Taz was only a half a minute behind the other members of his platoon when he slithered into the shell crater on his backside, rifle at the ready. All the death-dealing work had been done by the time he arrived. In a few savage seconds, Lieutenant Blair and the men with him had swept into the crater and overwhelmed what remained of Mephisto’s crew, putting an end to their resistance.

As the moon appeared from behind a cloud, lighting the scene, Taz could see dead British and German soldiers lying about the crater, some singly, some in mounds. To his relief, Taz spotted Frankie unscathed. He was collecting pistols and grenades from the bodies of the fallen Germans. One Australian, Private Billy Blizzard, had taken a bullet in the shoulder during the charge, but otherwise, the attackers were without a scratch. The speed and mad intent of their charge had come down on the Germans like an avalanche of smothering snow, with the tank crewmen’s pistols proving no match for rifles and bayonets.

‘I think I got me a sergeant,’ Frankie said to Taz. ‘He pointed a pistol at me. I saw him pull the trigger. But it must have been empty. It didn’t go off.’ He smiled weakly as he spoke, and then, with shaking hand, reached to his tunic pocket to find tobacco and cigarette paper to steady his nerves.

‘Nice work, boys,’ said Lieutenant Blair, joining them. ‘That’s put paid to those guys.’

‘What now, sir?’ Taz asked.

‘We should push on to the battalion objective,’ Blair replied, ‘but that Jerry tank over there bothers me.’ He nodded towards the crater they had just left, and Mephisto.

Taz looked over at the German beast. ‘But it’s abandoned, sir.’

‘Yes, but it didn’t look damaged to me. What if the Jerries decide to come and drag it out? They could turn it against the rear of our advance and cause havoc. Might destroy this entire operation and result in the death of hundreds of our boys.’

‘You’re right, sir,’ said Taz.

‘Here’s what we’re going to do, boys,’ said Blair, looking around at his surviving men. ‘You’ll stay here with Corporal Rait and secure that tank while I push on to see what the situation is up ahead. I’ll locate the company commander and he can decide what to do about the tank.’

‘You’re going forward on your own, sir?’ Taz queried with concern. ‘With that arm?’ He nodded to Blair’s limp limb.

‘I’ll patch up the arm,’ Blair said, seemingly unconcerned. ‘I’ll take one man with me as my runner. If need be, he can bring you fresh orders. Okay?’

Taz nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

Deserting the crater they’d just taken, Blair led the way back to the crater where they’d left Rait with Mephisto. The front of Rait’s tunic was now saturated with his blood.

‘Let me bandage that for you, Corporal,’ Taz offered, kneeling beside Rait and reaching to unbutton the man’s tunic.

Grasping Taz’s arm, Rait stopped him. ‘No, Dutton,’ he said firmly, ‘leave me be.’

‘But, Corporal –’

‘Listen, chum, I’ve seen enough men hit in the guts to know what’s what. I won’t be leaving this sodding shell crater alive, that’s for sure.’

‘But we could get you back to the RAP . . .’

Rait shook his head. ‘Forget it. I’ll be as much use to you blokes as I can, while I can, but don’t even think about trying to get me back to an aid post. We can’t spare the men.’

‘You’re right about that, Rait,’ said Lieutenant Blair, coming to squat beside the pair. ‘We need every man we have here to keep this tank out of Jerry hands.’ By this time, he’d returned his Webley to its holster. Reaching to his tunic pocket with his right hand, he slipped out a flat silver flask little bigger than a cigarette packet. Removing the cap with his teeth and spitting it away, he offered the flask to Rait. ‘You don’t have any objection to Irish whiskey, Corporal?’

Rait smiled tightly. ‘No objection, sir. Irish or Scotch, it all goes down the same hole. But what about yourself?’ His eyes dropped to Blair’s left arm. ‘You’d better go first.’

‘You need it more than I do, Corporal.’

‘But, sir,’ said Taz, ‘should the corporal be drinking whiskey in his state?’

