THE SNIPER
I'll teach you, you bounder, to snipe,
For I'm nosing around,
With my face to the ground,
And a round in the breach of my hipe.
You'd best keep a blurry look-out,
For there's no end of trouble about--
With a round in the breach,
I am going to teach
You, you impudent sniper, to snipe.
(_From "The Deadly Breach."_)
Having blackened his face with a burnt cork, Bowdy Benners fixed his
sword on his rifle and clambered over the parapet into No Man's Land.
The hour was midnight; the darkness had settled on the firing line and
the starshells were rioting in the skies. Although the day had been hot
and bright the sky was now covered with clouds, not a star was visible
and objects quite near at hand could scarcely be distinguished. The air
was warm and still and not a blade of grass was moving. The only sound
which Bowdy Benners could hear was the dull rustle of his own clothes as
he crawled across the level ground on all fours making his way towards
the German lines.
Bowdy was out on a great project, an adventure after his own heart. For
many days the German had been potting at Cologne sector, but none had
been able to locate the position of the sniper. One thing, however, was
evident: he was stationed somewhere in No Man's Land. The German
trenches were hidden behind a hillock and the English trenches were
immune from observation from that quarter.
Bowdy crawled carefully forward, his eyes alert and his ears strained
for any untoward sound. Now and again a flash would light up the levels
in front and he could hear a bullet sing past his ears towards the
sector which he had just left. But the flash was deceptive and lights
were very misleading in the darkness. The sniper took care to fire only
when a starshell held the sky above him. In this way, the flash of the
rifle, merging as it did into the flare of the starshell, could hardly
lay claim to a separate existence.
"I'm not going to find him," muttered Bowdy Benners under his breath.
"It's like looking for a needle in.... Blimey! That was a near go."
A bullet swept past Bowdy's head with such a vicious hiss that he put up
his hand to feel if it had touched him. But he was unharmed.
"Blow me blind!" he muttered, and crawled forward hurriedly. "Blow me
stone blind if that wasn't a near go. The bounder can't see me," he
thought. "I haven't blackened my face for nothing."
He continued crawling stealthily on his stomach, dragging his rifle
after him. Every movement was made softly, but to Benners the sound of
his trousers rubbing on the grass seemed to carry out as far as the
German trenches. Now and again, as he lay still and stared at the level
in front, he thought he could discern something moving. Then he would
remain absolutely motionless for a few minutes, listening and watching.
But all was quiet; nothing to be heard save the wind rustling and a
stray mouse running through a little clump of bracken ahead.
The sniper had become very quiet now; his rifle had not spoken for
several minutes.
"He'll be having a kip," Bowdy thought, and got to his feet.
The long crawl had made his knees sore and his feet felt numb. Standing
upright, he placed his rifle between his knees and stretched his arms.
The light of the last starshell had died away, the circle of horizon had
grown smaller and in the near distance objects stood out weirdly
silhouetted with a blurred, though definite outline. It was then that
several starshells went up together and the open was lit with the
brilliance of day. In the glaring light Benners saw the sniper. He was
standing barely a dozen yards away, his hand resting on his rifle.
Benners could see that he had his sword fixed and the steel shone
brightly.
"I'll make him a prisoner," Benners said in a loud voice, and made at
the man as a hawk swoops on a lark.
The sniper heard Benners approach, turned his eyes and sprang up to a
position of defence.
"Has he a round in the breech?" Benners asked himself. "Shall I fire at
him or not?"
Even as he approached, Bowdy saw the German raise his rifle to his
shoulder and a sharp report rang out. Bowdy blinked at the flash, but
the bullet went wide.
"I'll settle you," he said in a loud voice, and, rushing up, he thrust
his bayonet forward. The sniper parried it and for a moment there was a
brisk duel, then Bowdy saw an opening for a left point, a favourite of
his, which had never failed. Now, however, it did not work. The sniper
stepped to the right; by a deft move brought his own bayonet point
downwards to the ground and Bowdy tripped across it in the rush forward
and went to earth.
"Blow me blind!" muttered Bowdy as he fell, and made a wild effort to
secure his own rifle which had slipped out of his hands. But in this he
was unsuccessful; the darkness had fallen and the weapon had
disappeared. No doubt it was lying quite near, but there was little time
at Bowdy's command to scrutinise the field around him.
