HOLDING OUT
I was aroused from these day-dreams by a hullabaloo. The men were on
their feet shouting: "Here they come! Here they come!"
I tried to impose silence on them: so much waste breath. And I was
infuriated by hearing shots being fired without any orders having been
given.
I leaned on the parapet, but could see nothing. I shouted: "What in
thunder are you shooting at?"
At that moment the well-known screeches lashed the air. I flung myself
down. German bullets!
Bouillon said, below his breath: "The blighters! Their trenches weren't
far off."
When their volley was over we looked for them. They must have lain
down. I consulted Lamalou: "A thousand yards, do you think?"
"Eight hundred, not more."
I gave the men orders to correct their sight. They had all been firing
at four hundred in their surprise.
A rumour spread that they were coming.
"Fire! Fire!"
This time we could see them. Quite a change! Nearly everywhere, at
Tailly, Halles, and Beauclair we had had to fire at random. How often I
had cursed their invisible uniforms! Here, again, this grey line melted
into the ground tint.
Never mind. Our men fired rapidly and coolly. The others threw
themselves down again and their projectiles forced us to crouch down in
our turn.
"There are an awful lot of them, the dirty dogs!" Henriot said to me.
"As many as all that?"
"Yes. I've been using my field-glasses. And they advance shoulder to
shoulder, looking as if they meant to swamp everything."
"Oh, well, we're here!" I said. But I glanced at our sparsely covered
line. Had we reserves anywhere! It was to be hoped so, but until
further orders, we had only ourselves to count on.
The enemy was gaining ground. However, discipline had soon been
established among us. Each time the hostile mass moved, we "loosed off
a belt." Everyone was cool and collected, no more panic like there had
been at Mangiennes. Each _poilu_ was determined to get the most out of
the good Lebel in his hands.
I went up and down, warning them not to waste ammunition. I watched
Corporal Donnadieu for a few minutes. How would he manage with his
mutilated hand? Well, he used nothing but his left hand to rest his
rifle on. It grazed one of the stumps and forced him to stifle an
exclamation of pain. He did not lose a single second in firing and
recharging in spite of his puckered forehead and clenched teeth.
"Good for you, old chap," I said.
He did not answer, but his eyelashes fluttered.
Our trench lacked depth, the firing-steps were missing--a grave cause
of fatigue. I reproached myself bitterly for our slackness the day
before. If only we had taken the trouble to dig a little bit deeper,
to fetch wood, and arrange loopholes.
The Bosches manoeuvred skilfully. Some of them crouched down and
facilitated their comrades' advance by firing. Then they took their
turn at advancing while the others protected them.
There was nothing for us to do but to fire. Fire without ceasing
for an instant, even under a hail of bullets. The men had realised
this sanguinary obligation. There was no need for leadership. It was
splendid to see them, taking aim without hurrying themselves over it,
under the deadly torrent. The casualties began immediately. Trichet was
the first to fall with a hole through his neck. A machine-gun of theirs
had just begun to talk, and things were looking black in other ways.
The shells which, for a long time, had been negligible, now began to
find the range in the most alarming manner. The ground shook. Three men
in No. 2 platoon had their heads taken off at a blow.
The enemy was drawing nearer, and was not more than about four hundred
yards away now. I confess I was extremely miserable. Another quarter of
an hour and they would be within charging distance. We should have to
meet this human avalanche and we should not be one to their five.
I almost formed the cowardly wish that we might retire without waiting
any longer. How agonising it was. We should certainly never be strong
enough to withstand them. A wave of irritation rose in me against our
artillery which was incapable of intervening at the right moment,
having been completely annihilated by the heavy German batteries,
and also against the superior military authorities who gave us no
support. And I was paralysed by a sudden fear. We were using a lot
of cartridges. Suppose our supplies were to give out! Playoust would
be sure to be stopping ever so far behind with his waggons. What a
ridiculous idea it had been to entrust him with that work.
