There it was. Mephisto. Smartened up with fresh grey-green paint, and with its red devil motif shining. Some of the fittings were missing, souvenired long ago by Australian troops. But it looked impressively ready for action. As Taz Dutton walked slowly towards the world’s only surviving German World War I tank, he calculated that it was sixty-eight years since he had last seen this monster. Now aged eighty-four, Taz was feeling the weight of his years. Mephisto, on the other hand, looked almost brand new.

It was 1986. The new Queensland Museum had recently opened in South Brisbane, and in pride of place among the exhibits, near the front doors, stood Mephisto, which was receiving its very own unveiling ceremony. Taz had been handed a leaflet when he arrived as an invited guest for the opening of the new Mephisto exhibit. It chronicled how Mephisto had first been taken to London in 1918, destined for Britain’s Imperial War Museum. However, in a joint effort, Australian Prime Minister Billy Hughes, Queensland Premier Tom Ryan and Lieutenant-Colonel Rocks Robinson had managed to convince the British Government that Mephisto should be displayed in Australia because it had been captured by Australian troops. Hughes had intended that Mephisto go to Canberra, for what would be the Australian War Memorial’s collection. But in June 1919, while the ship carrying Mephisto was docked in Brisbane en route to Sydney, Mephisto was clandestinely unloaded. The Queenslanders had hung onto the tank ever since.

A crowd of a hundred or more guests had turned up for the unveiling. As Taz sipped orange juice, one face in particular caught his eye – a portly man who was entirely bald. The man’s wrinkled brow failed to disguise a scar that ran across his forehead. ‘Frankie Pickles!’ he exclaimed, walking towards the man with hand outstretched.

The bald man, beer in hand, turned from his conversation to look around. And then his jaw dropped. ‘Taz? Is that you, Taz Dutton?’ Setting his beer aside, Frankie vigorously shook Taz by the hand and embraced him. ‘Of all the people . . .’ he said, choking back tears.

‘It took Mephisto to bring us back together,’ said Taz, grinning. They hadn’t seen each other since the day they’d parted in Brisbane in 1919, after being discharged at Lytton Quarantine Station. ‘So, you’ve done well for yourself.’

Frankie shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. ‘Can’t complain, mate.’

‘The owner of Pickles Transport, no less. Australia’s largest trucking empire.’

‘Yeah, well, I tinkered with engines for a while, then started carting stuff with a little second-hand Ford truck I bought in 1923, using money I borrowed from my dad.’

Taz raised his eyebrows. ‘You and your father reconciled then?’

‘Yeah, we made up. Thanks for making me go home, Taz. Turned out Dad had been worried stiff that his only son would be killed in the war. We ended up real close.’ Frankie fell silent for a moment then, clearing his throat, asked, ‘What about yourself?’

Taz smiled. ‘My father wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but I found teaching history much more rewarding.’

Frankie nodded. ‘I’ve seen some of your books in the shops. You always said that’s what you wanted to do.’

‘My father understood that I wanted to chart my own course in life; he was a very understanding sort of man.’

‘Sounds like it.’ Frankie paused. ‘I’m sorry now that I never tried to track you down, Taz. But I wanted to put those terrible, terrible years behind me. We saw things that no sixteen-year-old should ever see. That no human being should see.’

Taz nodded. ‘I know. I felt the same way. It was as if I put those years in a box and locked it away, along with the guilt I carried for being the only one of my brothers to survive. It’s only now that I’ve had the courage to open that box again. And you’re the only person in the world I’d admit that to.’

Frankie laughed, then burst into tears. Taz pulled him into another embrace, and they stood holding each other for a long time.

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ came a voice from the podium. ‘To officially unveil the Mephisto exhibit today, it is my great honour to introduce Emeritus Professor A. B. Rait. Professor Rait’s subject is, of course, chemistry, on which he speaks with famed oratorical power. But he is our guest speaker today because he was one of the thirteen men who captured this tank on the twenty-second of July 1918. Professor Rait . . .’

Taz and Frankie parted from their embrace and, standing arm-in-arm, listened as a trim, white-haired man of their age came to the microphone and told of the night that Mephisto had been wrestled from a shell crater in Monument Farm’s orchard. He told it with impressive detail and eloquence, and neither Taz nor Frankie could fault his account.

Once the professor had cut the ribbon that stretched in front of Mephisto, officially opening the exhibit, Taz and Frankie approached Professor Rait as he was deep in conversation with several reporters.

‘So, Archie,’ said Taz, ‘we meet again.’

