Prof. Greg Jackson

they're wounded in the safer, deeper trenches that the battalion has appropriated from Germans who once held this position.

Reginald lies in the sand, dug as best as he can into this slit trench that offers him little protection from German artillery or the elements.

As the sun beats down, he sweats into his army-regulated helmet and prays that the Germans don't notice or hit him.

From his position, face down in the sand, lying doggo, as he puts it, Reginald sees smoldering, abandoned medium panzer tanks on three sides of his quote-unquote island.

but he's got little time to observe this.

Other tanks are quickly approaching.

The Brits' 57-millimeter anti-tank cannons, a.k.a.

six-pounders, that so bravely repelled the German panzers' advance this morning, are slowing down.

Clearly, they're running low on ammunition.

Then finally, they fall silent altogether.

As they do, the panzers lurch forward.

They're soon only 200 yards out.

Then 100 yards...

Nevertheless, the company holds its position.

But then, the Brits' heavy artillery, the 25-pounders, open fire.

Reginald breathes a sigh of relief as these massive shells scream and pounce, forcing the German armor to withdraw.

All except for one answer, that is.

This lone, daring tank steadily advances, spraying machine-gun fire to clear its path.

Reaching a mere 50 yards of distance from Reginald, the Panzer pauses.

It should be a city duck, but the Brits' anti-tank guns are completely out of ammo.