Leave nothing standing. If it moves shoot it, if it doesn't, burn it. Clear the whole area. Those were the orders. In compliance with those orders the area was cleared. I have long forgotten the main thrust of the assault the incident has long been relegated to the non - events of military history. We encountered very little resistance as we swept into the town itself. Small pockets of half-hearted opposition in the narrow streets melted away under the withering power of our attack. We were determined once and for all to eradicate the irritation caused by a handful of belligerent if not very effective enemy. The heat of the morning was unbearable. The temperature was already well over the hundred mark and rising. The assault had been timed to start at the hottest hour when, it was thought, the opposition would be less coordinated. For once military intelligence had summed up the situation correctly. The dust thrown up by our mortars clung to our profusely sweating bodies, drying into a thin reddish crust, as we advanced. The mood became vicious. My poignant recollection of the assault is an encapsulated period of maybe thirty seconds, thirty seconds that haunt me.

I was approaching a street of poor mud dwellings when someone fired. A bullet splattered into the mud wall above my head sending large clumps of dried mud flying harmlessly in all directions. I ran, taking advantage of covering fire, to the house in which I thought my assailant was hiding. I kicked the door open, fired a short burst from my Sten gun, and entered. Behind me a noise, I sprang around ready to fire. There facing me was a small child crouching in terror, a girl I think, dirty and dishevelled, her dress torn and covered in blood. Her horror stricken face clearly mirrored my image as I stood there.

Christ! I thought, is that what I look like? I stared at the child not knowing what to do next. I remember I motioned her to lie quietly behind some old carpet-like wall covering. I placed my finger on my lips hoping it was understood as a sign for her to remain quiet. As I left the building, the sergeant major shouted, 'Is this house cleared?'

'Yes Sir, ' I replied, and followed him running to the next objective. We were about twenty yards away when the house, I had just left, was destroyed by a mortar bomb. We were both thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion. The sergeant major smiled at me – that was unnerving in itself. That evening I got drunk, it was my eighteenth birthday.