It was two o'clock in the
morning when we wearily crept into Ana.
The expedition to capture the gold convoy was to start at four, so after
two hours' sleep I bundled into one of the Rolls-Royces and the column
swung out into the road. Through the mist loomed the sinister,
businesslike outlines of the armored car ahead of me. Captain Carr of the
Thirteenth L.A.M.B.'s[1] was in command of the expedition. Unless we were
in action or in a locality where we momentarily expected to be under fire
from rifle or machine-gun, the officer commanding the car and his N.C.O.
stood in the well behind the turret, steadying themselves with leather
loops riveted to its sides. On long runs the tool-boxes on either side of
the well formed convenient seats. When the car became engaged the crew
would get inside, pulling the steel doors shut. The slits through which
the driver and the man next him looked could be made still smaller when
the firing was heavy, and the peep-holes at either side and in the rear
had slides which could be closed. The largest aperture was that around the
tube of the gun. Splinters of lead came in continuously, and sometimes
chance directed a bullet to an opening. One of our drivers was shot
straight through the head near Ramadie. The bottom of the car was of wood,
and bullets would ricochet up through it, but to have had it made of steel
would have added too much weight.
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