THE BATTLE OF AMIENS.
(_August 1st to August 27th, 1918._)
The Officers' Club on the hill above Doullens has a reputation, and we
could not pass it without discourtesy. It was a good dinner in its way,
and we continued our journey in a cheerful, though not hilarious, mood,
through novel country, seamed with brand-new trenches and with all
camps and houses heavily sandbagged against bombs.
At last we came at dusk to the railhead at Poulainville, discreetly
hidden under the trees at the side of the main road. Tanks were drawn
up under any scrap of cover--like frogs sheltering under mushrooms. The
staff work was superb. There were so many guides that it was quite two
hours before we found our own. Then we waited for the train. It was
quite dark, and it began to rain heavily.
The first train drew in at 10 P.M. The tanks displayed a more than
mulish obstinacy. Every possible defect developed, and we found it
difficult to reach the engines and effect the proper repairs on
account of the supplies which we had on board. My drivers, too, were
inexperienced. For two and a half hours[26] we struggled, coaxed, and
swore in the utter darkness (no lights were allowed) and the driving
rain, before the tanks were clear of the ramp.
We hoped feverishly that we should have better fortune with the second
train, which arrived at 3 A.M.... Dawn was breaking, when a wearied
R.T.O. told me with icy politeness that if my tank--the last--was not
off the train in ten minutes, the train would pull out with the tank
on board. The tank heard the remark. She had resisted our advances for
many, many hours, but now she "started up" as though in perfect tune,
and glided away down the ramp in the best of spirits.
We threw ourselves into the car, limp and soaked. During the night
the enemy had been shelling Amiens, four miles from our railhead,
with slow deliberation--vast explosions re-echoing among the wretched
houses. We drove through the suburbs of the city, silent as a Sunday
morning in London. Every third house along our road had been hit by
shell or bomb. Then we turned towards Albert, and four miles out came
to Querrieu Wood, where we discovered Company Headquarters, unshaven
and bedraggled, sleeping in the mud among the baggage. Only our cook,
humming a cheerful little tune, was trying nobly to fry some bacon over
a fire of damp sticks.
We had become a unit of the 5th Tank Brigade, which consisted of the
2nd, 8th, 15th, and 17th (Armoured Car) Battalions.[27] The Brigade
was concentrated behind the Australian Corps, and preparations were
already far advanced for a sudden heavy attack. How far the attack
would extend north and south of the Somme we did not know, but we
had heard that the Canadians were gathering on the right of the
Australians, and on our way we had passed their artillery on the road.
All the woods were choked with tanks, troops, and guns. The roads at
night were blocked with thick traffic. By day the roads were empty, the
railheads free--our "back area" as quiet as the front of the XIth Corps
in the summer of '16.
We were soon caught up in the complicated machinery of preparation.
I attended Brigade conferences without number. Ritchie's section, to
my sorrow, was transferred, temporarily, to the 3rd Carrier Company
(Roffey's), by way of simplification, and I received in exchange a
section of the 5th Carrier Company, equipped with sledges drawn by
decrepit tanks, which straggled into the wood on the evening of the
6th. The sledges were so badly designed that the cables by which
they were towed were always fraying and breaking. I refused to be
responsible for them, and began to collect in their place a job lot of
baggage and supply tanks.
My sections had no time to make themselves comfortable in Querrieu
Wood. On the 3rd, Ritchie, with his six tanks, left me for Roffey
and the Canadians. On the night of the 4th, Ryan crossed the Somme
and camouflaged among the ruins of Aubigny, moving to an orchard in
Hamelet, not two miles behind the line on the 6th; Harland reached
Fouilloy, the next village, on the same night; while Westbrook, on
the previous night, had joined the 8th Battalion in a small wood near
Daours. The majority of our tanks were still giving trouble, for they
were ancient overloaded Mk. IV.'s.
The attack was to be launched at dawn on the 8th. After mess on the 7th
I started from the wood with two old tanks, which had just arrived,
in a wild endeavour to rush them forward in time. It was dreary and
profitless work. Mac managed to reach the fringe of the battle before
the tank, which he was leading, finally broke down, while at three in
the morning I lost patience with mine and, leaving it to its commander,
returned to camp.
