Twenty-four hours later, a little group of officers sat in a roomy
dug-out. Major Kemp was there, with his head upon the plank table,
fast asleep. Bobby Little, who had neither eaten nor slept since the
previous dawn, was nibbling chocolate, and shaking as if with ague. He
had gone through a good deal. Waddell sat opposite to him, stolidly
devouring bully-beef out of a tin with his fingers. Ayling reclined
upon the floor, mechanically adjusting a machine-gun lock, which he
had taken from his haversack. Captain Wagstaffe was making cocoa over
a Tommy's Cooker. He looked less the worse for wear than the others,
but could hardly have been described as spruce in appearance. The
whole party were splashed with mud and soaked to the skin, for it had
rained hard during the greater part of the night. They were all sick
for want of food and sleep. Moreover, all had seen unusual sights. It
was Sunday morning.
Presently Wagstaffe completed his culinary arrangements, and poured
out the cocoa into some aluminium cups. He touched Major Kemp on the
shoulder.
"Have some of this, Major," he said.
The burly Kemp roused himself and took the proffered cup gratefully.
Then, looking round, he said--
"Hallo, Ayling! You arrived? Whereabouts in the line were you?"
"I got cut off from the Battalion in the advance up Central Boyau,
sir," said Ayling. "Everybody had disappeared by the time I got the
machine-guns over the parapet. However, knowing the objective, I
pushed on towards the Church Tower."
"How did you enjoy yourself passing Fosse Eight?" inquired Captain
Wagstaffe.
"Thank you, we got a dose of our own medicine--machine-gun fire, in
enfilade. It was beastly."
"We also noticed it," Wagstaffe intimated. "That was where poor
Sinclair got knocked out. What did you do?"
"I signalled to the men to lie flat for a bit, and I did the same. I
did not know that it was possible for a human being to lie as flat as
I lay during that quarter of an hour. But it was no good. The guns
must have been high up on the Fosse: they had excellent command. The
bullets simply greased all round us. I could feel them combing out my
hair, and digging into the ground underneath me."
"What were your sensations, _exactly_?" asked Kemp.
"I felt just as if an invisible person were tickling me," replied
Ayling, with feeling.
"So did I," said Kemp. "Go on."
"I heard one of my men cry out that he was hit," continued Ayling,
"and I came to the conclusion that we would have a better chance as
moving targets than as fixed; so I passed the word to get up and
move forward steadily, in single file. Ultimately we struck a stray
communication-trench, into which we descended with as much dignity as
possible. It led us into some quarries."
"Off our line altogether."
"So I learned from two Companies of an English regiment which were
there, acting as reserve to a Brigade which was scrapping somewhere in
the direction of Hulluch; so I realised that we had worked too far to
the right. We moved out of the quarries and struck over half-left, and
ultimately found the Battalion, a very long way ahead, in what I took
to be a Bosche third-line trench, facing east."
"Right! Fosse Alley," said Kemp. "You remember it on the map?"
"Yes, I do now," said Ayling. "Well, I planted myself on the right
flank of the Battalion with-two guns, and sent Sergeant Killick along
with the other two to the left. You know the rest."
"I'm not sure that I do," said the Major. "We were packed so tight in
that blooming trench that it was quite impossible to move about, and
I only saw what was going on close around me. Did you get much
machine-gun practice?"
"A fair amount, sir," replied Ayling, with professional satisfaction.
"There was a lot of firing from our right front, so I combed out all
the bushes and house-fronts I could see; and presently the firing died
down, but not before I had had one gun put out of action with a bullet
through the barrel-casing. After dark things were fairly quiet, except
for constant alarms, until the order came to move back to the next
trench."
Major Kemp's fist came down upon the plank table.
"Move back!" he exclaimed angrily. "Just so! To capture Fosse Alley,
hold it all day and half the night, and then be compelled to move
back, simply because we had pushed so far ahead of any other Division
that we had no support on either flank! It was tough--rotten--hellish!
Excuse my exuberance. 'You all right, Wagstaffe?"
"Wonderful, considering," replied Wagstaffe. "I was mildly gassed by
a lachrymous shell about two o'clock this morning, but nothing to
signify."
"Did your respirator work?"
"I found that in the heat of the moment I had mislaid it."
"What did you do?"
"I climbed on to the parapet and sat there. It seemed the healthiest
spot under the circumstance: anyhow, the air was pure. When I
recovered I got down. What happened to 'A,' Bobby? I heard rumours,
but hoped--"
He hesitated.
"Go on," he said abruptly; and Bobby, more composed now, told his
tale.