‘Come on, Dutton!’ Rait scoffed. ‘What do you think it’ll do to me? Kill me?’ He laughed hoarsely and accepted the flask. ‘Don’t mind if I do, sir,’ he said to the lieutenant. Putting the flask to his lips, he took a long gulp. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he smiled wryly. ‘They can write on my epitaph, “He died with a smile on his face, and Irish whiskey leaking from his guts”.’

Lieutenant Blair now chose a private named Glass to accompany him on his foray forward. A lean, hungry-looking copper miner from Tasmania’s west coast, Glass had previously proven a fast runner. Rait would command the defence of Mephisto from where he sat. The other men were located by Blair around the eastern lip of the crater, facing German lines.

‘If the operation is going to plan,’ Blair said to his men, ‘the 51st have cleared the Jerries from north of the Orchard, and Brits of the 7th Bedford have kept them busy at Monument Wood to the south. That being the case, you boys should only have the eastern perimeter to worry about.’

Taz, Frankie and the others nodded.

Before he set off, the lieutenant returned to Rait and squatted beside him. ‘You know what you’ve got to do here, Corporal?’

‘While I still breathe, sir, no blooming Fritz will step inside this monster,’ Rait assured him, inclining his head towards the tank. ‘You can be sure of that.’

Blair smiled grimly. ‘Good man. You’ve exceeded my expectations today, Rait. You’ve got more pluck than I gave you credit for.’ Blair patted him lightly on the shoulder, then took his last Mills bomb from one of his own ammunition pouches and handed it to Rait. ‘Take a few Jerries with you, Corporal.’

Rait smiled grimly. ‘I’ll do that, sir. Good luck to you.’

Blair then moved to where Frankie and Taz were lying at the western lip of the crater, and knelt beside them. ‘Dutton, Pickles, you’re the only remaining non-coms apart from Rait. Whatever happens, Jerry doesn’t get his hands on that tank again. You got me?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Taz and Frankie replied together.

‘You hold that tank until either I return or you get orders to do otherwise.’

‘Got it, sir,’ said Taz, nodding.

‘I’m relying on you boys.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Taz and Frankie answered in unison.

‘Okay.’ Blair drew his revolver, then looked around to Glass, who was kneeling behind him, waiting with his bayonet-equipped rifle at the ready. ‘Let’s go, Private.’

Up over the edge of the crater went the lieutenant. Glass scuttled after him. Frankie, Taz and the three men with them all peered over the crater’s lip to watch the pair head west at a crouching run. Within seconds, they had been swallowed by the night.

Frankie, resigned to their fate, turned to look at Taz. ‘It’s all up to us then, mate.’

‘Looks like it, Frankie,’ Taz agreed with a sigh.

Falling silent, they strained their eyes to survey the area in front of them. They’d been lying there for just a few minutes when they heard sustained machine-gun fire ahead and cheering voices that could only be Australian. It was obvious that men of the 52nd Battalion were advancing towards their objective, and German troops were resisting with their Maxims. A lot of hard fighting was going on out there in the darkness. Sporadic firing continued to the east, north and south while, to the northeast, the sky above Villers-Bretonneux glowed orange from burning buildings.

Taz withdrew from the crater wall to see how Rait was faring. When he reached the corporal, he found that Rait’s eyes were closed. For a moment, Taz thought him dead, but a gentle shake of the shoulder caused Rait’s eyes to open.

‘How are you going, Corporal?’ asked Taz.

‘How do you think I’m going?’ Rait irritably responded.

‘Can I do anything for you?’

‘Let’s see. Any good at miracles, Dutton? If you are, you could close up the hole in my guts.’

Taz smiled awkwardly with embarrassment. ‘Sorry, Corporal.’

‘I thought not.’ Rait lifted Lieutenant Blair’s flask to his lips and took another swig.

‘Can I write to someone on your behalf after, er . . .?’

‘After I die?’