One hope, however, remained. As Bowdy fell his legs had managed to close
around the German's rifle and the barrel of the weapon was held in a
vice-like grip. Bowdy was the strongest man in the regiment; he was a
grand man on the march, and on the mat a wrestler second to none. On
march or mat he had no equal. He held the rifle taut for a moment, and
in war the moment is often of supreme importance. As the German
endeavoured to pull the bayonet clear, Bowdy let go his hold, got to his
feet and gripped the man by the shoulders. For a second both wrestled
fiercely and as they panted and strained the weapon dropped to the
ground. Neither bent to lift it. A starshell rose into the heavens and
the Englishman had a clear view of the sniper. He could see that he was
deep-chested, unshapely, bearded....
He glared at Benners with malignant eyes, and his lips twisted into a
snarl that almost reached his heavy brows. "You haf no chance with me,"
he grunted. "I am wrestler on English music halls." Then, with a yell,
he struck out with both fists for Benners' head, and Bowdy, wise with
the wisdom born of a thousand aching contests, ducked and dodged, just
in time to evade the blow to the head and the kick which the sniper
aimed for his stomach. Followed a mad tussle of flying fists and swiftly
moving bodies. Then came an instant's lull, and the fighters clutched
one another in a tense embrace; Benners' hand resting on the sniper's
face, the sniper's fist on Benners' stomach.
Breaking from the clinch, Benners stepped backwards only to return again
with a heavy left-handed blow which took his opponent full on the jowl;
the German never winced.
"A damned professional wrestler!" muttered Benners and instinctively he
knew that he had met a man who would take any amount of beating.
Benners crouched, his left foot a trifle advanced; his head drawn down
well between his shoulders and shielded by one of his hands. The other
hand covered his stomach. The sniper paused irresolute for a moment,
then, with tiger-like fury, he swung into his man, striking out rapidly
with both fists. Guarding his body carefully, Benners waited, ready for
an opening, and when he saw his way he drove heavily with both hands for
the sniper's mouth. The two blows went home; the German stepped back
several paces, his mouth dripping with blood. Both had now forgotten
about their bayonets.... Rage took possession of the sniper, a terrible,
murderous rage, and he was upon Benners, striking out with his knees,
fists and boots. Benners crouched, holding his body compactly together
and covered his face and stomach with his hands. For two minutes he
struggled to endure. His enemy was well-nigh resistless, and all the
rage and cunning of the tiger were loose in the man. Benners went to the
ground and was twice kicked as he curled over in an endeavour to rise,
but seizing a chance he gripped his opponent's ankle, and brought him
heavily to the ground.
They fastened on to one another as they lay and still in embrace they
got to their feet. As they stood Bowdy got his hand free and hit the
sniper across the mouth. As if by mutual consent they broke apart and
the sniper devoted the fraction of a second to wipe his mouth. Then he
rushed in again and Benners backed round to save himself from a furious
onslaught of stinging blows. The German, vital and overwhelming, seemed
to be in his element. All the essence of passion, hate and elemental
madness found expression in this onslaught. Thrice a twelve yard circle
of ground was covered, Bowdy fighting gamely but ever giving backwards.
His body and face were now covered with blood; and his hands went up,
not in battle, but almost in mute protest against a crushing fatalism.
The terrible charges of the sniper, the lightning thrusts of the man's
fists were wearing Bowdy down. Suddenly the German, over-confident,
struck out for his opponent's head, leaving his stomach unguarded, and
Bowdy saw his chance and took it. A heavy swing of his left fist landed
on the space between the ribs that fork outwards from the breastbone,
and the sniper curled up and dropped like a wet rag to the ground. Bowdy
fell beside him and the two men lay together, quiet as sleeping
children.
Bowdy turned over on his back and breathed deeply for a space, then
stumbled to his feet.
"I wish I had my bayonet," he muttered, rubbing his hand over his brow.
"It's a fight between two of us, a fight to death.... By God! he can
fight, too. But no wonder; he's a wrestler. And I feel done up."
Bowdy felt very weary. His head was spinning and he had great difficulty
in standing upright. He had one consolation, however. The sniper was in
as bad a state as he was. He looked down with vague eyes at the man and
saw that he was recovering from his blow and the fighting devil was
still strong within him. Groping his way to his feet, the sniper assumed
an attitude of defence.
"Come on!" said Bowdy in an energetic tone. "I have no time to waste and
I cannot strike ye when ye're sickly like that. Man! Ye should be
ashamed of yerself. Fighter indeed!"
"English pig-dog" grunted the sniper and sweltering into a tornado of
incoherent threats which the Englishman could not understand, he swept
Bowdy round in a ring and landed lightning blows several times in quick
succession. All the man's enormous vitality seemed to have been
rekindled, a million beasts of prey were loose in his body. Benners,
struggling fiercely in an endeavour to live through the tempest of his
enemy's wrath, groped for a clinch and swept into its embrace. Here he
was safe for a moment and hoped that the German would consume his
strength. In this anticipated waste of the opponent's strength lay
Benners' hope of success. Leaning his chin on the German's shoulder he
had a moment to look round.