"A" Company, it appeared, had found themselves clinging grimly to the
section of Fosse Alley which they had captured, with their left flank
entirely in the air. Presently came an order. Further forward still,
half-right, another isolated trench was being held by a portion of
the Highland Brigade. These were suffering cruelly, for the German
artillery had the range to a nicety, and convenient sapheads gave the
German bombers easy access to their flanks. It is more than likely
that this very trench had been constructed expressly for the
inveiglement of a too successful attacking party. Certainly no troops
could live in it for long. "A" Company were to go forward and support.
Captain Blaikie, passing word to his men to be ready, turned to Bobby.
"I'm a morose, dour, monosyllabic Scot, Bobbie," he said; "but this
sort of thing bucks me up."
Next moment he was over the parapet and away, followed by his Company.
In that long, steadily-advancing line were many of our friends.
Mucklewame was there, panting heavily, and cannily commending his soul
to Providence. Messrs. Ogg and Hogg were there, shoulder to shoulder.
M'Ostrich, the Ulster visionary, was there, six paces ahead of any
other man, crooning some Ironside canticle to himself. Next behind him
came the reformed revolutionary, M'Slattery.
Straightway the enemy observed the oncoming reinforcements, and
shrapnel began to fly. The men pressed on, at a steady double now.
M'Ostrich was the first to go down. Game to the last, he waved
encouragement to his mates with a failing arm as they passed over his
body.
"Come along, boys!" cried Captain Blaikie, suddenly eloquent. "There
is the trench! The other lads are waiting for you. Come along!
Charge!"
The men needed no further bidding. They came on--with a ragged
cheer--and assuredly would have arrived, but for one thing. Suddenly
they faltered, and stopped dead.
Captain Blaikie turned to his faithful subaltern panting behind him.
"We are done in, Bobby," he said. "Look! Wire!"
He was right. This particular trench, it was true, was occupied by our
friends; but it had been constructed in the first instance for the use
of our enemies. Consequently it was wired, and heavily wired, upon the
side facing the British advance.
Captain Blaikie, directing operations with a walking-stick as if the
whole affair were an Aldershot field-day, signalled to the Company to
lie down, and began to unbutton a leather pouch in his belt.
"You too, Bobby," he said; "and don't dare to move a muscle until you
get the order!"
He strolled forward, pliers in hand, and began methodically to cut a
passage, strand by strand, through the forest of wire.
Then it was that invisible machine-guns opened, and a very gallant
officer and Scotsman fell dead upon the field of honour.
Half an hour later, "A" Company, having expended all their ammunition
and gained never a yard, fell back upon the rest of the Battalion.
Including Bobby Little (who seemed to bear a charmed life), they did
not represent the strength of a platoon.
"I wonder what they will do with us next," remarked Mr. Waddell, who
had finished his bully.
"If they have any sense of decency," said Major Kemp, "they will send
us back to rest a bit, and put another Division in. We have opened the
ball and done a lot of dirty work for them, and have lost a lot of men
and officers. Bed for me, please!"
"I should be more inclined to agree with you, Major," said Wagstaffe,
"if only we had a bit more to show for our losses."
"We haven't done so badly," replied Kemp, who was growing more
cheerful under the influence of hot cocoa. "We have got the
Hohenzollern, and the Bosche first line at least, and probably Fosse
Eight. On the right I hear we have taken Loos. That's not so dusty for
a start. I have not the slightest doubt that there will be a heavy
counter-attack, which we shall repel. After that we shall attack
again, and gain more ground, or at least keep the Bosche exceedingly
busy holding on. That is our allotted task in this entertainment--to
go on hammering the Hun, occupying his attention and using up his
reserves, regardless of whether we gain ground or lose it, while our
French pals on the right are pushing him off the map. At least, that
is my theory: I don't pretend to be in touch with the official mind.
This battle will probably go on for a week or more, over practically
the same ground. It will be dreadful for the wounded, but even if
we only hold on to what we have gained already, we are the winners.
Still, I wish we could have consolidated Fosse Alley before going to
bed."
At this moment the Colonel, stooping low in the tiny doorway, entered
the dug-out, followed by the Adjutant. He bade his supporters
good-morning.
"I am glad to find that you fellows have been able to give your men a
meal," he said. "It was capital work getting the ration-carts up so
far last night."
"Any news, Colonel?" asked Major Kemp.
"Most decidedly. It seems that the enemy have evacuated Fosse Alley
again. Nobody quite knows why: a sudden attack of cold feet, probably.
Our people command their position from Fosse Eight, on their left
rear, so I don't altogether blame them. Whoever holds Fosse Eight
holds Fosse Alley. However, the long and short of it all is that the
Brigade are to go forward again this evening, and reoccupy Fosse
Alley. Meanwhile, we consolidate things here."
Major Kemp sighed.
"Bed indefinitely postponed!" he remarked resignedly.