‘After this is all over. Would you like me to write something to your family?’

‘I don’t have a family, Dutton. I’m an orphan. No, no, I lie. I have an aunt – my mother’s sister.’

‘Where’s she?’

Rait weakly waved a hand. ‘In Australia somewhere. She was the reason I immigrated to Australia. My only flesh and blood. I thought I might be able to create a family for myself. Needn’t have wasted my sodding time.’

‘It didn’t work out?’

‘My aunt was all right, but I didn’t get on with her husband. He kicked me out. That was years ago. Haven’t been in touch with them since.’

‘I could write to your aunt. What’s her name?’

‘And say what to the old biddy? That I cursed her old man as I lay dying?’ Rait slowly shook his head. ‘No. I’ve done perfectly well without any family, Dutton. I’m as close to being an orphan as you can get, and that suits me fine. I came into this world on my own and I’m going out on my own. You get back over there with the others and do your job. Go on – hop to it!’

With a sigh, Taz turned his back on Rait and rejoined Frankie and the others.

‘What was his lordship saying over there?’ Frankie asked.

Taz shrugged. ‘Nothing much. Nothing important.’

Lapsing into silence, they continued to scan the night for signs of approaching German troops or the return of Lieutenant Blair. Either would terminate the boredom of waiting. Frankie found himself yawning.

‘Stay awake!’ Taz cautioned.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t be dropping off to sleep, mate,’ Frankie assured him.

Time continued to drag until, a little after eleven, one of their companions called a low warning. ‘Someone’s coming! Out front.’

All of them brought their rifles up to the firing position. Taz, peering east, could make out moving shapes in the dark. The flat round helmets on their heads told him they were either Australian or British troops. ‘Lieutenant Blair or Glass?’ he wondered aloud.

Soon, scores of Australians were trotting around their crater, casting them a wary glance as they passed. The troops were heading back west, the way they’d come earlier in the evening.

‘What’s happening, you blokes?’ Frankie called.

A gaunt-faced sergeant wearing the shoulder patch of the 52nd Battalion stopped to kneel on one knee at the crater’s lip. ‘What are you lot doing here?’ he asked, studying the five men lining the eastern edge of the crater.

‘Orders,’ Frankie replied.

‘To hold the Jerry tank,’ added Taz.

‘Where are you all going?’ Frankie inquired.

‘Our company’s been ordered to withdraw to the road that runs from Villers-Bretonneux to Domart and dig in there,’ the sergeant replied. ‘We’ve had to fall back a good mile.’

‘Why?’ Frankie asked. ‘I thought the battalion was supposed to advance beyond Villers-Bretonneux.’

‘Don’t ask me why, son,’ the sergeant responded. ‘I only follow orders.’

‘Have you seen Lieutenant Blair, Sergeant?’ Taz asked. ‘He went forward to find the company commander.’

The sergeant shook his head. ‘I haven’t seen any officers in a couple of hours. We’ve lost quite a few of them tonight. Wouldn’t be surprised if your lieutenant’s bought it.’ Rising up to his full height, the sergeant looked down at the men in the shell hole. ‘Good luck,’ he said, rejoining his withdrawing men.

Before long, they were on their own again.

‘Taz,’ said Frankie after a while, ‘do you reckon our lot have pulled back all around us?’

Taz shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’

‘If they have, we’re stuck out here on our own, like a pimple on a pig’s bum.’

‘Could be.’

Billy Blizzard, the private who’d been wounded in the shoulder, was lying close by. Overhearing their conversation, he piped up. ‘Do you reckon we should pull back too?’

‘Yeah, it might get a bit hairy here if there aren’t any more of our blokes between us and the Jerries,’ said Frankie. ‘Maybe we should pull back to the road with the others.’

‘And leave the tank to the Germans?’ Taz shook his head. ‘You heard what Lieutenant Blair said, Frankie. We have to keep that tank out of German hands, no matter what.’

