But this was only preliminary work cut out for the tank to do. I had special instructions and a main objective. This was a sugar refinery. It was a one-storied building of brick and wood with a tiled roof. It had been established as a sugar refinery by the Germans before the war and when this occasion arose blossomed as a fortress with a gun aimed out of every window. To allow it to remain standing in hostile hands would mean that the trenches we had won could be constantly battered. Its removal was most desirable. To send infantry against it would have involved huge losses in life. The tank was deemed the right weapon. It was. And largely because “Razzle Dazzle” took matters into her own hands. The truth is she ran away. We rocked and plowed out of the trenches and went swaying toward the refinery. I ordered the round-top sealed. And we beat the refinery to the attack with our guns. But they had seen us coming and every window facing our way developed a working gun. There were about sixteen such windows. They all blazed at us. My notion had been to circle the “sugar mill” with “Razzle Dazzle” and shoot it up from all sides. We were getting frightfully rapped by the enemy fire, but there was apparently nothing heavy enough to split the skin of the wild, old girl. Our own fire was effective. We knocked out all the windows and the red-tiled roof was sagging. As I say, my notion was to circle the “mill” and I gave orders accordingly. But the “Razzle Dazzle’s” chauffeur looked at me in distress. “The steering gear’s off, sir,” said he. “Stop her then and we’ll let them have it from here,” I ordered. He made several frantic motions with the mechanism and said: “I can’t stop her, either.” And the “Razzle Dazzle” carried out her own idea of attack. She banged head-on into the “mill.” She went right through a wide doorway, making splinters of the door, she knocked against concrete pillars, supports and walls, smashing everything in her way and bowled out of the other side just as the roof crashed in and apparently crushed and smothered all the artillery men beneath it. On the way through, the big, powerful old girl bucked and rocked and reared until we men and the black cat inside her were thrown again and again into a jumble, the cat scratching us like a devil in her frenzy of fear. Closed up in the tank as we were, we could hear the roar and crash of the falling “mill,” and from my observation port-hole I could observe that it was most complete. The place had been reduced to a mere heap. Not a shot came out of it at us.