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we leave all hatches open but suddenly a storm of enemy artillery fire breaks over our attacking infantry. They scuttle about digging themselves in. Shells hail from the heavens. Bodies are thrown again and again into the air. Red-hot shell fragments slash terrible wounds. Screams and moans rise from the fox-holes.
    A new surprise awaits us. A long line of enemy anti-tank guns move into position. Quickly they range in on us and in the course of a few moments the action develops into a raging duel between our and their guns. The first two PAKs fly to pieces but the others know their job. One of No. 8 Company’s tanks blows up.
    Barcelona reports a hit on the turret. His gun is out of commission and he must go back to workshops.
    A second later we are on the receiving end of a direct hit on our forward shielding. The screaming clang of the explosion is so loud that we are totally deaf for severalminutes. An oil lead bursts and drowns the cabin with heavy oil. If we had not reinforced the front shield ourselves with sections of track the shell would have penetrated it and blown us to pieces. It would have gone straight through Porta and struck the ammunition rack behind me.
    Shortly after, the Legionnaire reports hits in the under-belly and damage to his gun. He too must go back to workshops. Three of No. 4 Section’s wagons are on fire. They explode before any of the crew can get out.
    A new hit shatters the gear-box and we can no longer manoeuvre. This is the worst thing that can happen to a tank. When it loses its mobility it becomes a sitting duck for a PAK.
    Porta jogs us slowly into cover behind a hill. We get to work on the gear-box with our emergency tools. We bang away with the sweat pouring off us. We have to change three links in the tracks as well. A hell of a job. Luckily a workshop truck turns up with special tools and a crane, and things go more quickly. In half an hour we are back in position and helping in the attack on the Russian PAK. But in short order seven of our tanks are reduced to wreckage.
    Grey beetles creep forward in line from the edge of the woods. Momentarily we believe them to be self-propelled anti-tank guns. We are undeceived when No. 3 Section swings round to take them on. They are far more dangerous opponents. Five T-34s and ten T-60s. At 800 metres the leading T-60s go up in blue flames. Like factory chimneys they send black oily smoke up into the sky.
    We twist madly to avoid the well-aimed shells from the T-34s. This tank is the most dangerous of all; the Red Army’s finest weapon. Three of our P-IVs are in flames. Two others withdraw seriously damaged. A P-III is hit by two shells simultaneously. An 88 mm FLAK battery comes to our aid. In the course of a few minutes the enemy armour is destroyed. These heavy anti-aircraft guns are wonderful anti-tank weapons. The new shells they are using are highly penetrative.
    The 27th Panzer Regiment attacks in full force and in ashort time the enemy anti-tank guns are overcome. The regiment rolls over them.
    Our vehicle has to go into field workshops. The turret is jammed and must be lifted off for new rings to be mounted. The rollers on one side need complete replacement.
    ‘Attack, attack!’ comes continually from Division. The enemy must under no circumstances be allowed to regroup. Keep him constantly on the move.
    We are ready to drop from fatigue; nervous blotches break out all over our bodies; we stagger like drunkards; answer wildly when spoken to.
    Every town we pass through is a smoking heap of ruins; on both sides of the track countless wrecks of tanks and stacks of bodies. Skinny dogs chew at the flesh of the dead and hens squabble over the entrails. We used to shoot at them. No more.
    Telephone-poles crash to the ground. Copper wire tangles in our tracks. Houses are ploughed down in whole rows, and the fleeing inhabitants pulped under the advancing tanks.
    ‘Move, moujiks, the Liberators are bringing you the new age! You’re to