Heart of War (63 page)

An old soldier came in, chewing on a dead cigar – ‘Take these men to the supply sergeant and have them fitted out. Then they go to the Recruit Barrack, beds 47 and 48, both in Corporal Jalnik's squad. Then take them to the mess hall and have Cookie give 'em some chow. They're starving … least, the Chief is. Don't suppose you've ever known what it is to be even a bit hungry, eh, Harvard?'

Johnny thought carefully and said, ‘No, sergeant. Not yet.'

The Western Front

The headquarters of the 1st Battalion the Weald Light Infantry were in the ruins of Feuchy, beside the Scarpe on the Arras front, with B and D Companies in the front line of trenches, and A and C in reserve. Most of the brigade machine guns were massed on slightly rising ground in the south sector of the front, under brigade control, where they could enfilade the brigade's front. The brigade had two battalions up, two back. The 1st Wealds were left forward, the 9th Leinsters right forward, the 11th Devons left rear, and the 24th South Wales Borderers right rear. The corps had occupied these and many more trenches of the area between April 6th and 10th, when patrols had revealed the unbelievable – the Germans had abandoned them without a fight, slipping off eastward in the night.

Lieutenant Colonel Quentin Rowland was in his battalion headquarters dugout, until 1915 the cellar of one of the little village's larger houses. He was sitting at a makeshift table, puffing at his pipe, half listening to the soft brogue of Father Caffin, just outside the dugout, telling a story to the battalion runners. ‘So Doctor Geoghegan took his little black bag and drove the trap round to Mrs Murphy's cottage and asked, “An' how's the diarrhoea this morning, Mrs Murphy?” and Mrs Murphy sez, ‘A little thicker, thank you, Doctor.'” The soldiers chuckled, the priest began another story, Quentin frowned … damned Irish … damned Germans … damned war … He took his pipe from his mouth and said, ‘The Boches must have known about our offensive and just pulled back, so that we'd hit empty air. Clever swine.'

His adjutant, Lieutenant Archie Campbell, looked up from the Army form he was filling in, reporting the number of skilled blacksmiths and plumbers they had in the battalion, and said, ‘Yes, sir … There wasn't much secrecy about that French push … or ours, since we were conforming.'

‘Pity we didn't patrol harder,' Quentin said. ‘Then perhaps we'd have caught them on the move … with one foot off the ground, so to speak.'

Archie said nothing. His commanding officer often talked more or less to himself.

Quentin said, ‘Well, they won't slip away next time we attack. They'll have to hold the Hindenburg line.'

‘It'll be a tough nut to crack, sir,' Archie said. ‘Concrete machine-gun posts, tunnels fifty feet down for the men to shelter in until our bombardment lifts. That last Intelligence report from interrogation of P.O.W.s was very interesting.'

Quentin said, ‘One thing I don't understand, is why they didn't include that little rise on the right of our sector, Hill 44, in their line. They could have done it perfectly easily, but … '

A series of deafening crashes shook the ground about them. Bricks from ruined walls tumbled onto the cellar's corrugated iron and earth roof. Five in the afternoon, Archie thought, strange time for the Hun to have a hate. The colonel was on his feet, reaching for his steel helmet. His gas mask was already slung on his chest, the leather Sam Browne buckled, the Webley .455 in its holster. ‘Better take a look see,' the colonel said. ‘Come along.'

He walked up the cellar steps until his head and shoulders were above ground. Archie quailed a moment, then followed and stood beside him. All round, shells were bursting with a continuous roar, fountains of mud rising, falling back, splashing on the heavy earth. ‘Hitting our front lines,' the C.O. muttered.

The telephone in the cellar rang and Archie ran back down inside, glad of the excuse – ‘Hullo … battalion headquarters here.' It was Captain Kellaway, commanding B Company – ‘Heavy artillery fire on our positions, Campbell … and now the Germans are assaulting across our front, aiming at D, I think … I'm putting up the S.O.S. Very lights.'

‘How many enemy attacking?' Archie shouted, for he could hardly hear above the sudden din.

‘Looks like a battalion, at least. It's … '

The line went dead. Archie swore and ran up the steps. ‘B Company reports a German battalion attacking D, sir,' he said. ‘There goes the S.O.S !' A red Very light rose and burst and hung in the bright sky, followed by a green and another green. The British artillery began to fire, shells of light and medium calibre whistling overhead.

