THE ADVANCE THROUGH LEUZE WOOD
NEW OPERATION ORDERS. "AT ANY COST." LIKE RATS IN A TRAP
I had hardly closed my eyes when a runner from headquarters came
hurrying along the line, and was directed to where I was dozing at the
bottom of a trench.
"Message from the C.O., sir, very urgent."
I signed the receipt and tore the envelope open. Good heavens! new
operation orders! I was astounded. I looked again, hardly daring to
believe my eyes. Sure enough, there was no mistake about it, three
pages of closely written operation orders. The head-line seemed to be
mocking me:
"Fresh operation orders, cancelling those issued this morning."
I read on: "You are to advance on through Leuze Wood, and attack from
that part of the wood which forms the fourth side of the square-shaped
trench, thus attacking the inside of the square; B Company taking the
lower half, and C Company the upper half; A Company to be in support."
A cold shiver ran down my back. What a calamity! and after all the
pains I had taken to work out the details of the attack, and that
dreadful night spent in digging these trenches to jump off from. Every
man knew what to do, and now at the eleventh hour the whole plan was
altered.
I glanced again at the new orders:
"You are to be at the new place of assembly by 3.30 P.M.; zero hour is
4.45."
I looked at my watch--Great Scott! it was already 2.15; at 3 P.M. I
must commence the advance through the wood.
The men had not yet commenced their dinners. What time was there? and
how was it possible to sit down quietly and digest those three pages
of new orders and understand their meaning? What time had I to make
new plans and explain to each man his new task?
There was not a moment to be lost; I turned to my two runners:
"Dinners to be eaten at once. Platoon commanders wanted at the
double."
I waited, and by and by the platoon commanders, Second Lieutenant
Farman and Chislehirst, and Sergeants Blackwell and Barnes, came
running along the top, snipers shooting at them as they ran along.
They halted on the parados, saluting as they came up, and, still
standing up, awaited orders, seemingly indifferent to the excellent
target which they presented.
"Lie down flat," I ordered.
They did as I directed, their faces turned anxiously toward me,
wondering what was up.
"New operation orders just arrived from headquarters; previous orders
cancelled. We are to advance through the wood and attack from the
inside of the square."
I hurriedly read the whole of the orders over to them, and they
listened silently.
"Go back to your platoons. The men are to be dressed in battle order
by 2.50--it's now 2.30--by 3 P.M. the platoons are to be closed up
along the trench, and the leading platoon will enter the wood in
single file, other platoons following."
As I glanced up I noticed their faces were pale; they were listening
intently, but uttering no sound. They were receiving orders; they
realised their responsibility, and they knew their duty.
The last paragraph was underlined. I hurriedly read it and looked up
at them again:
"Just one more thing," I said. "These are my orders underlined:
"YOU MUST REACH YOUR OBJECTIVE AT ANY COST. IF DRIVEN BACK, YOU ARE TO
MAKE A STAND AT THE EDGE OF THE WOOD, AND HOLD OUT TILL THE LAST MAN
FALLS."
It sounded like a death sentence, a forecast of the hour of trial
which we were to face. Only those who have received such orders on the
field of battle can realise what it feels like.
In those few dramatic moments we counted our lives as lost. We
recognised how desperate was our task. Success we might hope for; but
failure we must pay the price of. We must fight till the last man
falls--and yet we were merely civilian soldiers.
I looked into their faces; our eyes met. I understood; I could trust
them; they could trust me.
"That's all; return to your platoons and prepare to move."
They had not uttered a word through all this; no words were necessary.
They jumped to their feet; saluted as though we were back on Salisbury
Plain, and the next moment ran along the parados to their platoons.
I watched them, and saw them kneel down on the top of their trench,
indifferent to the snipers' bullets whistling about their heads,
hurriedly explaining the situation to their men.
By 3 P.M. the men were ready and had closed along the trench to the
wood.
The movement had been seen by the enemy, and a terrific burst of
firing commenced; although, at the time I could not see what effect it
was having.
I waited several minutes, but there was no further movement along the
trench to indicate that the first platoon had entered the wood. I sent
forward the message, "Carry on," but still no movement resulted.
At last, feeling something was wrong and unable to restrain my
impatience any longer, I jumped out of the trench and ran along the
parados.
