Language is futile to give anything like an adequate description of the
scene in the crater. A few of the Huns, more long-headed than the rest,
still clung to the tank, remaining there until it reached the top, when
they held up their arms, yelling Kamerad at the top of their lungs, and
these were all that were left of that 300--just 20.
The titanic ducks were each of them doing similar work on every part of
the line, but the particular one whose work I was able to follow then
made a call on a whiz-bang battery, smashing one of the guns when it
first stepped upon it, and mowing the gunners down, the rest fleeing as
though from the wrath to come. Many batteries and crews were similarly
smashed, and then their work being done for the day, they all returned
with the exception of one which lay in the German lines for about five
hours, due to engine trouble. While lying there, Fritz did his damndest
to place a mine underneath the helpless hulk, but the earnestness and
the energy with which our boys at the guns worked for the preservation
of their beloved behemoth, prevented him carrying out his purpose; and
while the concert was in full swing all around us, the preserving
messages from our guns whizzing past it in one direction, and the
destructive messages from the German guns coming at it from the other
direction, the tank crew quietly and industriously went about their
work, repaired the engine trouble, said "ta-ta" to Fritz and waddled
back home.
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