A REAR-GUARD ACTION
In a couple of hours' time the march was continued in the darkness. The
men lurched from side to side, with brains too fagged to control their
feet. The Company was sent out to act as flank-guard on the top of the
crest beneath which the column was moving. This movement was very
tiresome, as they had to move over broken country in an _extended_
formation, and to keep up with the column which was moving in _close_
formation along the road. To compensate for this they were able to fill
their haversacks with a peculiarly sweet kind of apple.
Later in the morning they emerged from the close country into the
typical open plains of France, covered with corn and vegetables. About
five or six miles of this, and then the darker greens of pine and fir
forests appeared in view.
The General Staff had selected this as the site of yet another
rear-guard action. One of the other Brigades in the Division was already
busily engaged in constructing a line of trenches not more than a
hundred yards in front of the woods. To their front the view was
uninterrupted, offering a field of fire unbroken by the least suspicion
of cover from view or fire.
The artillery was no doubt concealed in the woods behind. The men were
doing their work with a quick, noiseless efficiency that would have made
you very proud if you could have seen them.
Soon after the Column had passed into the woods, the noise of the guns
was heard. The Subaltern could imagine the whole scene as vividly as if
he could see it: the van-guard of the German Advanced Guard suddenly
"held up" by the bursting of the British shells; the hasty deployment of
the German cavalry; the further "holding up" of the main-guard of the
Advanced Guard while a reconnaissance was being carried out with the
help, perhaps, of a "Taube." Remember that the Germans must have been
daily, almost hourly, expecting the Allies to make a determined attempt
to check their continued advance, and must have been very nervous of
walking into some trap. Therefore the Commander of the German Advanced
Guard would have to discover very exactly the nature of the resistance
in front of him before the Officer commanding the main body--some miles
behind, of course--could decide what force it would be necessary to
deploy in order to dislodge the enemy from his position.
This is no easy matter. What the retreating army is fighting for is
time--time to get clean away. Consequently, if the Officer commanding
the advancing army deploys a larger force than is necessary, he grants
his opponent the very thing that he wants--time, since the deployment
of, say, a Division is a very lengthy operation, occupying at least
three hours. On the other hand, if he details too small a force for the
work, his attack is held in check, and more time than ever is wasted in
reinforcing it in a measure sufficient to press home the attack.
The Subaltern imagined the long wait while the shells shrieked over the
heads of the infantry towards an enemy as yet unseen. Then the enemy
shells would begin to feel their way to the thin brown line of trenches,
and under cover of their fire the infantry, now deployed into fighting
formations, would "advance." Then our men would begin firing, firing
with cool precision. The landscape would soon be dotted with grey ants.
Machine-guns would cut down whole lines of grey ants with their
"plop-plop-plop." Shrapnel would burst about whole clouds of grey ants,
burying them in brown clouds of dust. Finally, the directing brain would
decide that it was time to cut and run. The artillery fire would be
increased tenfold, and under cover of it the brown ants would scamper
from the trenches and disappear into the green depths of the woods. Soon
the firing would cease. The retreating party would have got safely,
cleanly away, having gained many precious hours for the main body, and
having incidentally inflicted severe losses on the enemy. The latter,
have nothing left to do but to re-form (thus losing still more time),
would then continue his pursuit weaker and further from his opponent
than he had been before.
At last, striking a clearing, the town of Villiers Cotterets was
reached. There was nothing to distinguish it from a score of other small
agricultural centres through which the Column had passed. The only thing
the Subaltern remembers about this town is that he handed a French
peasant woman there a couple of francs on the odd chance that she would
bring back some chocolate. She did not.
On the further side of the town the Brigade Transport, with steaming
cookers, was massed ready to give the troops a midday meal. This was an
innovation greatly appreciated. Such a thing as a meal in the middle of
the day had not occurred since the days of Iron.