‘Why aren't the machine guns firing?' the C.O. said. He raised his binoculars, stared a moment, then muttered, ‘I can see Germans. The whole hill's gone … Here, we'd better get forward.'

With Archie at his heels he ran across a patch of open ground and dropped into the communication trench. The German artillery had blocked them off on all sides, so no reinforcements could come forward. Well, they'd taken the words out of his mouth … staged an attack to correct what experience had shown them was a tactical fault in their line.

C Company, now commanded by his nephew, Boy Rowland, was standing to, as he passed. Boy was there, white faced, hands shaking but face set, standing on the firestep, looking forward.

‘Watch your right flank, Boy,' Quentin snapped. ‘They've got Hill 44 … probably wiped out all the machine guns … the swine must have attacked before their barrage lifted.'

‘I think they walked right into it,' Boy said. ‘Must have lost a lot of men to their own guns, but they were into our machine guns before anyone was sure that they'd left their trenches.'

‘Hold tight,' Quentin said, ‘they want Feuchy, and they're not going to get it.'

He hurried on up the muddy trench, with its dugouts all facing the wrong way, but deep, well revetted and roofed, and still smelling of German tobacco, German socks, German garlic sausage. Ten minutes later, struggling past many wounded lying in the bottom of the trench, Caffin and Campbell at his heels, 5.9 shells still crashing and exploding all round, he found Kellaway on the firestep, a rifle in his hand, aiming and firing at unseen targets. He scrambled up to join him, and as soon as he could see over the top, gasped, ‘My God!'

The ground in front was full of Germans, coming with bayonets agleam, groups here, running forward, groups there tumbling into shell holes for cover. A single machine
gun from the Leinsters had seen what was happening and opened fire across the front. Archie Campbell was at his side, thrusting a rifle into his hands. He rested it on the sandbags and began to fire.

‘They've overrun D, sir,' Kellaway shouted, between the rapid crack crack of his shots. All along the trench the soldiers were firing, not the murderous rapid fire of the old regulars of Mons and Le Cateau, but good enough. Five Lewis guns rattled in short, vicious bursts.

Ten Germans reached the British wire, which had been cut in several places by the savage bombardment. Campbell got one, Kellaway another, and Quentin had a third in his sights when a potato masher bomb, landing just in front of him, sent splinters clanging off his helmet, half stunned him and threw mud into his eyes. He fell back into the trench, wiped his eyes, picked up his rifle and rejoined the others. In the minute or so that he had been down, the German attack had withered. The few visible were dead, hanging over the wire, kneeling with their faces in the mud, lying on their backs, arms thrown out … one crawling blindly on hands and knees, his entrails dragging. A soldier to Quentin's right took aim and fired. The crawling man dropped, at peace.

Quentin said, ‘Take a look round, Kellaway … Plenty of ammunition?'

‘For a few hours, sir,' Kellaway said.

‘Just hold hard. They'll attack again … Come along, Campbell. Got to find out what happened to D.'

Swine, he thought, as he worked his way along the trench, attacking without a real barrage, at five in the afternoon … clever swine. That machine gun from the Leinsters had saved their bacon, in B Company … too late to save D, apparently.

They came to a knot of men facing a traverse, rifles aimed at the point where the trench itself turned at the traverse. Lieutenant Fred Stratton was there, with a sergeant and half a dozen private soldiers. Two dead Germans lay in the trench bottom, near the traverse. He said, ‘What's the matter, Stratton?'

Stratton did not move. He was pressed back against the parados, his revolver drawn and aimed, his eyes never leaving the traverse ahead, ‘Germans in D Company trenches, sir,' he said briefly over his shoulder. ‘Those two came on and
were round the traverse almost before we knew it. We got them, but …'

A group of potato masher bombs, four or five almost together, whirled over the traverse and landed in the trench. As they exploded the sergeant dropped, screaming, a private soldier fell back against the parapet, slowly slipping down. A German officer came darting round the traverse, Mauser blazing, soldiers hard on his heels. Quentin whipped up his rifle and fired. The officer fell. German bullets, fired from the hip, smacked by Quentin. Stratton's revolver was barking, the heavy lead bullets slamming into the Germans at five paces. Quentin shouted, ‘Bayonets, Wealds, bayonets!' and rushed forward, stabbing fiercely. For a few moments the bay was a scene of total turmoil, men pushing, shoving, stabbing, shooting, falling, dying in the confined space. More Germans stormed round the traverse. From the other direction Captain Kellaway arrived with a dozen men, each man's pockets full of Mills bombs. They threw them over the traverse into the next bay, where the Germans were coming from. As they burst in a long boo-boo-boo-boom-boom, the Wealds finished off the Germans in their own bay. No more came round the traverse.

