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I turned to see a jabr, racing across in front of the bunker, a sword flourished above his head. He was going like Jesse Owens, screaming his head off right across my front. I just had sense enough to take a split second, traversing my aim with him before I fired. He gave a convulsive leap, and I felt a jolt of delight. I'd hit the bastard! And as he fell on all fours, a Highland officer with whom I'd

played football, dived on him from behind, slashing at his head of a cookery. Someone rounded the bunker, almost barging into me. It was Stanley, shouting, where, where? In that kind of mad scramble, all that matters is seeing the enemy. He had a Brenn magazine in one hand, and was trying to change it for the one on the gun. I grabbed the barrel to steady it, burned myself, yelped, and seized the folded legs while he pushed the full magazine home. One of his pussies was coming loose. A yard away, Gale was lying dead with two men bending over him. The whole wood was echoing with shots and explosions and yelling voices. Stanley ran past me, dropping the empty magazine,

and as some Presbyterian devil made me pick it up,

I noticed Gail's hat lying in the bunker doorway,

and the little sergeant was shouting and running towards the second bunker.

And that is George MacDonald Fraser describing 60 seconds of the McTeelea battle

in his amazing memoir, quartered safe out here.

And yes, I would recommend that book to anybody who wants to know what the war was like in Burma, from the point of view of an incredibly articulate and a brilliantly vivid writer, who of course then went on to write the Flashman books

...