What I saw there appalled me for the moment; the wood in front of me
was filled with bursting shells; a continuous pr-r-r-r-r seemed to be
moving backward and forward, and bullets were whistling in all
directions.
Good God! what a hell! No wonder the men hesitated! What was to be
done? My orders left me no alternative. I must advance through the
wood. My brain kept repeating the words, "At any cost!" What a cost it
would be to enter that hell! It was now, or never!
We were hesitating; something must be done, and done quickly. I looked
at Farman, and I knew I could count on him.
The next moment I leaped into a newly made shell-hole, about five
yards in the wood; called upon Farman to follow, and a moment later he
came jumping after.
The noise was terrific. We yelled at the top of our voices for the
next man to follow.
The next man to take the leap was the company sergeant-major. A piece
of shell struck him in the side, and he rolled over on the ground,
clutching at his tunic.
Again we yelled for the men to come along; and one by one they took
the leap.
When six of us were in the shell-hole it was time for us to empty it
to make room for others. Farman and I took it in turns to lead the
way, and this process went on through the wood, leaping from hole to
hole, and yelling at the top of our lungs for the others to follow us.
By this time the scene inside the wood was indescribable. Machine-gun
bullets were spraying backward and forward; 6-inch shells were
exploding in all directions; and the din was intensified by the
crashing of trees uprooted by the explosions, and the dull thud of the
missiles striking the ground.
Through the dull light of that filthy wood we frequently cast an
anxious glance towards the red rockets being sent up from the German
lines, directing the fire of their artillery towards us.
Sometimes, in leaping forward, we would land beside the dead and
mutilated carcass of a German soldier who had fallen a week before.
It was ghastly, terrible; and the millions of flies sucking at his
open wounds would swarm about us, seemingly in a buzz of anger at our
disturbance. But sickly and ghastly as the scene was, farther and
farther into this exaggerated hell we must go.
By this time the cries of the wounded added to the terrors of the
scene. Each time we jumped into a shell-hole, we turned to watch the
men leap in. Each time it seemed that a new face appeared, and the
absence of those who had jumped into the last shell-hole was only too
significant.
But, undaunted by their falling comrades, each man, in his turn,
leaped forward and would lie gasping for breath until his turn came
for another effort.
Farman was the first to speak. It was his turn to take the next leap:
"I don't think it really matters. There's a hole about thirty yards
away; I think I'll go straight for that."
He got up and walked leisurely across, as though inviting the death
which seemed inevitable. He stopped at the shell-hole, and for a
moment seemed to be looking down undecided whether to jump in or not.
I shouted at him:
"Don't be a damned fool; jump!"
The next moment a shell burst between us, and I fell back into the
shell-hole. When I again looked out and my eyes could penetrate the
smoke, I saw no sign of Farman. I yelled, and to my intense relief I
saw his head appear. He was safe!
Again and again the last paragraph of my orders seemed to be blazing
in front of me, and like a hidden hand from that dark inferno of
horrors, kept beckoning me forward, "AT ANY COST! AT ANY COST!"
Yes; this must be the end; but it's hell to die in a wood.
The men used to call it Lousy Wood. What do they call it now? They
were brave fellows; and they were only civilian soldiers, too! They
used to be volunteers once. People would laugh, and call them Saturday
afternoon soldiers.
Reviews in Hyde Park used to be a joke, and the comic papers
caricatured these men, and used them as material for their jests.
They were only Territorials! That man, panting hard at the bottom of
the shell-hole, and still clutching at his rifle, is a bank clerk;
that man who fell at the last jump, with his stomach ripped up, was a
solicitor's clerk.
Look at the others. Their faces are pale; their eyes are bulging. But
they are the same faces one used to see in Cornhill and Threadneedle
Street.
Yes, they are only Territorials! But here in this filthy wood they are
damned proud of it.
And what is taking place in England to-day?
Is it really true that while all this is going on in Leuze Wood,
orchestras are playing sweet music in brilliantly lighted restaurants
in London--while a gluttonous crowd eat of the fat of the land? Is it
really true that women in England are dressing more extravagantly than
ever? Is it really true that some men in England are unable or
unwilling to share the nation's peril--are even threatening to strike?
No! No! Do not let us think that this is the true picture of England.
If it is, then, Territorials, let us die in Leuze Wood!