The night was fine, though misty. We waited nervously for some
indication that the enemy knew of the numberless tanks moving forward
softly, the thousands of guns which had never yet spoken, the Canadian
Divisions running[28] to the attack. But the night passed quietly.
There was only one brief flurry of gun-fire, when the irrepressible
Australians raided to discover if the enemy suspected.
At "zero" I was standing outside my tent. There was thick mist in the
valley. Through some freak of the atmosphere I could only just hear the
uneven rumble of the guns. It was so cold that I went in to breakfast.
Half an hour after "zero" my tank engineer and I set out in my car to
catch up with the battle, giving a lift on the way to a pleasant young
subaltern in the R.H.A. returning from leave, who was desperately eager
to find his battery. We left the car stupidly at Fouilloy,--we might
have taken it farther forward,--and tramping up the Villers-Brettoneux
road, cut across country, among invisible guns, through the mist, which
did not clear until we reached what had been the German trenches.
Apparently we had repeated Cambrai. Companies of prisoners,
stout-looking fellows, were marching back in fours. Here and there lay
German dead on the rough coarse grass, or in the shallow unconnected
trenches. A few hundred yards to our right was the Roman road that
runs west from Villers-Brettoneux. Light-armoured cars of the 17th
Battalion, with the help of tanks, were picking their way through the
shell-holes.
Just short of a large ruined village, Warfusée-Abancourt, straggling
along the road, and two miles from our old front line, we found a
little group of supply tanks with a couple of waggons. One waggon
suddenly had exploded on the trek forward. Nobody had heard the noise
of an approaching shell, and we suspected a trip-mine, with which the
battlefield was sown. We were discussing its fate when a large German
aeroplane swooped down and drove us to take cover. A British aeroplane
appeared, but the German forced it to land hurriedly. And the enemy
began to send over a few small shells.
We moved forward unobtrusively, Read, myself, and Puddy, my orderly,
to an inconspicuous knoll. There we lay in comfort, watching the
farther advance of the Australians. The country was quite open and
bare, though broken with unexpected valleys. A slight breeze had swept
away the mist, and the morning was bright and sunny. A few hundred
yards in front of us the Australians were walking forward nonchalantly,
led by a score of tanks. Occasionally a shell would fall among them
and they would scatter momentarily, but it was rarely that a man was
left upon the ground. From the valley beyond, which we could not see,
came the rattle of Lewis guns, and once or twice bursts from the enemy
machine-guns. To the left and behind us our field-guns, drawn up in the
open, were firing for dear life, and away to the right along a slight
dip a battery of field-guns was trotting forward. Overhead the sky was
loud with the noise of our aeroplanes, some flying low above the battle
and others glistening in the sun high among the clouds.
The Australians disappeared with the tanks over the skyline, and the
supporting infantry in little scattered bodies passed us, marching
forward cheerily over the rough grass. We were already three miles
within the enemy defences.
We pressed on northwards to the Cérisy Valley, which we knew had
been full of German field-guns. This deep gully, with steep grassy
sides, fringed with stunted trees, runs from the tiny village of
Cérisy-Gailly, on the south bank of the Somme, to Warfusée. Our gunners
had done their work with terrible thoroughness. The bottom of the
valley was so broken with shell-holes that it was barely possible to
drive a limber between them. Four or five of the enemy guns remained
desolate among a wild confusion of shattered waggons and dead horses.
A trembling pony, still harnessed to his dead fellow, was the only
survivor.
A hundred yards down the valley tanks were climbing the steep bank, and
the flag of a tank battalion fluttered bravely on the crest.
We crossed the valley, toiled up the farther slope, and munched some
sandwiches on the hill, where sappers were calmly marking out new
trenches. At a little distance a shabby Australian field-battery was in
action.
In a few minutes we saw something of the display and gallantry of war.
A battery of Horse Artillery picked its way across the valley. The
men were clean, inconceivably clean, and smart. Their horses' coats
gleamed. The harness shone and glittered. The guns were newly painted.
