight, under the cover of darkness, we must send a demolition party to render Elfriede entirely useless.’

Theunissen raised his right hand like a child in a schoolroom. ‘With your permission, Herr Oberst, I would like to volunteer to undertake that mission.’

Kessel looked at Theunissen. He knew that the adjutant was keen to make up for what had happened to Mephisto while it was under his command. But the colonel had not been impressed with the way Theunissen had handled that command. ‘I think perhaps someone else . . .’ he began.

‘Send Biltz, Herr Oberst,’ Captain Greiff suggested. ‘After his exploits today, he will know the ground out there better than anyone.’

Kessel nodded. ‘Yes, Biltz and his brave crew are the people for the task. Greiff, you will organise the explosives for the Elfriede mission. Have everything ready for Biltz and his men to move out on foot as soon as darkness falls.’

‘Perhaps we should give them an opportunity to eat and rest before sending them out,’ Greiff suggested.

‘Very well,’ the colonel replied impatiently. ‘Biltz and his team can have until midnight before they begin, but no later.’

‘As you instruct, Herr Oberst,’ said Greiff. ‘Midnight it will be.’

 

The going was slow for Frankie, Taz and the men of the 52nd as they silently made their way up to the jumping-off point for the counterattack. The sun had set at nine o’clock, and although there was a moon, it was covered by thick cloud most of the time. As a result, the Australian troops had to walk in almost pitch-black. The ground they trod had been ploughed by a French farmer long before, then neglected as the war claimed this part of the world, and now the Australians were stumbling up and down through furrows made hard by the sun.

Along the way, they passed large numbers of troops from the British Army’s 23rd Brigade hastily withdrawing in ragged groups. Most of these soldiers only looked about eighteen, and all wore haggard expressions.

‘Where are you lot going?’ one Englishman called out to the 52nd. ‘Jerry’s coming!’

‘Don’t worry, mate, Australia will fix them for you,’ came a confident reply from the ranks of the 52nd.

‘God bless you,’ said a wounded Englishman as he limped along, aided by a companion. ‘Give them hell, Aussie. They’ve knocked us rotten today.’

Unperturbed by the shattered English soldiers, the confident men of the 52nd continued on.

‘What time is it?’ Frankie asked Rait, who was just ahead of him.

‘How should I know, Pickles?’ the corporal came back irritably. ‘My eyes are good, but I can’t read watches in the sodding dark.’

‘It’s about a quarter to ten, I reckon,’ Taz estimated.

‘Fifteen minutes before the off,’ said Nash.

Soon, the men of the 52nd Battalion came to a halt in the darkness. Massed in the open, with their rifles on their shoulders, they waited for the order to move in for the attack. Each man had slid his bayonet into its socket beneath his Lee-Enfield’s barrel, and now the blades pointed into the air, creating a forest of slender steel.

As Frankie, Taz and the other men of their platoon stood there waiting, Lieutenant Blair met with their company commander. When the American returned, he whispered to his men, ‘We have to wait until after ten o’clock, boys.’

Frankie groaned. ‘Why, sir? Why can’t we just get on with it?’

‘The 51st is taking longer to move up than expected,’ Blair explained.

‘Sir,’ said Nash, ‘do you reckon there will be any Fritz tanks over there, where we’re going?’

‘Who knows, Private?’ Blair replied.

Taz stared at the cloth tapes that Lieutenant Byford had stretched across the earth in front of them to mark the starting point for the infantry attack. ‘It’s like the starting line for a running race,’ he remarked, hardly able to credit the fact that he would soon be trying to kill Germans, and they would be trying to kill him.

‘That’s about what it’ll be,’ said Frankie. ‘A flaming race. To the death.’

‘Cheer up, Frankie,’ Taz said, patting him on the back. ‘This is what we came here to do.’

‘Too right,’ said Nash.

Rait, who was standing close by, had remained silent during this exchange.

‘Cat got your tongue, Corporal?’ said Lieutenant Blair.

‘Got nothing to say, sir,’ said Rait. ‘My Lee-Enfield will do all the talking that’s necessary once we get among the Fritz.’

‘I guess it will.’ Blair slid a Webley .45 revolver from the holster on his hip, then fastened one end of the rope lanyard attached to the butt around his wrist. By doing this, if the revolver was knocked from his grasp, Blair could quickly reel it in like a fish on a line. On the battlefield, that slender piece of rope could save his life.

Behind them, the skyline lit up with the flash of hundreds of field guns. It was ten o’clock, and British and Australian artillery had commenced the barrage that would precede the counterattack. Seconds later, shells began to rain down on the Germans in and around Villers-Bretonneux to the northeast. The intent of the counterattack’s planners was to fool the Germans into thinking this barrage was a prelude to an infantry assault on the town itself. The counterattack’s real objectives – German troops positioned north and south of the town – were left untouched and blissfully unaware that the real infantry assault was about to sweep their way.

