August 5th: Turtles 4(2) vs Porirua City 1(1)
Match Report by Zil

It was another absolutely miserable Anzac Day in Wellington. The rain was bucketing down. Amidst the early morning gloom, the grizzled old veterans stood to attention in front of the war memorial. They'd gathered there to salute their fallen comrades from long ago. Two of them stood together, both leaning heavily on their walking sticks. Their teammates were all gone. As the Last Post rang out, ex-Sergeant Guthrie and ex-Corporal Wilkinson silently reminisced on the many memorable battles they'd fought alongside their old mates all those years ago as members of the famous First Turtles Regiment…

The list of great battles of World War I makes for sombre reading. The names have become engraved in the collective consciousness. Mons, the Marne, Ypres, the Somme, Verdun, Passchendaele, Amiens… all bywords for great human suffering and loss. Often overlooked in such 'exalted' company is another series of battles fought in equally appalling conditions, a series of battles notable for incredible swings between attack and defence, for tactics bordering on both genius and the naďve, for stalemate, defeat and victory; but in the end, battles synonymous with Allied triumph in the face of seemingly overwhelmingly superior opposition forces… the three famous Battles of Ben Burn Park.

Private Guthrie leaned against the side of the trench, toying with his rifle. He was heartily sick to death of this whole bloody war. The sporadic outbreaks of fighting appealed to his vicious warlike nature, but he'd had just about enough of the lack of sleep, the disgusting food, the filthy vermin, the mud. Especially the mud. It seemed like the First Turtles Regiment had been surrounded by mud for months. Having won several decisive battles in mid 1916, the Turtle advance had become mired in a sea of mud. The First Battle of Ben Burn Park had seen the worst of it. Against a renegade Waterside regiment, the opposing forces had fought each other to a standstill in dire conditions, as the thoroughly outgunned Waterside opposition made a late surge to seize an honourable 4-4 draw from an almost impossible position. How the result might have been different if the leader of the Allied forces on the Western Front, Lord Horatio Coppersmith, had been there to take overall command of Turtle operations, instead of relaying vital tactical decisions by carrier pigeon from the comfort of his cruise ship in the middle of the Mediterranean.

Appalling weather had then seen the cessation of hostilities, enabling most of the Turtles forces to head home on leave for a month of well earned recovery. Somehow the ceasefire message hadn't got through to Privates Kyne and Guthrie, resulting in them wandering out one Saturday into the middle of No Man's Land. Caught in the middle of an enemy barrage, Guthrie had only escaped by outsprinting the much slower Kyne, who'd suffered some terrible disabling leg injuries as a result. Safely back behind the lines, Private Guthrie had then gone home on leave for a week. How he'd enjoyed those brief moments of bliss back in the arms of his beloved… um, what was her name again? Helen? Linda? Megan? Oh, well, whatever her name was. He'd had a jolly good time shagging his brains out anyway, and once this damned war was over he was heading back for more of the same.

He'd only been back on duty a short time when the Second Battle of Ben Burn Park had broken out. An invading Stop Out Red Army force had swept across the drying battlefield and completely outmanoeuvred the Turtles. An initial Turtles onslaught had been repelled with ease and the Red Army had swept to a comfortable 4-2 victory, as this time Lord Coppersmith had conducted operations from the safety of his luxury tent safely behind Allied lines, on this occasion claiming a badly wounded knee as his excuse for once again failing to lead the troops from the front.

A sudden small movement caught Private Guthrie's eye. A group of three male rats had poked their noses out from behind a shattered crate. The target of their interest was clearly a decaying apple lying on the other side of the trench, giving off a sweet sickly odour as it slowly fermented. As the rats weighed up the risks of getting to the apple to indulge their alcoholic desires, Guthrie slowly raised his rifle into firing position. It looked like he could have a bit of fun here.

Suddenly the first rat broke cover. It was an old gray, decrepit looking rat, and seemed unable to run in a straight line. In fact it looked like it was already drunk. Before Guthrie could fire, the rat slipped over, cracked its shoulder, then rolled off the duckboard into a large puddle and quickly drowned. The second rat took advantage of the distraction to dash for the apple. Private Guthrie had never seen a more repellent specimen. It was a sickly ginger colour, with thinning fur on its head, and was clearly limping on its left hind leg. He put it out of its misery with a well aimed bullet that splattered its brains against the side of the trench. The last rat hesitated. It clearly wanted to get to the apple, but a smaller female rat, obviously its mate, holding onto two little baby rats, appeared to be trying to stop it from going. The male rat turned to the female, squeaked viciously at her, whacked her across the snout with his paw, then turned and sprinted across the duckboard. Guthrie briefly prolonged the enjoyment by allowing the rat to have a couple of juicy mouthfuls of rotten apple before blowing it to pieces and ending the whole amusing little saga.

His cynical smile of pleasure was replaced by a look of concern as his fellow troops started scrambling out into the trench. "What's up, sir?" he asked, as Captain Tims strode by.

The Captain stopped next to him and muttered, "Latest orders from Lord Coppersmith. The enemy have brought in reinforcements. Apparently that horde of maniacs from Porirua who kicked our butts 6-0 at the battle of Adventure Park have been called up to wipe us out once and for all. Orders are to counterattack and fight to the last man. We're going over the top in five minutes. Personally I think we're all doomed, but you know how it is, orders are orders." Suddenly he snapped to attention.