Never could a battery more splendidly arrayed have entered the plebeian
turmoil of a battle. A series of swift commands and the little guns,
with their ridiculous bark, were firing impudently. The Australians
were overshadowed--their horses were unkempt and the guns dirty--but
they had got there first.[29]
We were reminded by a salvo, which burst nicely just beyond the
Australian guns, that, although in this particular battle we had little
to do, the enemy could not be expected to realise our position. So
we finished our lunch, and walking along the crest for half a mile,
dropped down into the valley again, and came upon Ryan's section
engaged in refilling the 13th Battalion. Westbrook's tanks were coming
in one by one--they had all had their mechanical troubles.
So far as we could learn from our friends in the valley, the huge
surprise attack had been a cheap and complete success--south of the
Somme. The thick mist at dawn had protected the tanks, while it had not
been dense enough seriously to hamper the drivers. The advance had been
rapid, and only in one or two villages had the enemy shown any resolute
defence.
But north of the Somme it was clear that something was wrong, for the
enemy were shelling mercilessly the southern bank of the river. Even
the Cérisy Valley was harrassed, and we were privileged to watch a
brigade of artillery gallop, team by team, over the crest, through the
smoke of the shells, down into the comparative safety of the valley.
The German gunners must have rejoiced at the target, but they made
poor use of their opportunities, for only one horse was hit; the team
swerved as the shell burst, and, galloping madly down into the valley,
only just missed a tank. Ten minutes later an enemy aeroplane circled
overhead. We held our breath--the valley was packed with artillery and
tanks--and listened for the whirr of the bombs or the crackle of the
machine-guns; but "Jerry" was for the moment harmless, although in
quarter of an hour an H.V. gun made frantic efforts to land her shells
in the valley. She could not manage it--her shells burst on the crest
or high up on the farther bank.
Westbrook and Ryan were now under the orders of the battalions which
they were refilling, and Harland had completed his job. So Read, Puddy,
and I tramped back along the river wearily to Fouilloy, taking tea on
the way from a hospitable Australian, whose name I should always have
blessed if I had not forgotten it.
Later I heard that Harland had done his work well, following the Mark
V. Star tanks of the 15th Battalion to the Blue Line, the farthest
limit of the attack, and forming there a dump of supplies. He led his
tanks on a horse, which he had taken very properly from a prisoner.
The 15th Battalion carried in their tanks machine-gunners, who were
detailed to defend the Blue Line against counter-attack. Luckily, no
counter-attack was launched, for the machine-gunners, unused to tanks,
fell out of the tanks choking and vomiting and retired by degrees to
the nearest dressing station, some of them on stretchers. The tank
crews remained in possession until the infantry came up.
And the light-armoured cars, manned by tank crews, whom we had seen
picking their way through the shell-holes--their deeds of daring that
day have become historical. It will not easily be forgotten how they
dashed through the German lines and planted the Tank Corps flag on the
headquarters of the German corps in Foucaucourt; how they fusiladed the
German Staff at breakfast through the windows of their billet; how they
captured a train full of reinforcements; how they destroyed a convoy of
lorries. We were convinced that light-armoured cars and fast tanks had
driven the cavalry into a museum.
I doubt whether in the early days of the Amiens battle my three
sections of Carrier tanks were usefully employed. The supplies with
which they were overloaded could have been taken forward more rapidly
and more economically by lorries or by waggons both on the first
day and during the following week, when they dragged across country
supplies of petrol, oil, and ammunition to dumps which were served by
excellent roads. The true function of the Carrier tank, it appeared to
us, was either to follow the infantry closely into the battle area with
supplies, or to transport heavy and bulky material. The experiences of
Ritchie's section were valuable.
Ritchie and his six tanks had left Querrieu Wood on the night of the
3rd, making for the tank bridge across the Somme by Lamotte-Brebière.
In a cutting short of the village the convoy of forty odd
tanks--Ritchie was with Roffey's company--met a column of Australian
transport. Neither the tanks nor the waggons could turn, and for
three hours there was a masterful display of language. At last, after
prodigies of driving on both sides, the waggons and the tanks were
disentangled, but the night was unpleasantly short, and the tanks were
compelled to seek shelter from the day in the village of Glisy.
