It was April 30th 1945. Already the warm sun gave promise of a glorious summer to come. We, of the 23rd Hussars, recently equipped with the new Comet Tank had been resting up for some days. The Elbe, behind which Jerry had retreated, was just ahead, and now the order to move on had come. Our objective was Lubeck and the Baltic.
We had heard of Lubeck on the B.B.C. News when it was bombed earlier in the war, but it had always seemed such an impossibly long way off that it came as almost a shock to think we might be there in two or three days.
Arromanches and Normandy seemed so long ago as to be like a page from a history book. The Maas and mud - The Ardennes - all these were behind now and ahead lay "the last mile home".
We travelled all day; the congestion on the roads was something to be seen to be believed. Tanks, Guns, Infantry - the lot - all taking part in the mad scramble to be first across the Elbe.
Far into the night we travelled, and eventually arrived on the outskirts of a little village called Sahms. We were now in enemy territory once more.
It was our turn to take up position of leading tank that day. A Brengun Carrier of Infantry preceded us. The strain of the long hours cooped up in the tank were having effect now, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to remain awake. Then with shocking suddenness the Carrier burst into flames and, in their light, we could see the infantry scrambling out and throwing themselves into the ditch on either side of the road.
Somewhere out there in the darkness an '88' must have been covering the road. We had heard that Jerry was using Infra Red Rays - some means by which he could pick out the silhouette of an object even in the dark - but now in the glow from the carrier our tank stood out in bold relief against the darkness of the night.
The thoughts of an '88' sent a chill down my spine. I had been fortunate to escape from two tanks hit by them and knew the havoc they could wreck. They ripped through a tank with the ease of a knife through butter and, within seconds, left it a blazing inferno. I did not allow my thoughts to dwell too long on what the outcome of this third encounter might be - I only hoped we would pull out of this awful glare which was making out tank such an easy target. The order over the I.C. however, dashed any such hopes. "Gunner, fire an A.P., straight ahead". It was dark down here in the turret and deathly quiet. The usual cheerful banter which we carried on amongst ourselves had been abruptly stilled at the first realisation of the danger which threatened us. The only light came from the little red bulb on the wireless set. I could not see Benny, our Wireless Operator and loader, as the breach of our 77 M.M. formed a barrier between us. I heard it slam shut and Benny's tap on my knee indicated the gun was loaded.
Looking through the telescope I strained desperately to pick out some target at which to aim, but out there beyond the flames from the carrier all was darkness. I pressed the remote control. The crash of the explosion and the clang of the empty shellcase on the floor momentarily shattered the silence. We waited - one could almost sense everybody holding his breath, eyes glued to periscopes and hoping for some sign that we had found our target - but none was forthcoming.
I was scared now and my throat despite the wad of chewing gum felt parched. My thoughts flashed back to my last escape and the screams of the driver trapped in his compartment because I had left the gun traversed directly over his escape hatch. The chances of getting out of this if we were hit now would be practically nil. We were face on the enemy with no engine compartment to take the brunt of the blow.
Through the headphones came the order "Reload - Gunner traverse left - steady - on! - Fire!". So we were going to shoot out with the hidden gunner who could be anywhere out there in a radius of 180º. Although I realised the hopelessness of it, I again strove to pinpoint something - anything - at which to aim before firing, but there was nothing.
Then once more the invisible marksman struck back. Possibly aiming at our tank, he must have narrowly missed and hit the one directly behind. It followed the usual pattern of tanks that fall victim to an '88' and, within seconds, was a mass of flames. By turning my periscope right round I could see it clearly. There was no sign of life around it. I prayed that they had all got out safely. I had no idea what time had elapsed since the first shot had been fired - five or ten minutes? - a whole lifetime - again the order to fire was given. I did so and then turned my back to the front of the tank. That way it didn't feel so bad. I could see Pat, our Commander, sitting halfway out of the Cupola. The flames from both stricken vehicles lit up the area like a searchlight. And then it came! My last conscious memory was of Pat clutching his hands to his stomach and vaguely wondering why.
I came round to a world of flames, and strangely, a feeling of calm resignation. The long wait was over. (I learned later that the blast of the '88' on impact had burst an eardrum and caused a blackout). But then the desire to live, to get out of that blazing coffin surged over me. Somewhere up there I knew was the Cupola and the way out. My left leg felt numb. I scrambled my way upwards and somehow I made it. With tank suit and hair ablaze I threw myself over the side. All was hazy and disjointed after that - hands beating out the flames - an advance aid post. Two days later I was on a plane for England.
There were no other survivors from that tank and the crowning tragedy was that seven days later the war came to an end.