Unreality and ghostliness lay over No Man's Land and an uncanny
atmosphere settled on the levels. Away down by Loos a bombardment had
commenced and the red flashes of the guns lit up the restless salient.
Near at hand could be seen a barbed wire entanglement, probably the
enemy's.
Benners saw the flashes of the shells and asked himself what the time
was. He felt that he had been fighting for hours and it appeared to him
that he could never get the business to an end. The sniper seemed
stronger than ever now; the man was surging with life and mad with
hatred. He was a fiend, incarnate, terrible. Bowdy wondered vaguely as
he snuggled his head over the sniper's shoulders if the man was tired,
if he felt that the contest had lasted long enough.
As in answer to the unspoken thought, the German ducked and caught his
man by the ankles and tried to raise him to his shoulders. Vaguely it
drifted into Benners' mind that the German intended to throw him head
foremost into the wires and he shuddered slightly and bent to resist the
efforts which his opponent made to grip him.
For fully ten minutes both men swayed unsteadily as Benners disputed
every inch of the ground on the way towards the entanglement. The sniper
was irresistible, and step by step he urged his man nearer and nearer to
the horrible barbs. Bowdy now knew what the man's intentions were and he
summoned up all his strength. The blood from a gashed eyebrow was
blinding him, but instinctively he did his utmost to press forward in an
opposite way to that by which the sniper was taking him. Clutching and
straining, he resisted gamely until suddenly he felt himself lifted
clean from the ground and resting on the German's shoulders. There was a
hurried rush towards the wires, the sniper holding on with all his
strength and Bowdy struggling to break free. One of his hands stretched
over the German's shoulders and Bowdy closed his fist and began to thump
the man on the back. With a yell of rage, the sniper bent down, then
straightened his back quickly and flung Bowdy from him. But he had
miscalculated his throw and Bowdy, landing on his feet, had escaped from
the danger that threatened him. But only for a moment. His man was upon
him again and the Englishman was flung with a crash into the barbed
contraption of war. Bowdy was up in a flash; his clothes torn and his
body aching, and he was upon the sniper striking out fiercely for his
stomach, landing four lightning blows. His opponent went down, falling
like a log, and lay still.
Benners, maimed, sore and bleeding, fixed an imperturbable stare on a
rising starshell and the stare slowly resolved itself into a weary
smile. For fully two minutes he stood thus, silent, with one eye (the
other had been bunged up) fixed on the scene in front, the barbed wire
entanglements, and the enemy's trench which showed clearly, barely
eighty yards away.
"God, it was a fight!" he muttered. "A damned hard fight. I suppose I
must have a look around for my bayonet now. And a professional wrestler
too."
At that moment half a dozen dark forms took shape on Bowdy's right. An
enemy patrol probably! Bowdy lay down quietly, rubbed his eyes and
listened. Nothing could be seen now and nothing could be heard save the
deep breathing of the sniper. "I hope he doesn't come to and kick up a
row," said Bowdy in a whisper. "I can't fight a dozen with my fists; one
was enough."
Something rustled on the ground near him and a head appeared rising over
the dark grass. Then a second head came into view and a third. The men
were crawling towards Bowdy and were now very near.
Then a voice spoke in a low whisper.
"Blimey!" it said; "there's nuffink 'ere. I think there's the German
wires."
"That you, Spudhole?" Benners whispered.
"Oo's that?" came the answer. "You, Bowdy?"
"That's right," said Benners, getting to his feet. "Don't make a noise.
Where are you coming to?"
"We're looking for your body," said Spudhole, standing upright. "Gawd!
We thought ye wor dead. Wot 'ave ye been doin'?"
"I've been fighting," said Bowdy. "Had a bit of a row with this man
lying here."
"'E looks as if 'e's been in the wars," said Snogger, who was leading
the search party. "By Gawd, ye 'ave been knockin' 'im about.... I
suppose we'll 'ave to carry 'im back."
"Do whatever you like with him," said Bowdy. "I'll not be able to help.
It'll be as much as I can do to carry myself in."
The party got back to the trench an hour later. The sniper was searched
and in his pockets was found in addition to other things, his own
photograph taken when he had appeared on the English music halls as a
professional wrestler.
He was carried down to the dressing-station on a stretcher; Bowdy
Benners walked down, and both men were treated by the same M.O.
A month later Bowdy got a clasp to his D.C.M.