With the commencement of the shelling, all conversation in the 52nd’s ranks ceased. Each man unshouldered his rifle and took a firm grip on it. At 10.05 pm, German shells began to howl overhead, landing a hundred metres behind them.

‘The Jerries know we’re here,’ said Nash anxiously, tightening the chinstrap on his helmet the way he always did when fear began to grip him.

‘Come on, generals!’ growled Frankie. ‘What are we waiting for?’

But still the Australian troops were made to stand and wait. As German shells began to fall among them, every man stood his ground. Finally, at ten past the hour, whistles blew.

‘Thank God!’ Frankie exclaimed with relief. ‘Let’s go, you blokes! Last one over the tape’s a rotten egg!’ He leapt across the starting line and into the darkness beyond.

The other men of the 52nd needed no urging. They advanced at a brisk walk, leaving the falling German shells behind. Thirty degrees to their front and left, houses in Villers-Bretonneux were glowing orange, on fire as a result of the Allied barrage. White German flares burst over the advancing 51st Battalion, to the 52nd’s left, illuminating the waves of advancing Australians. A German Maxim machine gun began to open up on the left flank of the 51st.

‘Someone’s in trouble over there,’ puffed Nash, as he struggled to keep up with Frankie’s brisk pace.

More flares burst on their left and more machine guns opened up on the 51st. For the moment, the 52nd Battalion seemed to have escaped enemy attention as it headed east towards Monument Farm. But then German flares began cracking into life in the sky above the 52nd, and within moments the night was almost as bright as day. Machine guns ahead began chattering. Australians twenty metres to the left of Frankie and Taz fell without a sound.

With pounding hearts, Frankie, Taz and others pushed on until they reached barbed wire that ran diagonally from the direction of Villers-Bretonneux, towards Cachy. It was here that many Australians of both battalions were caught trying to get through the tangled wire, mowed down by raking machine guns, like long grass before the scythe.

‘This way!’ yelled Frankie, finding a gap in the wire several metres wide. He and the men of his platoon plunged through and strode on. As Maxims in a trench ahead latched on to them, the men of the two leading companies of the 52nd, including Frankie and Taz, dropped flat against the ground, allowing bullets to pass overhead. A number of men worked their way around the right flank of the German position, and as soon as they opened up on the enemy, Frankie, Taz and their companions sprang to their feet. Letting out a bloodcurdling cheer, they charged the German trench, just as the moon emerged from behind the clouds to light the way.

Taz, spying coal scuttle helmets above the trench parapet ahead, fired at them on the run. He had no idea whether he hit anyone before he dropped into the trench. To his left, a burly German sergeant with a pistol in his right hand threw up both hands and yelled, ‘Kamerad!’ It meant ‘comrade’, the German term for ‘I surrender.’

Taz hesitated. In that pause, the German pointed his pistol at him and fired. The bullet whizzed past Taz’s left ear. Frankie was suddenly by Taz’s side and firing. Taking a hit to the chest, the German sergeant toppled over, dropping the pistol as he fell.

‘He . . . he was surrendering,’ said Taz, his voice shaking.

‘And trying to blow your head off at the same time,’ Frankie returned. ‘Talk about having a bet each way!’

Rait, brushing past them, bayoneted the fallen sergeant. ‘Always make sure they’re finished!’ he yelled, before charging along the trench to bayonet a kneeling German soldier.

Within minutes, the trench had been secured and the machine guns silenced. The few Germans who hadn’t fled or been killed had surrendered. Frankie and Taz came up to where Lieutenant Blair and Corporal Rait were standing over a group of five unarmed German prisoners huddled on the floor of the trench. The lieutenant was reloading his pistol with bullets from his belt. It now dawned on Frankie that the Germans were dead and that Blair had just shot each of them in the head from close range.

The lieutenant looked around at Frankie and Taz, who had both flushed white with shock at the sight of the multiple executions. ‘You know the orders, boys,’ said Blair. ‘No prisoners. That comes from the top.’

Neither Frankie nor Taz replied.

‘Don’t stand there gawking, you two,’ said Rait. ‘Collect all Fritz grenades you can lay your sodding hands on. We’ll need them before the night’s out.’

Frankie and Taz joined other men stuffing the grenades into their belts.

‘You all right, Taz?’ Frankie asked, noticing Taz’s drawn face.

‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ Taz replied. Seconds later, he let go his rifle, bent double and vomited into the trench.

Most of the Australians around him didn’t so much as blink at the sight, choosing to look the other way.

‘Pick up your sodding rifle, that man!’ bellowed Rait.

‘Let’s go, boys,’ called Lieutenant Blair. ‘We’ve got a long way to go tonight.’

Like other men of the 52nd, the lieutenant clambered from the trench and quickly set off towards the next German position to the east. As his companions began to track after their officer, Taz wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then picked up his rifle and followed Frankie from the trench. The platoon advanced towards Monument Farm.