Our only support was a three-inch mortar. It was brought up and from behind one of the houses it lobbed shells into the field. But its range was too great and we could not get the shells to fall close enough. The two-inch mortar was with us and it would have done the job, but the ammunition carriers were lost.
When the three-inch mortar had fired a few rounds the uncanny spell of detachedness was broken. We had introduced high explosive into the battle again. There was a tremendous crack from the field and an 88-millimetre shell broke open the side of a house.
From the sound of tracks and an engine it must have come from a Tiger tank. With only rifles we could not do anything to a Tiger tank. The three-inch mortar was now useless. Every time it fired it drew an immediate response from the Tiger tank.
The house in front of the mortar crumpled. The mortar was on a hard road and could not be dug in. It was ordered to cease fire and we waited in a fresh silence. But the mood had changed. This was no longer a happy, moon-lit village.