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Thank you. By mid-morning, it was clear that the battle was working exactly as Peter planned.

He decided that there was no chance of an enemy counter-attack.

They had their hands full with the left brigade.

He let slip the main attack. The rest of the division plunged straight ahead for Mandelaide, with orders to go hell for leather, the leading troops to contain and bypass small enemy pockets, leaving them for the following troops to wipe out. We rumbled down the cattle tracks in the heavy dust. Past stands of jungle, where the crackle of small arms fire showed that we had caught some Japanese. The tank treads clanked through villages blazing in huge yellow and scarlet conflagrations. Palm and bamboo exploding like artillery. Gray-green tank squatting in the paddy round the back, ready to machine gun any Japanese who tried to escape that way before our advancing infantry. We passed the 25-pounder gun-house of the artillery, bounding and roaring in a score of clearings, hurling their shells far ahead into yet another village. Tanks, again, the troop that had cleared the village back there rumbling on, 20 gherkers clinging to the superstructures. Infantry trudging along the sides of the road, plastered with dust and sweat. We were not a motorised division and most of the infantry had to march, where they could not clamber onto tanks and trucks and gun quads. The mules of the mountain artillery, the screw guns pounding down the road, trotting out into the paddy when the road was blocked. Never a change of step and the jingling of the harness and the creek of the leather. Japanese sprawled in the road and under the burning houses, their chests blown in, some by tank shells, some by suicide,

for often they died clasping a grenade to their own bodies and rushing out at the assaulting infantry. The light hung sullen and dark overall, smoke rose in vast, writhing pillars

...