"If it you please would, have I myself already asked," said the tough but cheerful German commander as we stood together watching his battalion prepare for a night exercise in the vast Grafenwöhr exercise area, "one of our tanks to drive?"
   Grafenwöhr is in the south of Germany, about midway between Bayreuth and Nürnberg - which English and Americans like to spell Nuremberg - and somewhat to the east. I had volunteered at once for an attachment to his battalion when I realised that it would take me over a hundred miles closer to Ari. Although this was true, I was kept far too busy to do more than send her a postcard from the nearest town.
   If his had been a combat unit, his offer would have been as foolish for him to make as it would for me to accept. The new German Leopards were amongst the heaviest and fastest in the world. Even the most genial commander would not want to risk any of his new babies - with the rest of its crew - to any strange officer whose driving skills were unknown: let alone to a solitary Brit, ditto strange, ditto skills.
   I had driven several British tanks - and even American - but either commanding or driving a big battle tank is a real skill. Long training is required of their crews to learn how to move these massive machines across country at speed, manoeuvring with other tanks, supporting other troops, often firing on the move. Their drivers and commanders must also learn to avoid any number of spectacular accidents, most of them only possible in these machines, many of them fatal to those either inside them or outside, such as driving over their own troop positions; into deep water unprepared; through someone's house, even several houses; across weak bridges; or - perhaps easiest of all - over other vehicles. If also armoured, the result might be just broken bones, but if unarmoured such vehicles can be crushed - with their contents - like a boot stamping on eggs.
   But this was an offer impossible to refuse. The Grafenwöhr 'Sperrgebiet'* had been used by German armies for over sixty years, but what made the prospect of driving any vehicle of the new German army's inventory so exciting was that, whilst we were still struggling with vehicles which were often twenty years old, all of theirs were new. There were huge trucks by Magirus Deutz and M.A.N. There were the smaller but powerful one a half ton Unimogs by Mercedes, as well as vast tank recovery and transporter vehicles.
   Everything seemed to have been made for giants. Their designs, of course, reflected the problems that the Wehrmacht had inside Poland and the Ukraine and in Russia in the 1940s. The closed cabs, the huge wheels and high ground clearances were meant to deal with the endless streams and gullies to be crossed in the dust of the summer; with rivers overflowing in the autumn and turning fields and tracks into deep, deep mud; then with deeply rutted frozen mud in winter, then with deep, deep snow through which the trucks had to follow each other like trains. Most of our trucks were originally designed for commercials use - on proper roads - and had just been bought straight from their manufacturers and painted green. Theirs were true machines of war.
   The only oddity was that their commanders liked to scoot around off the battle-field in tiny little air-cooled Auto-Union jeeps. These buzzed about frenetically with a high-pitched whine and really looked as if they ought to be wound up at the back by a big key. I had already driven one of these, and had promptly to suppress an unpatriotic thought. Being so much smaller and lighter than our famous Landrovers, they were certainly not as strong, but they were uncommonly agile - and fast.
   The real joy for me, however, was yet to come. The vehicle that I was going to be allowed to drive was an armoured ambulance. This was not exactly a Leopard, being obviously intended to rescue lives rather than extinguish them, but it was still a small tank in its own right. Made by the French company Hotchkiss, and delivered in a variety of forms to equip the new army's Panzergrenadier battalions, this one was a variant of their Schützenpanzer with red crosses painted on its top and sides, and in it I was to be given the honour of leading the battalion throughout the whole exercise: leading it, that is, right behind the commander travelling in front of me together with his driver and radio-operator in their little buzzing Auto-Union jeep.
   I guessed that fully loaded my ambulance would weigh around nine tons: a tidy weight with which to step on anyone's foot. Its driver could either sit beneath an armoured visor peering through a periscope a letter-box; or, by raising his seat, he could drive with his head in the open. Most tracked vehicles are controlled the same way, and this one was virtually a clone of all those I had driven before. Between my knees was the gear-lever - four speeds forward, one reverse; at my feet a clutch and accelerator. On either side of my seat were two levers or tillers. When left alone they allowed the engine to drive the tank forward, and when pulled back, made it stop. Steering was also simply achieved by these two tillers. Pulling back on one would brake the track on that side: the tank would then turn in that direction. If this was not fast enough, pulling back one and pushing the other forward, would cause it to spin around its vertical axis with near neck-cracking force. On a smooth road, especially a wet smooth road, the effect could be spectacular.
   Very sensibly, the battalion commander wanted to be sure that I knew all of this, and so he stood with his adjutant, nodding in approval and finally even shaking his hands above his head in a boxer's triumphant salute as I made a few circuits of the parade ground in the Hotchkiss. I, meanwhile, was delighted to discover its speed and power. A child could easily have driven it slowly; but it was so quick to respond to its controls, and there was so much power available when unloaded like this that I bet to myself that it might even be a match for the nippy little jeep the commander rode in - especially across open country.