‘Any wire here?' Quentin asked.

Stratton said, ‘Some, sir. We were going to do some rewiring out there tonight.'

‘Bring some rolls here. Block the trench at the traverse, where you can cover it … Watch your reserve trenches, Kellaway, they may try to come in through there … Any communication at all with D?'

‘No, sir … Battalion headquarters called me to ask where you were. They say they can't get D by any means.'

‘Assume they've been wiped out, then,' Quentin said.

He walked back along the trench, thinking. His right front company had gone, his left front holding, but with difficulty. German artillery was still isolating the battalion from help … they'd have to help themselves. Could he get through to the guns? Counter attack with A and C, to recapture D's position? … Do it from B's area, laterally along the trenches, not up across open ground from the reserve area?

‘Sir … sir!' he stopped, looking up. It was a corporal, covered in mud. He must know the man … couldn't think of his name. The corporal said, ‘Captain Rowland sent me to tell
you the Germans are in behind us, sir.' He was gasping, short of breath, and had obviously been running and struggling forward for some time.

Quentin said, ‘Where's the nearest field telephone?'

‘Here, sir.'

He seized the handle and cranked, sitting on the upturned ammunition box where the telephone had been set up, its wires running up and out over the open ground to the rear. ‘Hullo … Hullo … C Company … C Company … ' No answer. ‘ A Company.'

A tinny voice answered, ‘A Company.'

‘Colonel Rowland … C reports Germans behind them. Go over and arrange to help C cut them off … Send a runner back to the Devons, telling them what's happening, and for them to tell brigade.'

‘Right, sir … The shell fire's very heavy to our rear and our left.'

‘It's all round us,' Quentin said grimly, ‘but we've got to try to get a message out. It's vital. Do you understand?'

‘Yes, sir.'

Quentin put the instrument back in its cradle.

The battalion headquarters position in the cellar was no good now – too close to the Germans in the old D Company area. The Boches might well be actually in it by now. Swine, probably drinking his whisky and eating his bully at this moment. What was best to do? Cut off on three sides by Germans, and on the fourth by the Scarpe. No communication with the artillery, so they could only fire on prearranged S.O.S. targets, on Very light call … but the S.O.S. targets might not be appropriate now … Well, brigade must be getting an inkling of what was going on from the Leinsters, at least … But then, it would take them hours to confirm it, make a plan, issue orders, act. Meanwhile, the only thing was … dig in … hold tight … what was the motto of the old 57th Foot, the Middlesex, their colonel's rallying cry at Albuera? ‘Die hard, 57th!' That would serve the Wealds now.

But was that really the best course of action open to him? To hang grimly on, in defence? What were the Germans thinking? They had made a surprise attack, and had succeeded, at least in part. They must be in process of reorganizing themselves. It was near dusk … They should be
attacked, as soon as possible … Artillery support – nil. But wasn't that just how they had achieved their surprise, just now?

He hurried toward B Company and found Kellaway at the same spot, but down in the trench, studying a map. He said, ‘Kellaway, I'm going to counter attack.'

Kellaway's eyes were dull with fatigue. ‘Yes, sir?'

‘Using your company and some of C and A … a platoon from each. At dusk.'

‘What will be our objective, sir?'

‘The positions the Germans came from – there.' He gestured to the east.

‘The Hindenburg line?' Kellaway said, his face falling.

‘Not the whole line, in depth. Just the outposts. They won't be well defended – the Germans never hold their front in strength and they certainly won't be now.'

An hour to dusk. It would take time to bring the platoons forward … warn A to send another platoon to take over these trenches, which B would be vacating when they assaulted … Couldn't afford to let the Boches think they'd got you down … ever, ever … had to fight back … kick 'em in the face. He found his pipe and tobacco pouch and lit up.