The Kidney Bean Redoubt is the key to a very considerable sector of
trenches.
It lies just behind a low ridge. The two horns of the bean are drawn
back out of sight of the enemy, but the middle swells forward over the
skyline and commands an extensive view of the country beyond. Direct
observation of artillery fire is possible: consequently an armoured
observation post has been constructed here, from which gunner officers
can direct the fire of their batteries with accuracy and elegance.
Lose the Kidney Bean, and the boot is on the other leg. The enemy has
the upper ground now: he can bring observed artillery fire to bear
upon all our tenderest spots behind the line. He can also enfilade our
front-line trenches.
Well, as already stated, the Twenty-Second Royal Stickybacks had
lost the Kidney Bean. They were a battalion of recent formation,
stout-hearted fellows all, but new to the refinements of intensive
trench warfare. When they took over the sector, they proceeded to
leave undone various vital things which the Hairy Jocks had always
made a point of doing, and to do various unnecessary things which the
Hairy Jocks had never done. The observant Hun promptly recognised that
he was faced by a fresh batch of opponents, and, having carefully
studied the characteristics of the newcomers, prescribed and
administered an exemplary dose of frightfulness. He began by tickling
up the Stickybacks with an unpleasant engine called the _Minenwerfer_,
which despatches a large sausage-shaped projectile in a series of
ridiculous somersaults, high over No Man's Land into the enemy's
front-line trench, where it explodes and annihilates everything
in that particular bay. Upon these occasions one's only chance of
salvation is to make a rapid calculation as to the bay into which
the sausage is going to fall, and then double speedily round a
traverse--or, if possible, two traverses--into another. It is an
exhilarating pastime, but presents complications when played by a
large number of persons in a restricted space, especially when the
persons aforesaid are not unanimous as to the ultimate landing-place
of the projectile.
After a day and a night of these aerial torpedoes the Hun proceeded
to an intensive artillery bombardment. He had long coveted the
Kidney Bean, and instinct told him that he would never have a better
opportunity of capturing it than now. Accordingly, two hours before
dawn, the Redoubt was subjected to a sudden, simultaneous, and
converging fire from all the German artillery for many miles round,
the whole being topped up with a rain of those crowning instruments of
demoralisation, gas-shells. At the same time an elaborate curtain of
shrapnel and high explosive was let down behind the Redoubt, to
serve the double purpose of preventing either the sending up of
reinforcements or the temporary withdrawal of the garrison.
At the first streak of dawn the bombardment was switched off, as if by
a tap; the curtain fire was redoubled in volume; and a massed attack
swept across the disintegrated wire into the shattered and pulverised
Redoubt. Other attacks were launched on either flank; but these were
obvious blinds, intended to prevent a too concentrated defence of the
Kidney Bean. The Royal Stickybacks--what was left of them--put up a
tough fight; but half of them were lying dead or buried, or both,
before the assault was launched, and the rest were too dazed and
stupefied by noise and chlorine gas to withstand--much less to
repel--the overwhelming phalanx that was hurled against them. One
by one they went down, until the enemy troops, having swamped the
Redoubt, gathered themselves up in a fresh wave and surged towards
the reserve-line trenches, four hundred yards distant. At this point,
however, they met a strong counter-attack, launched from the Brigade
Reserve, and after heavy fighting were bundled back into the Redoubt
itself. Here the German machine-guns had staked out a defensive line,
and the German retirement came to a standstill.
Meanwhile a German digging party, many hundred strong, had been
working madly in No Man's Land, striving to link up the newly acquired
ground with the German lines. By the afternoon the Kidney Bean was not
only "reversed and consolidated," but was actually included in the
enemy's front trench system. Altogether a well-planned and admirably
executed little operation.
Forty-eight hours later the Kidney Bean Redoubt was recaptured, and
remains in British hands to this day. Many arms of the Service
took honourable part in the enterprise--heavy guns, field guns,
trench-mortars, machine-guns; Sappers and Pioneers; Infantry in
various capacities. But this narrative is concerned only with the part
played by the Seventh Hairy Jocks.
"Sorry to pull you back from rest, Colonel," said the Brigadier, when
the commander of the Hairy Jocks reported; "but the Divisional General
considers that the only feasible way to hunt the Boche from the Kidney
Bean is to bomb him out of it. That means trench-fighting, pure and
simple. I have called you up because you fellows know the ins and outs
of the Kidney Bean as no one else does. The Brigade who are in the
line just now are quite new to the place. Here is an aeroplane
photograph of the Redoubt, as at present constituted. Tell off your
own bombing parties; make your own dispositions; send me a copy of
your provisional orders; and I will fit my plan in with yours.