   It was getting dark. The battalion was all lined up and ready to go. At the last moment the commander came across to me for the last time with a further question: "Have you, by the way, a tank in the night driven?"
   When I admitted that this would be a new experience, he tapped the side of his nose, pleased to have remembered this detail. Then he took me to the back of his jeep, bent down and pointed to the dome, about the size of a thimble, of a little red light mounted under the rear of the jeep. "When we the lights behind us leave, switches my driver this light on: then must you only this light not out of the eyes lose."
   That seemed perfectly clear to me. We exchanged the satisfied nods of men to whom everything is perfectly clear to both. Then he climbed into the front passenger seat of his jeep. I used the front cog of my tank's tracks as a first step, climbed up the sloping armoured front to the open driver's hatch - the approved method on almost any AFV, or armoured fighting vehicle - and dropped down into my seat. I was greeted by the warm reek of hot oil and metal, the rumble of the big six-cylinder petrol engine and the glow of the instrument lights just below my waist.
   In the rear compartment behind me I also had a few passengers. I imagined they were all the original crew; but in all the excitement of getting ready we had not been introduced, and this would now be impossible. I had not noticed before that the driver could be reached from inside the ambulance - so that if he was injured or killed he could be pulled out backwards - but only when the driver's hatch was closed and his seat was down. When the hatch was open, and the seat raised up, the driver could not be reached from inside the vehicle at all. This would become important later.
   Moving off in a column of many heavy vehicles is always exciting, and for several miles after leaving the camp we were on the road whilst they all settled down to the right distance from the one in front. The road was wet at first, but then became dry so that I could see the dust spurting from the rear of the little jeep, whilst behind me - I had a panoramic view from my seat and could look over the heads of my passengers - I could see more dust around the column.
   Abruptly the commander's jeep turned off the road, dropped down into a ditch and then climbed the slope to higher ground. I hauled on my left stick and followed, gunning the engine, pulling the gearstick from a high to lower gear as I followed into the ditch and hearing the exhaust growl in response as power from the engine flowed into the tracks and the long nose of my iron beast rose up to the sky.
   When it came back down, I changed up again to the higher gear, but was dismayed to find that I could now only just see the little jeep. It had become a fleeting dark outline which sometimes disappeared altogether. The Hotchkiss's front lights were on,. but being switched to the lowest level of brightness they really only illuminated the sides of the sloping glacis in front of me. The softer ground was far darker than the road - for its dust had been almost white - and now, as we moved further in amongst the trees, they mostly a new growth of thin larch and birch, the night grew darker still. I was greatly relieved when the commander's driver switched on the little red light under the back of his jeep - then alarmed again to realise that I had let him get so far ahead that even the outline was no longer visible. All I could see, and all that I could now follow, was that small swerving and bouncing red glow. I pressed down the throttle, changed down again for more power, and my tank sat back on its tracks with an obedient growl and lifted its nose to close the gap.
   For at least a brief period this should have meant that the Hotchkiss would be travelling faster than the jeep. To my surprise - and to my annoyance - after a moment's hesitation the jeep spurted ahead again so that the little light bounced around more than ever, but remained as dim as before. If I was to catch up, I would have to drive even faster than this.
   It only occurred to me then that all of this might be some kind of test. Germans are all naturally highly competitive. And not only this: most of the new Army's senior officers, and nearly all its senior NCOs, were necessarily ex-Wehrmacht. If they had been only sixteen, fifteen - or even younger - they would have been very fortunate not to have been forced in combat at the end of the War. Tens of thousands of young lads fought the Red Army with astonishing courage and later analysts reckoned that they prolonged the war by at least two months. Any of these veterans would have to regard me as a young English powder-puff in uniform. They would find it very amusing if I managed to be left behind by the commander to lose the entire convoy in the forest. I pressed harder on the throttle and my tank surged after that dancing light.
   Soon I knew I had been right about the Hotchkiss's power and speed, but also right about the little jeep's agility. If the ground had been hard and flat, I could have caught up with the jeep in seconds. But the ground was neither flat nor hard. The soldiers in the compartment behind me were now shouting urgently at me above the roar of the engine: "You are leaving all! You are leaving all!"
   They meant, of course, that the rest of the convoy was being left behind. In fact I could see a line of lights out of the corner of my eye, which could mean that the other vehicles had already got lost. Damn them! The honour of the British Army was now clearly on my shoulders. I was not going to let that jeep get away.
