“But still the ‘Razzle Dazzle’ was having her own way. Her motorist
was signaling me that he had no control of her. This was cheerful
intelligence because right ahead was a huge shell crater. She might
slide into it and climb up the other side and out. I hoped so. But she
didn’t. She hit the bottom of the pit, tried to push her way up and
out, fell back, panted, pushed up again, fell back and then just stuck
at the bottom of the well, throbbing and moaning and maybe penitent
for her recklessness.
“Penitence wasn’t to do her any good. It wasn’t five minutes later when
the Germans had the range of her and began smashing us with big shells.
I ordered my men to abandon her and led them in a rush out of the
crater and into small shell holes until the storm of fire was past.
“When it was, ‘Razzle Dazzle’ was a wreck. She was cracked, distorted
and shapeless. But the runaway engine was still plainly to be heard
throbbing. Finally a last big shell sailed into the doughty tank and
there was a loud bang and a flare. Her oil reservoir shot up in an
enormous blaze.
“‘Razzle Dazzle’ was no more. But she had accounted for the ‘refinery.’
And our infantry had done the rest. The German position was ours.
“I was all enthusiasm for fighting ‘tanks.’ But my superiors squelched
it. For when I asked for command of a sister of ‘Razzle Dazzle’ next
day, a cold-eyed aide said to me:
“‘One tank, worth ten thousand pounds, is as much as any bally young
officer may expect to be given to destroy during his lifetime. Good
afternoon.’”