MUD-AND ALL!

Auckland Star, Volume LXXIII, Issue 221, 18 September 1942, Page 4

MUD-AND ALL!

TROOPS ENJOYED IT

THIS MORNING'S STRAFE

Immersed in thick, sticky, oozy mud from the waist down, rifle held aloft, sweat exuding from every pore, but advancing—always advancing. That is the picture of the NewZealand soldier in action which impressed above all at a tactical exercise carried out near the coast not 20 miles from the city this morning. It provided just another glimpse of how our troops are going the tough way. It showed how the Japs are going to be out-Japped. Those boys—they were training to be n.e.o.'s—literally "'got stuck into it." They had been longing for a chance to demonstrate the lessons of the last week or two. And there was a look of sheer joy in their eyes as they set off f<?r the field. Down on the beach the Japs had landed in barges and they were making their way inland. Air reconnaissance had them spotted, and a hum overhead signalled the arrival of the co-operat-ing aircraft. Zooming down at a terrific speed, graceful Kittvhawks strafed the scene of operations, and further down on the target area puffs of smoke indicated that the bombs had found their mark. Burst after burst was pumped into the enemy positions. but still the infdtrating troops came on. Water Was Icy Cold Then the light machine-guns and 3in mortars opened up. Masses of red-hot lead whizzed over the heads of officers of the fortress area, Staff Corps, Air Force, Home Guard and other units who were observing the "show." Nestling behind the excellent cover provided by craggy knolls and undergrowth, the riflemen, with fixed bayonets, Bren and tommyguns awaited zero hour. A Verey light sped skyward, hovered anil died. It was the signal to advance. But between them and the advancing Japs was a mangrove swamp and a sluggish stream. Section after section plunged into the morass, and ropes were brought up for the river crossing. Slosh! Slosh! Then into the icy cold water. On all sides the din of battle—the staccato rattle of machine-guns, the whirr and swish of the Brens and every now and then—boomph! A mortar shell was on its way. Right Spirit There Trouble, in the shape of a quagmire, reared its head on the far side of the stream. From the ankles the mud encased the knees, the thighs, the waist. It seemed impossible the men could extricate themselves, but they did. They grasped at mangrove branches, they heaved on the rope, they toiled and pulled like demons. Black almost from head to foot. But across, and with rifles and tommyguns practically unsoiled.

Once over, there came the sharp dash up the bank, with the automatic weapons barking defiance at the little yellow men, still, theoretically, coming on in their hordes. But our own lads were fit and ready for the final assault—mud, river and crawling notwithstanding. They had specialised in in-fighting, and now that the Brens and mortars were silent they were eager to mix it. Came the order to charge, and blood-curdling yells signified that the bayonets were doing their work. It was a fitting climax to a really fine piece of tactical co-ordination.' Its purpose, according to the staff officer in charge, was to demonstrate speed in action, leadership and advancing under fire and movement. It did all that and more. It showed that insurmountable obstacle are two words not contained in the vocabulary of the New Zealand soldier, 1942-43 vintage. Observers came away feeling that in the camps throughout the length and breadth of the country the aggressive spirit has I never been stronger. Adapted to the new and unorthodox ways of our enemies, that spirit may prove irresistible.