A Vain Assault
"I say, how about your sister, old man?" asked Rollo.
"She's all right," replied Kenneth optimistically. "These Germans
don't make war on women and girls. Besides, Madame de la Barre
doubtless dropped a little of her standoffishness directly she heard
the sound of firing. I'm pretty sure they are now either safe in Dutch
territory or else on their way to Brussels."
"If I had a sister I would be a jolly sight more anxious about her than
you are," persisted Rollo.
"Now, how can I help it? Besides, you don't know Thelma. She
wouldn't, under the circumstances, wait for Madame to give her
permission to clear out, and, since Yvonne is her special friend,
she'll look after the Major's daughter as well. I'm sorry we haven't
come across Major Resimont since our return."
"He must feel a bit anxious," remarked Rollo.
"About the money he entrusted us with?" laughed Kenneth. "Well, I
admit that it was a bit of a risk, for we might have been bowled over
by one of those German shells. Ah! there's another!"
The two dispatch-riders were under cover at Fort de Barchon, enjoying a
hasty meal after their return from their fruitless errand. It was late
in the day, and many hours had elapsed since they had had anything to
eat. It was a kind of preliminary to the period of short rations
through which they were to pass.
The German artillery was furtively shelling the Liege forts as a
prelude to the general bombardment that was to take place as soon as
the shades of night began to fall.
General von Emmich had brought up a force of 88,000 men against the
23,000 Belgian troops manning the Liege defences; but, owing to the
difficulty of transporting his heavy guns, the German commander decided
to open a furious cannonade with his light field artillery, and to
follow up with an assault by means of dense masses of troops.
Soon the cannonade became general, the heaviest of the hostile fire
being directed upon Forts d'Evegnee and de Fleron, while Fort de
Barchon came in for a hot bombardment.
It was by no means a one-sided encounter. The Belgian infantry, lying
snugly sheltered either in the trenches or in the bomb-proof galleries
of the forts, were for the time being inactive. The Belgian gunners,
however, worked their guns in the armoured cupolas with skill, bravery,
and precision, and at the end of two hours' bombardment the forts were
practically intact.
Kenneth and Rollo, in the galleries of Fort de Barchon, could feel the
concussion of the revolving guns and the detonations of the exploding
German shells, although they were, like the rest of the infantry, in
ignorance of what was taking place. The inaction was far more
nerve-racking than actual exposure with the chance of getting in a shot.
Suddenly above the roar of the artillery came a bugle-call, followed by
excited shouts of "Aux armes!" Instantly there was a wild rush to man
the parapets on the inner face of the glacis.
"Come along, old man!" exclaimed Kenneth. "We may as well have a look
in."
Snatching up a rifle and making sure that the magazine was charged, he
dashed out of the gallery, Rollo following hard on his heels.
A weird sight met their eyes. The blackness of the night was pierced
by the dazzling rays of powerful searchlights and punctuated by the
rapid flashes from the heavy ordnance. The thunder of the guns was
ear-splitting, the crash of the exploding projectiles appalling, yet
the attention of the two lads was directed towards the scene that lay
before them.
All along the parapet, protected by sandbags, were the Belgian
infantry, ready, with their rifles sighted to 800 yards, to open fire
at the word of command. Beyond the turf of the glacis, where almost
every blade of grass stood up under the sweeping rays of the
searchlights as if made of gleaming silver, were dense masses of
grey-coated, spike-helmeted Germans.
On they came as steadily as if on parade, while between the rapid
crashes of the artillery could be distinguished the harsh voices of the
men as they sang "Deutschland ueber Alles" and the "Wacht am Rhein".
The only relief to those grey-clad battalions was the glitter of the
forest of bayonets.
If numbers could annihilate, the fate of the comparative handful of
Belgians was sealed; but von Emmich had, like many another man,
underrated the courage of the plucky little Belgians.
The Germans were now within the danger-zone of shell-fire. Shrapnel
tore ghastly lanes through their serried ranks, but other men were
instantly forthcoming to fill up the gaps. On and on they came till
they reached the outer edge of the glacis. Here the huge fortress-guns
in the armoured cupolas could not be sufficiently depressed to do them
harm.
The crackle of the Belgian musketry added to the din. The men, firing
steadily, swept away hundreds of their Teutonic foes, but the ant-like
swarm of ferocious humanity still swept onwards.
Kenneth and Rollo were firing away as hard as they could thrust home
the bolts of the rifles and press trigger. The hostile gun-fire had
now ceased, lest German should fall by German shell. The infantry,
firing with the butts of their rifles at the hip, let loose a terrific
volley. The air was torn by the _zipp_ of the bullets, but for the
most part the hail of missiles either flew high or harmlessly expended
itself in the soft earth. Now, in spite of the withering fire, the
foremost of the German stormers were almost up to the parapet of the
outer defences. Victory seemed within their grasp. Their shouts
redoubled. Drunk with the apparent success of their suicidal tactics,
they rushed to overwhelm the slender line of Belgian riflemen.