For once a number of Australians were to know what fear was. Dawn
was breaking, and an enemy aeroplane, hoping to catch the belated
scurrying for cover, was low overhead. One tank decided to shelter
beside a house, but, swinging a little hastily, it carried away the
corner of the house, and the bricks and masonry fell with a crash. The
Australians, who had heard the noise of the aeroplane, thought at once
that a bomb had fallen. They rushed out of the house in their shirts
and dashed for cover. Then, as the tank snuggled more closely to the
house, they realised what had happened. Luckily the doors of a tank
cannot be opened from outside.
On the day of the battle four tanks, loaded with shells, bombs, wire,
shovels, and water, started from the ruins of Cachy, immediately behind
our trenches, and endeavoured to keep pace with the infantry, but that
day the Canadians advanced eight miles. The tanks, accompanied by the
D.A.A.G. of the 1st Canadian Division, toiled along after them. It was
a hot and weary trek. The D.A.A.G. was saddle-sore, and Jacobs, whose
tank he was accompanying, was a little chafed. A halt was made, and a
tin of tank grease broached. The remedy was odorous, but effective.
On the heels of the infantry the tanks arrived on the following day
at Caix, ten miles from their starting-point, and disgorged. Two of
them made a round of the more advanced machine-gun posts, and, despite
heated protests from the enemy, supplied much-needed ammunition,
returning in triumph.
Some of the men found it difficult to remember that, strictly speaking,
Carrier companies were not "fighting troops." Wallace, for instance,
a runner, finding the time heavy on his hands, disappeared for a
few hours, when he was not required, and joined the Canadians in a
successful little bombing raid.
The section returned by night. The enemy aeroplanes, attracted
presumably by the glow of their exhaust-pipes, bombed them
unmercifully, but without success.
After a series of marches and counter-marches, inspired by false
alarms, Ritchie's section returned to Querrieu Wood on the 18th. I had
intended to give him a week to rest his men and overhaul his tanks,
which had already covered a hundred miles without respite, but I
received orders to assist the 47th Division in an attack north of the
Somme, and my remaining sections had already been ear-marked for the
1st Australian and 32nd Divisions.
So on the 21st Ritchie's weary old tanks trekked six miles over
difficult country to Bonnay, a pleasant little village on the Ancre,
a mile above the confluence of the Ancre and the Somme. It was a
hurried business: I fetched the necessary maps in my car from brigade
headquarters. Two of the tanks loaded up immediately with machine-gun
ammunition, and, trekking another four miles, about midnight came to
a brickyard just behind our trenches. North of the Somme the enemy
was fighting stubbornly, and his guns pounded away day and night. The
neighbourhood of the brickyard was shelled and gassed until the crew
longed for the battle.
At dawn the two tanks under Jacobs crawled forward into the gas and
smoke, and, passing through the enemy barrage, dumped their loads of
machine-gun ammunition among the advanced posts and returned with the
crews slightly gassed but otherwise unharmed.
Two of the remaining tanks went forward with infantry supplies late
in the morning when the struggle was swaying to and fro over the Happy
Valley, a couple of miles south of our old camp at Meaulte. There was
never a more deadly struggle, and the issue was always in doubt.
The first tank was led by Sergeant Bell. He came to the place where he
should have unloaded his stores. The Germans were pressing fiercely,
and the tank was in the forefront of the battle. Under bitter
shell-fire and machine-gun fire Bell endeavoured to unload at least his
precious ammunition, but two of his crew were killed and one man was
seriously wounded immediately after they had left the shelter of the
tank. Bell collected another party of infantrymen, but by this time the
Germans were close to the tank, and our infantry, who had lost heavily,
were withdrawing. Bell could do nothing, for a Carrier tank possesses
only one Hotchkiss gun to fire ahead, and, as his tank had turned to
provide cover for the unloading party, that gun would not bear. He was
unable to move the tank, because by this time every man of his crew
had been killed or wounded. He waited helplessly until the Germans had
almost surrounded the tank, and then, firing one last burst from a
Lewis gun which he had secured, he ran across to a trench in which our
infantry had rallied. The tank stayed in No-Man's-Land. Twice during
the day Bell, with two of my men, tried to crawl out to it and drive it
in, but the German machine-guns were too vicious.[30]
The second tank was led by Holt. He had just climbed inside for a
moment, when a shell pierced the sponson and burst, killing instantly
Holt and one of his men and wounding the remainder.[31] We could
recover nothing at the time, although Wallace made a brave attempt;
the Germans had regained too much ground, and to approach the tank was
certain death.
