“Gas, Sir, Gas!” 
A British Male Mark V tank, identical to the one used by Mitchell during the Battle of Amiens
April 24, 1918. The forest of Bois-l'Abbe in France. Three tanks lay covered in camouflaged tarpaulin deep inside the woods. Three tanks crews of seven to eight men lay sleeping a short distance from their vehicles, completely undefended.
Tank commander F. Mitchell was woken just before dawn by an orderly shaking him violently. “Gas, sir, gas!” he whispered, before rushing off to wake the others. Mitchell grabbed his gas mask and slipped it over his head, but the foul odour kept coming. His breath came with difficulty and his eyes were swollen shut. He was stricken with panic- it was clearly too late. His gas mask wasn’t working. He was going to die.
And then he realised he had forgotten to attach his nose-clip.
Holding hands with his Section Commander and the orderly, he stumbled through the pre-dawn light toward where his Mrk. V tank was camouflaged. Shells exploded nearby with massive bangs as a few wounded men straggled back toward camp with depressing news: Mitchell had new orders. He was being deployed directly to the trenches- support the rapidly falling infantry line at Cachy, or die trying.
The three tanks burst from the woods at full speed and began the advance toward the allied trenches in Cachy. But soon after arriving at the Allied infantry line, Mitchell saw something that would cause him a great deal of pain.
Three squat toad-like forms were advancing backed up by several waves of infantry. And all three of them, painted on in vivid relief, bore the stylized black cross of the German army.
…
A German A7V tank, the only tank ever actively used by the German Empire during the First World War.
Mitchell’s six-pounder gunners crouched near the floor as the tanks trundled back and forth across the cratered terrain. A first sighting shot burst a short distance from the enemy tank. Then a second, just to the left.
And suddenly, Mitchell’s tank was filled with a myriad of sparks, clanging metal and cracks of bullet against armour. His crew dropped to the ground, hiding from the armour-piercing bullets. The driver drove his crew straight on, running from the furious hail-storm of metal. Mitchell managed to duck into a crater just out of range, and turned his tank so his left gunner could take a shot.
Sensing an opportunity, the driver broke the first rule of tank combat: never stop moving. The breach was justified, and a 6-pounder shell slammed into the turret of the enemy tank. One shot, that was all it took.
One shot, and the enemy stopped moving.
And then, the gunner fired a second shot. And then a third. All three slammed into the enemy. Mitchell signalled to his machine-gun operator, and he poured wave after wave of bullets at the retreating figures.
The two other enemy tanks began advancing. If they both concentrated fire on Mitchell’s tank, he would be knocked out instantly. His gunner, elated at his previous victory, fired a few sighting shells. To his relief, the tanks began falling back, leaving Mitchell as the sole possessor of the field.
This position had numerous disadvantages. Being the sole possessor also made you sole target for artillery.The German cannons made savage attempts to wipe Mitchell off the map as his tank pushed onwards back to the tranches.
Before Mitchell had made his escape, another German A7V emerged near the city of Villers-Bretonneux and opened with a trio of shells. Mitchell tested his new tactics, and ordered a turn to the left, giving his left gunner another shot. The tank turned, and turned, and continued to turn until the left gunner could no longer see his opponent.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” roared Mitchell at his driver. The bewildered driver tried to turn again, but to no avail. Mitchell glanced out the window and saw one of his tank tracks doubled high in the air. The artillery had hit at last, and one of his tracks had been blown off. Mitchell decided to quit, and the engine stopped.
Gingerly, Mitchell exited the tank. Only three men exited behind him. They made their way back to the trenches, dodging several bursts of machine-gun fire on the way. Soon, the four crewmen arrived at the parapet of the Allied trenches.
Their eyes were bloodshot and they were covered in dirt and grime. The inhabitants stared up at Mitchell and his crew like they were phantoms from beyond the grave.
“Take your bayonets out of the way!” he shouted- and all three tumbled into the trenches.