Through the rapidly-drifting clouds of smoke--for there was a strong
wind blowing athwart the line of attack--the two British lads could
clearly see the features of the exultant foes, as they recklessly
plunged straight into the dazzling rays of the searchlight.
Mechanically Kenneth began to wonder what would happen next, for it
seemed imminent that bayonet would cross bayonet, and that the handful
of Belgian infantry would be cut off to the last man.
Then, even as he faced the enemy, the dense masses of Germans seemed to
melt away. They fell, not in sixes and sevens, but in scores and
hundreds, till a barricade of dead prevented the massacre of the
living. The Belgians had machine-guns in readiness to take up the work
that the heavier weapons had been obliged to suspend.
The commandant of the 9th regiment of the line saw his chance. The
rattle of the Berthier machine-guns ceased as if by magic, and the
shout was heard "A la baionnette!"
Instantly the active Belgians swarmed over the glacis and threw
themselves upon the demoralized foe. The repulse of the Germans became
a rout.
Carried away by the enthusiasm of the charge, the British
dispatch-riders tore along with their Belgian comrades, Kenneth with
rifle and bayonet, while Rollo was brandishing his Mauser and using the
butt-end like an exaggerated hockey-stick.
Just in front of them was a little Belgian officer who, on the point of
cutting down a burly German major, had arrested the fatal stroke upon
the latter crying out for quarter. The German, who had been beaten to
the ground, tendered his sword, and the Belgian, casting it aside,
rushed on to continue the counter-charge.
Before he had taken two strides he fell, hit in the ankle, and Kenneth,
who was following, promptly tripped across his body.
The sight of his chum pitching on his face caused Rollo's heart to jump
into his mouth. He stopped, and to his great relief Kenneth regained
his feet. The Belgian also attempted to rise, but could only raise
himself to the extent of his outstretched arms.
Rollo was on the point of going to assist his chum, who was directing
his attention to the wounded Belgian officer, when he saw the German
major stealthily produce his revolver and take aim at the man who had
spared his life.
Perhaps it was well for the ungrateful major that Rollo was a keen
footballer. Forgetting that he held a clubbed rifle in his hand the
lad took a flying kick; his boot caught the German major on the wrist,
and the revolver, exploding harmlessly, went spinning a dozen paces
away.
Standing over the recreant officer Rollo swung the butt of his rifle.
The German howled for mercy.
"Hold hard, old man!" shouted Kenneth, grasping his chum by the
shoulder. He could scarcely credit his senses, seeing the usually
deliberate and self-possessed Rollo about to kill a defenceless German
officer.
"That brute was about to shoot down a fellow who had given him
quarter," hissed Rollo: "that captain over there, the one sitting up
with a wounded leg."
"We'll collar the cad in any case," declared Kenneth, for the Belgian
troops were now being recalled. The attack had been repulsed, but the
defenders were too wary to risk being caught out in the open.
Drawing his revolver Rollo ordered the German to rise. The Major
apparently did not understand French, for he only cried the more.
"Get up instantly," exclaimed Rollo in English.
The German looked at his captor in surprise. His appeals for mercy
ceased. He stood up.
"I surrender," he said in the same language.
With one of the British lads on either side the prisoner was urged
onwards at a rapid pace, surrounded by swarms of exultant Belgians,
many of whom were limping or nursing their wounded arms. Others were
supporting or carrying those of their comrades who were more seriously
hurt, yet all were uplifted by their enthusiasm at the thought of
having vanquished von Emmich's hordes.
Upon gaining the shelter of Fort de Barchon the British lads handed
their prisoner over to the charge of a corporal and a file of men. It
was well for the German that his captors refrained from giving the
Belgian soldiers an account of the circumstances under which he had
been made prisoner.
The German major seemed dazed. He could not understand how he had been
captured by Englishmen; for it had been given out to the troops of von
Emmich's division that Great Britain had decided to remain neutral.
Her attitude had been gained by a promise on the part of the German
Government that only the French and Belgian colonies should be annexed,
and that no permanent occupation of these two countries was
contemplated. And now he had been informed that Great Britain and her
vast empire beyond the seas had fallen into line to aid right against
might. The news troubled him beyond measure--far more than the
probability of what the result of his treacherous act would be; for he
was a Teuton imbued with the belief that all is fair in war, and that
treaties and conventions are alike mere matters of form.
"Ah! you have been in the fight," exclaimed Major Resimont. "That
should not be. Dispatch-riders are required for other things."
Kenneth and Rollo saluted.
"Couldn't help it," explained Kenneth. "When the men charged we simply
had to go. It was splendid."
"You think so? So do we," said the Major proudly. "We have taught the
Bosches a lesson; we have shown them that Belgians can fight. We must
hold them in front of the Liege forts for a few days, and then the
French and the English armies will be here. A matter of three days,
perhaps, and then, _pouf!_ they blow the Kaiser and his armies upon the
bayonets of the Russians. It is good to think that the English are so
close."