It was a disastrous day. The attack had failed and the failure had
been costly. The Happy Valley was strewn with derelict tanks, and the
cemetery on the Meaulte road is very full.
On the 23rd Jacobs, with his two tanks, carried ammunition forward to
isolated machine-gun posts, although his men were still shaken and
suffering from gas and returned without casualties. I then ordered
Ritchie, who had himself been in the thick of the fight, to withdraw
his battered section by easy stages to Querrieu Wood.
Since the 8th we had indulged in a series of expensive nibbles south of
the Somme. Although on the day of the great surprise we had penetrated
south of the Somme to a depth of ten thousand yards, disorganised
the enemy's communications by concentrated bombing and the raids of
armoured motor-cars, and captured innumerable prisoners and an enormous
quantity of material, the Germans with astounding skill filled the
gap with fresh troops, who defended their positions with the utmost
resolution.
In these minor operations the tanks suffered heavily. We could not
understand why they had not been withdrawn. Obviously the enemy were
aware that there were tanks on their front, and they made every
possible preparation to receive them. And the Mk. V. was not so handy
and so fast a tank that it could afford to despise field-guns whose one
object was to hit tanks. If the tanks had been withdrawn after the big
surprise attack, the striking power of the British Armies in the next
"full-dress" offensive would have been increased by one strong, fresh
tank brigade....
From the 14th, Ryan's, Harland's, and Westbrook's sections had not
been used. The men were given a few days' rest--I brought them back
to Fouilloy or to Querrieu Wood--and I arranged for the majority of
the officers to go in turn by car or lorry to Doullens for a breath of
civilisation. Then we set to work on the tanks, and by the end of the
week the tanks of the two sections were once again fit for action. We
waited for orders.
It was decided to attack on the 23rd at Herleville and Proyart, two
stubborn villages a few miles south of the Somme. My company had been
placed directly under the orders of the Australian Corps; and, after
I had completed the preliminary arrangements at an interview with the
Brigadier-General, General Staff, of the Corps at Glisy, I instructed
Harland and Westbrook to work out the details with the staffs of the
divisions involved, the 1st Australian and the 32nd.
On the 21st Harland's tanks in the Cérisy Valley, near Warfusée, were
loaded with a splendid assortment of barbed wire, water, detonated
bombs, grenades, rations, picks, shovels, and other necessaries.
During the night of the 22nd they moved forward, and by 2 A.M. they
were in position behind the line, severely shelled and bombed.
At dawn they followed the attack closely, and, when after stiff
fighting the Australians had reached their final objective, the
infantry were supplied instantly with food and water, with barbed wire
to defend them against counter-attacks, and with all the ammunition
they could need.
The tanks made two journeys, the second in the broad light of day,
within full view of the enemy gunners, who naturally did their utmost
to prevent this impudent unloading of stores under their very noses.
One tank was hit on the track, but succeeded in crawling away. All the
tanks were shelled briskly enough, but good fortune attended them,
though by the rules of the game they should never have escaped. One of
my men was killed and five were wounded. The Australians, who assisted
in the unloading, were less lucky.
At Herleville, Westbrook with three tanks had been equally successful.
Two tanks had followed the infantry through the ruins of Herleville,
and seen to their wants at the moment of victory. After the third
tank (Rankin's) had unloaded, a nest of machine-guns was discovered
behind our support lines. The "fighting" tanks had already withdrawn.
The Carrier tank with "soft" sponsons,[32] and its solitary Hotchkiss
gun, decided to attack, and the Colonel of a battalion of Highlanders
climbed on board to act as guide, but before the tank could reach the
nest an interfering officer with a battery of Stokes guns had forced
the surviving Germans to surrender.