The Corps Commander has promised to back you with every gun,
trench-mortar, culverin, and arquebus in his possession."
In due course Battalion Orders were issued and approved. They dealt
with operations most barbarous amid localities of the most homelike
sound. Number Nine Platoon, for instance (Commander Lieutenant
Cockerell), were to proceed in single file, carrying so many grenades
per man, up Charing Cross Road, until stopped by the barrier which the
enemy were understood to have erected in Trafalgar Square, where
a bombing-post and at least one machine-gun would probably be
encountered. At this point they were to wait until Trafalgar Square
had been suitably dealt with by a trench-mortar. (Here followed a
paragraph addressed exclusively to the Trench-Mortar Officer.) After
this the bombers of Number Three Platoon would bomb their way across
the Square and up the Strand. Another party would clear Northumberland
Avenue, while a Lewis gun raked Whitehall. And so on. Every detail
was thought out, down to the composition of the parties which were
to "clean up" afterwards--that is, extract the reluctant Boche from
various underground fastnesses well known to the extractors. The whole
enterprise was then thoroughly rehearsed in some dummy trenches behind
the line, until every one knew his exact part. Such is modern warfare.
Next day the Kidney Bean Redoubt was in British hands again.
The Hun--what was left of him after an intensive bombardment of
twenty-four hours--had betaken himself back over the ridge, _via_ the
remnants of his two new communication trenches, to his original front
line. The two communication trenches themselves were blocked and
sandbagged, and were being heavily supervised by a pair of British
machine-guns. Fighting in the Redoubt itself had almost ceased, though
a humorous sergeant, followed by acolytes bearing bombs, was still
"combing out" certain residential districts in the centre of the
maze. Ever and anon he would stoop down at the entrance of some deep
dug-out, and bawl--
"Ony mair doon there? Come away, Fritz! I'll gie ye five seconds. Yin,
Twa, Three--"
Then, with a rush like a bolt of rabbits, two or three close-cropped,
grimy Huns would scuttle up from below and project themselves from one
of the exits; to be taken in charge by grinning Caledonians wearing
"tin hats" very much awry, and escorted back through the barrage to
the "prisoners' base" in rear.
All through the day, amidst unremitting shell fire and local
counter-attack, the Hairy Jocks reconsolidated the Kidney Bean; and
they were so far successful that when they handed over the work to
another battalion at dusk, the parapet was restored, the machine-guns
were in position, and a number of "knife-rest" barbed-wire
entanglements were lying just behind the trench, ready to be hoisted
over the parapet and joined together in a continuous defensive line as
soon as the night was sufficiently dark.
One by one the members of Number Nine Platoon squelched--for it had
rained hard all day--back to the reserve line. They were utterly
exhausted, and still inclined to feel a little aggrieved at having
been pulled out from rest; but they were well content. They had done
the State some service, and they knew it; and they knew that the
higher powers knew it too. There would be some very flattering reading
in Divisional Orders in a few days' time.
Meanwhile, their most pressing need was for something to eat. To be
sure, every man had gone into action that morning carrying his day's
rations. But the British soldier, improvident as the grasshopper,
carries his day's rations in one place, and one place only--his
stomach. The Hairy Jocks had eaten what they required at their
extremely early breakfast: the residue thereof they had abandoned.
About midnight Master Cockerell, in obedience to a most welcome order,
led the remnants of his command, faint but triumphant, back from the
reserve line to a road junction two miles in rear, known as Dead Dog
Corner. Here the Battalion was to _rendezvous_, and march back by easy
stages to St. Grégoire. Their task was done.
But at the cross-roads Number Nine Platoon found no Battalion: only a
solitary subaltern, with his orderly. This young Casabianca informed
Cockerell that he, Second Lieutenant Candlish, had been left behind to
"bring in stragglers."
"Stragglers?" exclaimed the infuriated Cockerell. "Do we look like
stragglers?"
"No," replied the youthful Candlish frankly; "you look more like
sweeps. However, you had better push on. The Battalion isn't far
ahead. The order is to march straight back to St. Grégoire and
re-occupy former billets."
"What about rations?"
"Rations? The Quartermaster was waiting here for us when we
_rendezvoused_, and every man had a full ration and a tot of rum."
(Number Nine Platoon cleared their parched throats expectantly.) "But
I fancy he has gone on with the column. However, if you leg it you
should catch them up. They can't be more than two miles ahead. So
long!"