The sight that gave me new strength just as I was feeling inclined to
give way, and on the point of being false to all that I was and wished
to be, was the attitude of the men. I can see them now taking aim and
recharging, with their manly, straightforward, earnest faces. There was
no confusion. They made admirable practise, their rifles leaping to
their shoulders, or falling again in good earnest. What moral strength
they showed! What a genius for resistance! How much their nerve had
improved, and their courage increased during the last four weeks! It
seemed to me that their virtue was, in part, my work, that my attempts
at patient, serene exhortation were bearing their fruit. How grateful I
was to them, my brothers. They were returning my lesson--not to argue,
but to fight. To fulfil one's obscure duty. They were right. After
all if we were to be killed at this spot in accordance with a higher
scheme; if success were only to be won at this price!
The enemy were no longer making any progress. They had got to the point
after which any further advance under fire is merely an act of heroic
folly. Our losses were not very great--only two killed in the platoon
and four or five wounded, among them Bouguet, who, with a shattered
arm, had distributed his rounds of ammunition, and was standing up
boldly and reporting on the slightest movements of our adversaries.
The Bosches had been badly cut up. We felt as if we were at a short
practise range. After having fired at the mass as a whole for a long
time we were now choosing our target. I remember a great lout who was
running with large strides ahead of his companions. He got exactly into
my line of fire. It was his destiny. I took aim, but he threw himself
down in the stubble. I was patient enough to keep my rifle pointed at
the spot where he had disappeared--it was a risky thing to do as the
bullets were whistling round me. I waited anxiously for him to get up.
He delayed and delayed. At last he moved. Then I pressed the trigger.
Tac! My shot carried and he fell.
I shut my eyes, feeling strangely giddy. Yes. After five weeks'
fighting, he was the first victim definitely attributable to me.
Heavens! My inborn gentleness and that of my education were to end in
this--in taking life! I had killed a man. A man with a mother and a
wife. That handsome fellow. I thought of my friends in Thuringia, of
Otto Kraëmer, sturdy and gentle.
"Wake up! What in the world are you thinking of?" said Bouillon, who
was standing beside me.
I shook myself and took my sight again. It was all part of the war. He
was one of those who had massacred my brother. It was a case of killing
or being killed--him or me!
For a long time we prevented them from moving. We saw the horde get up
in a flock and dash forward twenty times or more. At the same instant
we met them with our fire, coldly precise. Their leaders, who were
urging them on, were recognisable, not so much by their uniform as by
their movements. Many of them were hit and the ardour of the troops
diminished. They were well-drilled infantry, but they lacked keenness.
We lost all interest in everything but this narrow strip of ground
swept by our fire. I put down my rifle which had burnt my fingers. The
mechanism had got jammed in several places and I mended it as if in a
dream.
We did not fire incessantly. There were moments of inaction when I
tried to analyse my feelings in accordance with my old intellectualism.
I came to grief over it. My ideas got blocked, and I gripped the trail
of my Lebel, my one object in existence. One thought alone subsisted in
the void of my brain, and I clung to it. Those men must not be allowed
to take another step in our direction.
* * * * *
All notion of time was lost again. I remember that I looked for the sun
in the sky. It was shining a long way from the point at which I had
expected to find it. My wrist watch had stopped, the glass was broken.
From time to time Guillaumin came to look me up and make some remark
such as "Hot work, what!"
This time he leant towards me and said something which I could not
quite catch. I got him to repeat it.
"What?"
Ah. Now I understood. How many rounds had my men got left?
"Mine have about fifteen," he said.
"About the same here, too."
We looked at each other. I murmured: "And what about the replenishment."
"Ssh!"
He put his finger to his lips. As if the men had not noticed the
imminent penury! Several of them had applied to Lamalou for some of his
share.
Luckily the enemy's fire was weakening equally. Both sides were drawing
breath. The Germans' heavy artillery never paused for an instant. The
explosions of enormous "Jack Johnsons" barked all round us. One of
them, which fell less than twenty yards away, dug a hole of ten feet
and filled part of our trench with the earth it displaced.
Guillaumin and I threw despairing glances towards the rear. The look of
the wood had changed completely since morning. A wood? There was not a
tree standing!
Guillaumin grumbled: "If I could get hold of Playoust!"
I quite agreed.