The professor looked around and frowned. ‘I’m sorry, do I know you gentlemen?’ he asked.

‘Just a bit,’ Frankie said with a chuckle. ‘We shared a few experiences on the Somme together. Whatever happened to that other bloke? What was his name? Richard something?’

The professor’s face lit up in recognition. ‘Frankie! Taz! My goodness me!’ Excusing himself from the reporters, the professor put his arms around the shoulders of the pair and guided them to a quiet corner. There, Richard Rix, alias Professor Archibald Rait, shook both their hands vigorously. ‘So we have all lived long lives,’ he said with delight.

‘And you became a chemistry professor after all, mate,’ said Frankie.

Richard nodded. ‘I think I must have been fated to do it after Professor Biltz urged me to follow a career in chemistry. You know, after the war, Biltz went back to chemistry and became highly regarded in the scientific world. He died in Hamburg during an Allied air raid in 1942.’

‘There’s irony for you,’ said Frankie. ‘Surviving one terrible war only to be killed in another.’

‘But at least he made a great contribution to science,’ Richard added. ‘And what of you, my friends? What have your lives amounted to?’

‘Six kids, thirteen grandchildren and a lot of trucks,’ Frankie answered with a grin.

Richard looked at Taz. ‘And you, Taz?’

‘A good wife and thirty books on history,’ Taz answered.

‘And thanks to the reading lessons you gave me on the Port Lyttelton, Rich–, er, Archie,’ said Frankie, ‘I’ve read a couple of Taz’s books.’

‘You have?’ said Taz with surprise.

‘Oh, yeah. You write well, mate. I could hear your voice when I read them. It felt like you were in the room talking to me. It was almost as if we hadn’t lost touch.’

Taz turned to Richard. ‘And you never went to America?’

Richard smiled again. ‘No. I came to realise that for a long time I was a lost soul, never quite belonging anywhere. But here in Australia I found myself – with the help of a pretty Brisbane girl named Peggy. I met Peggy when I was studying at the University of Queensland. We married, settled down and had several children. Peggy passed away ten years ago. Aunt Bess came to our wedding – she was the woman who took me away from the quarantine station that day. I lived with her and her husband until I married. And after Erich died, Aunt Bess came to live with Peggy and myself for the rest of her days.’

‘Tell me,’ Taz asked, ‘did your wife know your secret?’

Richard seemed amused by this. ‘Oh, yes. I told her before we married. She urged me to keep my adopted name, so I did. We named our first son Richard Rix Rait. When he became an adult I told him the story behind his name.’

‘Crikey, what did he think about that?’ Frankie asked.

‘He thought it was wonderful. Up to that time, he’d thought me a rather boring and straight-laced old fellow. My story seemed to change his opinion of me.’

Frankie and Taz laughed.

‘Ever been back to the Somme?’ Frankie asked. ‘To the old battlefield?’

Richard shook his head. ‘I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Too many ghosts waiting there for me. You?’

‘No,’ Taz replied definitely.

‘Not me, either,’ said Frankie.

‘This was the closest I ever wanted to come to those times,’ said Richard, turning and looking up at Mephisto. ‘What madness it was, locking human beings inside that monster and sending them out to kill and maim other human beings.’

‘Why did we let our governments do it to us?’ Taz pondered aloud.

‘Because we were young and gullible,’ Frankie responded.

‘And powerless,’ Richard suggested.

‘Yes, but Taz and me volunteered for it!’ said Frankie. ‘Stupid buggers that we were. We thought it’d be one big adventure. Some adventure! Killing and being killed for no good reason. That’s no adventure. That’s insanity.’ His voice quavered with emotion.

Taz gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. ‘Well said, Frankie.’

‘You know,’ Frankie continued, ‘I sometimes wake in the middle of the night hearing Nashie’s voice. You remember Nash, Taz? Talking about pikelets running with butter, or some such thing. I didn’t know him well, but I’ll never get over the fact that one minute he was there beside us, blathering away, and the next, he wasn’t. His life had been snuffed out in an instant. And he was so keen to get into the fight.’

‘I know,’ said Taz, his mind returning to the night he’d gone back to find Nash’s body and relieve him of German stick grenades.

‘Let’s drink to our reunion after all these years,’ Richard suggested, trying to lift the mood away from thoughts of death. ‘I owe you two more than I can ever say.’

‘Good idea,’ said Taz, waving to a waiter.

The three of them, getting freshly charged glasses, clinked them together in a toast.

‘Friends forever,’ said Frankie.

‘Peace, not war,’ said Richard.

‘Amen to that!’ said Taz.