Company headquarters had not been entirely inactive. Mac, of all
reconnaissance officers the most conscientious, who on one famous
occasion had described so clearly to a section the routes they should
not take, that the section nearly forgot which route they should take,
had spent the night of the 20th with Dron his orderly in finding a way
for Ritchie's tanks through the difficult country to Bonnay. In the
course of their wanderings they came upon a mysterious camp, deserted
and full of stores. There were even several cases of whisky in a
tent. I can conceive no greater tribute to the discipline of the Tank
Corps than the fact that this reconnaissance officer, after making
a note of this important discovery, did not dally in the tent for a
moment, but went out into the night. On the 22nd he reconnoitred a
route for Westbrook's section from Bayonvillers, where the tanks were
camouflaged, to the forward posts. There was no time to lay tape: white
stakes were placed at intervals across difficult stretches. It was
not too easy to discover a convenient "lying-up place," because the
"fighting" tanks had already secured the desirable "banks," and we had
been instructed not to go too near them for fear of confusion on the
morning of the battle.
My tank engineer and his men had been indefatigable. Our tanks
were obsolete, and usually they were overloaded. The crews were
inexperienced. Tank after tank would break down, and a stream of
demands for spare parts flowed into headquarters. On more than one
occasion it became necessary to lift out the whole engine complete and
give the tank a new or more often an overhauled engine from the field
stores. At Querrieu Wood we were short of men--the establishment of a
Carrier Company is not generous--so that when heavy spares arrived,
every one, from the mess-cook to the adjutant, would lend a hand.
Before the battle the tank engineer would rush on his motor-cycle from
one invalid tank to another. At Proyart, for example, a few minutes
before "zero," he was repairing under continuous shell-fire a spare
tank which had broken down tactlessly at a cross-roads immediately
behind the line.
With his sections operating independently on a wide front the Company
Commander could only tour the battlefield, for once the plans were laid
he could exercise little influence upon the result. So you may imagine
him visiting Ritchie and his tanks north of the Somme, paying a brief
unhappy visit to Proyart, and then with Westbrook pushing forward to a
gully beyond Rainecourt to look for Rankin and his tank. The enemy were
unkind that day.
In these later actions the Carrier tanks had proved their worth
incontestably. South of the Somme forty-six tons of stores and
ammunition had been carried by nine ancient, unsuitable tanks, manned
by eight officers and fifty men[33] to nine different points, each
within 400 yards of the enemy, and each inaccessible by day to wheeled
transport. If the old bad system of carrying parties had been employed,
2500[34] men would have been needed instead of 58. Further, these loads
were carried forward eight to nine miles in all, and at least sixteen
lorries were therefore set free. Lastly, the Carrier tanks followed so
closely the advancing infantry that in the majority of cases the stores
and ammunition were handed over as soon as they could be received.
The success and importance of the Carrier tanks were pleasantly
recognised. One General wrote a special letter of thanks and
congratulations about us to the 5th Tank Brigade, stating that the
Carrier tanks were "a great feature of the day's operations." An
Australian General recommended one of my section commanders for a
decoration, and at the first opportunity sent by his car a present to
the section of two jars of rum and a few cases of chocolate.
It had become increasingly difficult for us to convince ourselves that
we were not "fighting troops." We had followed the infantry "over the
top"; we had dumped supplies in full view of the enemy; one of my tanks
had received a direct hit, and had been set on fire; another tank had
been abandoned practically in No-Man's-Land because every man in the
crew except the tank commander had become a casualty; a third tank,
with a Highland colonel on board, had started to mop up a machine-gun
nest. We began to wonder whether, after all, we were a fit receptacle
for "crocks." And we did not forget that Carrier Tanks were manned
only by skeleton crews, and that, in consequence, every member of the
crew was driven to work day and night.
We set ourselves at once to make ready our fourteen surviving tanks,
in case we should be required again, and I issued orders for the
reconnaissance of the forward area south of the Somme; but on the 21st
August the battle of Bapaume had commenced, and on our front the enemy
began to withdraw to the Canal de la Somme, with the Australians in
pursuit. Our brigade were placed in G.H.Q. Reserve, and I was ordered
to concentrate my company at Villers-Brettoneux. On the 26th we
received instructions to entrain.