"Quite right, Captain. Orders are orders." The Turtles stared in surprise as supreme Allied commander Lord Horatio Coppersmith appeared from nowhere to address the assembled troops. "And your orders are to lead the First Turtles Regiment to a fabulous victory over these enemy scumbags. No tactics are necessary here. All that's needed is a superior formation. Okay, we'll start at the back. Private O'Donnell will be standing in for me. I'd love to be out there myself, of course, but it's this gammy leg, you know, still giving me plenty of gip. Sergeant Law and Corporal Kinsella can start in the middle of the defence with Captain Tims and Private Langridge on the flanks. The central formation will consist of… um, Captain Tims, who have we got left to go in the centre? Oh, never mind, any formation will do. Just keep the old ticker up by remembering what these heathen scum did to poor old Private Hambleton. True, he did somehow manage to shoot off his own leg, but I'm sure those Porirua bastards were ultimately responsible. Now, I shall personally be observing the battle from the sideline, but believe me, lads, I'll be right there with you in spirit. Now, line up and when I blow my whistle, get out there and don't come back. I mean, don't come back until you've won."

The Turtles assumed their positions, then Lord Coppersmith blew a piercing blast on his whistle. In unison, the Turtles troops scrambled up their ladders over the side of the trench, into the open and started running through a hail of enemy bullets toward the Porirua forces. The Third Battle of Ben Burn Park had begun…

Private Guthrie sprinted forward over the drying mud, swerving continuously to dodge the bullets, his fellow Turtles close behind. Suddenly they were on the enemy, and a fierce hand to hand combat broke out. The early ascendancy seemed to be with the Porirua troops, who were patently fitter, better equipped and better skilled than their counterparts but with the wind behind the Turtles and the enemy struggling in the bumpy conditions underfoot, the honours were being shared. Then in an inspired raid, Lance Corporal Calcott threaded a path through the enemy ranks, advanced towards a poorly guarded ammo dump and fired at it from the left flank. One satisfyingly loud explosion later and it was 1-0. Not long after that, Private Bevan also managed to get through on the left, but this time a Porirua sentry had been posted. The defender shaped to lob a grenade at Private Bevan, but a quick machine gun burst from the renowned Turtles attacker hit him in the chest, causing him to drop the grenade. He was still desperately trying to retrieve it when it exploded, blowing him to kingdom come. 2-0, and the Turtles were starting to sense an upset victory. But Porirua weren't done yet, and a concerted series of attacks resulted in a mortar shell cleaning out several Turtles defenders on its way to taking out the fence behind Private O’Donnell. 2-1, and Porirua looked to be right back in it.

Eventually both sides agreed to a truce, and the respective regiments retreated back under cover. After some brief refreshments and a rev up from Captain Tims consisting of him shouting, "Don't panic! Don't panic!" Lord Coppersmith blew his whistle again and the battle resumed. Initially it was all Porirua, as they charged onto attack and threatened to overwhelm the Turtles. Sergeant Law was at his belligerent best as he led the defence, plugging gaps and scything down attackers ceaselessly. But even he was left shocked as Private Holden proceeded to commit an offence grossly against the conventions of war, an offence that cannot be described here. The Porirua troops stood aghast as the voice of Lord Coppersmith could be heard through a loudhailer in the background going, "I never saw anything," and it was from this point on that the tide of the battle swung back in favour of the Turtles.

First of all, a long shot winged an enemy Lieutenant, and as he staggered about in the mud, Private Guthrie finished him off with a well timed bayonet through the ribs. 3-1. And soon after that, a remarkable shot on the run from Private Guthrie destroyed the Porirua morale, and they fled the field leaving their wounded behind them. 4-1, and the battle had turned into a rout. Just to cap off a brilliant effort, Private Guthrie waited until Orderly Grunter had stretchered all the disabled enemy troops to the sidelines, then lined them all up and shot them in a stunning coup de grace.

The Third Battle of Ben Burn Park was over. The heroic Turtles troops gathered to celebrate a famous win. But where was brave Lance Corporal Calcott? Slowly the tragic story unfolded. As Private Guthrie had fired the decisive shot, Calcott had stumbled over what appeared to be the body of a dead enemy soldier. As he'd picked himself up again, the treacherous enemy soldier had leapt to his feet, smashed Calcott in the jaw with a rifle butt, then bayoneted him in the back. In the aftermath of victory, the crestfallen Turtles observed a moment's silence for their fallen teammate…

Guthrie awoke with a start as the final speech concluded. The memories of those long ago days had been all too vivid. But now the Anzac service was over for another year. The large crowd started to thin out. Guthrie and Wilkinson turned to each other and shook hands.

Guthrie spoke first. "Well, Zil, it's been good to catch up with you again. Have a good flight back home to the States. Hope to see you again at next year's service."

"No probs, Donaldo," Wilkinson responded. "I'll be back. Look after yourself till then, old boy. Adios, amigo." He slowly turned to go.

As soon as Wilkinson had turned his back, Guthrie kicked his walking stick out from under him. Wilkinson had barely hit the ground in a crumpled heap before Guthrie was putting the boot in. "I'll teach you to 'adios amigo' me, you Yankee twat!" he muttered, giving Wilkinson another solid kick to the ribs.

Old habits die hard…

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