Frankie sighed. ‘All right. Then we might be having some company pretty soon. The kind that eats sauerkraut and knackwurst.’ He raised his voice to call to the others. ‘What’s the ammo situation like with you blokes?’

They totted up their ammunition supply. Between them they had an average of just ten rifle rounds apiece plus a total of three grenades.

‘Not real encouraging if we’re going to hold this bugger of a tank,’ Frankie lamented. ‘I wish we had more bombs.’

Taz suddenly put his rifle aside and withdrew from the edge of the crater.

‘Hey! Where are you going?’ Frankie called after him with surprise.

‘Nash had some German stick grenades in his belt the last time I saw him alive,’ Taz called back.

‘Just keep your head down, mate.’

Taz hurried past Mephisto and Rait, who sat staring blankly ahead, then clambered up the far side of the crater and onto level ground. Walking in a crouch, he didn’t have to go far before he came across the bodies of Nash and Corporal Hughes. Hughes lay on his back, with one knee raised and bent. Nash was nearby, on his face, with the back of his head a bloody mess. Dropping to his knees, Taz rolled Nash over. The dead private stared up at him sightlessly. There was a neat bullet hole in his forehead.

‘Sorry, Nash,’ said Taz. In his mind, he could hear Nash talking about hot pikelets running with melting butter, about The Invisible Man and invisible paint. And he remembered the irony of Nash’s comment one day, ‘Tell me a good way to go in this flaming war.’ Taz shook his head. He could hardly credit that the young private was dead. He knew nothing about Nash, not even where he was from. Yet Nash and Frankie and Taz had shared something almost sacred over the past few months. For a brief time, they had been brothers in arms.

A rifle shot rang out nearby, then another and another. Frankie and the others were firing at something. And then a bullet came humming past Taz’s ear, fired from a German rifle somewhere to the east of Mephisto’s crater. The crater was under attack. Quickly, Taz removed the three German stick grenades that jutted from Nash’s waistband and then scuttled back to the crater, jumping into it as more German bullets whizzed by. He dashed past Mephisto and Rait and threw himself to the earth beside Frankie, who was firing calmly, methodically into the darkness. Around them, the others maintained a slow, steady rate of fire at dark shapes in the night, conserving their ammunition.

Laying two of the German grenades on the earth between himself and Frankie, Taz retained the third. ‘Where are they?’ he asked urgently.

‘Directly in front of us,’ said Frankie breathlessly. ‘Lots of them.’

‘Are they in grenade range?’ Taz asked, unscrewing the bottom of his grenade.

As if in answer, a German grenade came flying into the crater to their left, exploding on the back of the member of the platoon stationed there. The detonation, between the shoulderblades, killed the man instantly. His body absorbed the blast, leaving the men beside him without as much as a scratch.

‘They’re obviously in bombing range now!’ said Frankie, laying aside his rifle and reaching for one of the stick grenades.

Tensing, Taz sprang upright, pulling the string that primed his grenade. Seeing the shapes of Germans approaching with their rifles levelled just twenty metres from the crater, he lobbed his grenade in their direction and then dropped back down into cover, with bullets whistling by. His grenade exploded, bringing cries of pain from their adversaries. Immediately after, Frankie jumped up and tossed his grenade. As he threw himself back to earth, Frankie felt something graze his forehead.

‘They’re pulling back!’ yelled Billy Blizzard, moments after the grenade boomed.

‘Not for long!’ commented Private Battey, as he sighted down his rifle. ‘The buggers want their bleeding tank back! All we can do is –’

A parting shot from a retreating German cut the private short. Letting go of his rifle, Battey rolled onto his back, grabbing at his throat with both hands and gasping for air. He writhed in agony for a time, then stopped moving.

Helplessly, Frankie watched Battey die. ‘This is not going to end well,’ he said, half to himself, as he rammed another .303 round into the breech of his rifle and lay on his back just below the top of the crater. ‘Not blooming well at all!’