   Where the ground was softer, and even with three men aboard, the jeep could move much faster than my Hotchkiss. But wherever it was steep, and also upwards, I could close up until that the light was bright enough for me to see the dirt spitting out from the jeep's rear wheels. When it was steep and downwards, however, I had to pull back - concentrating so completely on driving and quite deaf now to the shouts of the men holding on behind - to stop the nose of the tank digging in at the bottom of the slope and rolling forward onto its back. This would be very likely to kill us all. They obviously knew that.
   Despite all my efforts, I just could not catch up with that bloody driver. We roared on and on, changing up and changing down through the gears like a madman, the Hotchkiss rolling and pitching, roaring, groaning, thudding and banging, tree branches were lashing the armour like whips and occasionally I even had to mow down small trees through which the jeep was recklessly weaving. His twisting and turning was the worst. For moments I would sight of the light completely. Then it would appear again, the jeep's driver having only jinked cunningly to the left or the right, and I would snatch on my tillers to line up with it again.
   I don't believe I would ever have caught up to a sensible distance behind him. He was just too good. But although we had now left the convoy miles behind us, at least he had not lost me. The men behind were now silent: possibly they were aghast at what their commander had done. Cold night air was pouring into the cockpit and I realised I was drenched in sweat. I would even have switched off my own weak side-lights if I had known how to do it, for my night vision had improved by now to the point that I was no longer afraid of losing that little red point if I blinked. I was even no longer angry. The ground was now much smoother, but I could still not get any closer. On the other hand I reckoned I could keep up the present crazy speed indefinitely.
   We continued tearing through the night like this for some time until I was relieved to see a line of tall bright lights ahead of us. Since they were entirely isolated, I knew at once what this meant. Tanks get very dirty when charging about the countryside and all tank exercise grounds have these 'wash-down areas' equipped with lights and high power water jets.
   The jeep's driver was clearly heading towards it, and as its square outline became clearer I was surprised to see that I was actually not more than twenty feet behind him. I slowed too as we drove under the lights, letting the distance increase even further The jeep stopped, and I stopped - and I was surprised to see the driver get out, stumble to the edge of the concrete apron, where he was violently sick. He must have eaten his dinner in too much of a hurry, or had too much beer the night before.
   The signaller remained in the back of the jeep, I could see him slumped against the canvas, whilst the battalion commander got out very slowly on his side and seemed to spend a while looking up at the stars above. He could not, of course, see any - the glare of the lights was far too bright - but when he took off his hat I could see that his face, like mine, was glistening with sweat.
   He walked slowly back to the front of the Hotchkiss and signalled to me that I should switch off its engine and climb down. There was no sound at all from my passengers. In the silence that followed the only noise was the ticking of the engine as it cooled, the driver being sick, and some song-bird peeping somewhere. The commander stared at my silently for a while; it was a slow considering look; then he cleared his throat several times, and asked me gently: "Could you anything more of us see except the red light."
   Actually, no, I replied emphatically: after we left the road I could see nothing but the red light. There was another long thoughtful stare. He did not bother to wipe the sweat from face, although I could it was now making rivulets down his cheeks.
   I was not sure now what might come next. That the rest of his convoy was still out there somewhere else in the night, appeared not to concern him at all. I had expected him to apologise for leading me on such a break-neck chase through the night. Failing this, he might possibly be about to congratulate me on my driving. "Ha," he said in response to my question "that have thought I."
   Just as calmly, just as gently, he took my arm and led me to the back of his jeep. Some distance away his driver was walking around in circles, smoking a cigarette for which he had certainly not asked anyone's permission. The other soldiers were getting out of the back of the Hotchkiss - but they too also stood off at a distance, watching us silently. The atmosphere was altogether rather strange.
   The dim red light that I had been following was still dimly glowing. "Ah, yes. See you here," he said; bending down and using the leather gloved fore-finger of his right hand, he wiped away the dust that had stuck to the dome after it had got wet on the road.
   Suddenly the light was no longer dim. It was several times brighter than it had ever been. At this distance it was suddenly very bright indeed: just as it should have been.
   He stood up, and sighed. "Zum Glück," he murmured, as if to himself, "mussten wir nicht anhalten!"
   Then we exchanged the nods - the appalled nods, but also deeply relieved nods - of men to whom everything is suddenly perfectly clear. I had not been following his jeep all this time through bog, brook, and bracken. I had been chasing it
   "And now know I," he said calmly, "how the fox feels - exactly."
   Then he grinned, the sweat was still drying on our faces, and he slapped my arm. "Later, Captain, I will you a drink buy; and then, think I, you can that for me too."

lin Hannaford,

"Soldier."
05/07//05

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