In the Firing-line Again
Ten days later Peter and Malcolm Carr found themselves told off to a
draft that was about to leave Sling Camp for the Front. During that
time Malcolm had been notified that the sum of one hundred pounds
had been awarded him in recognition of his services in discovering
the infernal machine in the coal-bunker of the transport _Pomfret
Castle_. Other awards had been made to Sergeant Fortescue and
Rifleman Selwyn.
"A jolly useful sum!" remarked Peter. "What are you going to do with
it?"
"Cable it to New Zealand," replied Malcolm. "I don't want to touch
it here if it can be avoided."
"Think twice, old man," said his brother. "Bank it in a British
bank, and then if you do want to draw it in a hurry it's there. You
never know your luck. If anything should happen to you out
there--one has to consider such a thing--the money can then be
cabled to the governor."
The draft from Sling was a large one. Report had it that another big
"stunt" was imminent, and that New Zealand was to have the honour of
being well represented in the impending operations.
Almost without incident the draft crossed the Channel, and once more
Malcolm found himself on the soil of France. It was now late
September. Normandy looked its best, the leaves displaying their
autumn tints, and the apple trees bending under the weight of fruit.
And yet, only a few miles away, was the war-tortured belt of
terrain, a mass of ruined buildings, even now being rebuilt, where
Briton and Gaul were slowly yet surely wresting French soil from the
Hun.
Most of the New Zealanders around Étaples were now under canvas, the
weather being fine, but with a sharp fall in temperature during the
night. Upon the arrival of the new draft the men were told off to
various companies, and once more the two Carrs were separated.
Malcolm took the matter philosophically, knowing that in war-time a
soldier cannot pick and choose his mates; but to his astonishment
and delight he found that Fortescue and Selwyn were in the same
lines.
"Yes, I'm back again," remarked the former, after Malcolm had
related his adventures. "I had a good time in Blighty, and when I
was passed out by the medical board I was offered a staff job at
Hornchurch."
"And like a jay he turned it down," added Selwyn. "He might have had
a soft time in Blighty; instead, he puts in for France--and just as
winter's coming on, too."
"One would imagine that you were a lead-swinger, Selwyn," exclaimed
Fortescue.
"Not so much of that, Digger," protested the latter. "Of course I
couldn't hang behind when I've to look after big helpless Sergeant
Fortescue."
"What happened after you got your buckshie at Messines?" asked
Malcolm.
"A regular holiday--it was _bonsor_," replied Selwyn. "Nine hours
after I got hit I was at Tin Town, Brockenhurst. Three weeks there
and they pushed me on to Home Mead. Take my tip, Malcolm; if you get
a buckshie try and work it to be sent there. Had the time of my
life. The other boys will tell you the same. It is some hospital.
Then back to Codford, where I had my leave."
"Where did you go?" asked Malcolm.
"The usual round; Edinburgh and Glasgow. Gorgeous time there, too;
people were awfully kind."
When the young rifleman described his Scottish journey as the usual
round, he was referring to the somewhat curious fact that a large
percentage of New Zealanders go to Edinburgh when granted leave
after being discharged from hospital. It is a sort of solemn rite,
and few men from "down under" go back to New Zealand without seizing
the opportunity of paying a flying visit to the "Land of Burns".
"So you saw a bit of Blighty, then?" remarked Malcolm.
"Yes, rather!" was the reply; "and now I'm going to see a bit of
France, or is it Belgium this time?"
"Ask me another," replied Sergeant Fortescue. "All I know is that
the division moves up to the front on the 3rd of next month, so it
looks as if we're going to shake Fritz by the scruff of his neck."
"Hallo, there's Mike Dowit!" exclaimed Malcolm, as the
stretcher-bearer passed by. "How goes it, chum?"
Stretcher-bearer Dowit stopped, crossed the road, and grasped the
rifleman's hand. Being a man of very few words, he excelled himself
by saying nothing.
"Ask him," prompted Fortescue, "when he's going to have another bath
at the Estaminet Moulin Gris."
The stretcher-bearer flushed and shuffled his feet awkwardly.
"Mike's as shy as a _wahine_," continued the Sergeant. "I'll tell
you the yarn. We were billeted at an estaminet that had copped it
pretty thick. Roof practically off, and the outbuildings nothing but
a pile of bricks; you know the sort of thing. Well, Mike discovered
a tub full of water, as he thought, and early one morning he slipped
out to have a bath. He had only just started his ablutions when
Madame's face appeared at the only window left in the inn.
'Arrêtez!' she shouted; 'arrêtez! You no use soap. Soap na poo. You
spoil ze beer--compree?'"
"I've only got her word that it was beer," declared Dowit stolidly.
"It's a great joke with the boys," continued Fortescue, after the
stretcher-bearer had gone. "They chip him frightfully about it; ask
if that's why he's got the D.C. M. I suppose you didn't know that it
was awarded him, for gallantry at Messines--rescuing wounded under
heavy fire? My word! Mike was hot stuff that day. It was a
thundering good job when he slung that dud bomb at Featherstone
Camp, or I mightn't be here now."
In the dead of night of the 3rd of October the New Zealand Division,
in heavy marching order, silently relieved a Tommy division on the
Flanders Front.
"Where are we, Sergeant?" enquired Rifleman M'Kane. "This spot
doesn't seem familiar."
"It will be before morning," replied Fortescue grimly. "We're
opposite Gravenstafel, and those are the Heights of Abraham. If we
are not firmly planted upon them by to-morrow afternoon I'm a
Dutchman."
The new position was certainly a novel one as far as Malcolm was
concerned. The seemingly endless lines of zigzag trenches were no
longer in evidence. Shelter was provided by the simple expedient of
linking up suitable shell-craters, with which the soft ground was
liberally besprinkled.
Hardly were the New Zealanders settled when the Huns began a furious
bombardment. It was not a spasmodic burst of shell-fire, but a
concentrated and deliberate fire upon the series of field-works
fronting the village of Gravenstafel. Every man knew what it meant;
the Germans were about to attack in force, while a similar operation
was impending on the part of the British. The question was, which
side would get away quickest? Would the serried wave of infantry
meet in the open?
Gamely the New Zealanders endured their gruelling; until the guns
lifted and put up a barrage behind them.
Sheltering in a dug-out were Sergeant Fortescue, Corporal Billy
Preston, Riflemen Carr, Dick Selwyn, M'Kane, M'Turk, and two
others--youngsters for the first time under shell-fire, who were the
objects of undisguised solicitude on the part of the non-coms. Up to
the present their attention was thrown away; neither Henderson nor
Stewart showed the faintest indication of "jumpiness".
The dug-out trembled under the terrific impact of shells bursting
within an unpleasant distance. Even the more seasoned men were
inwardly perturbed. Save for a few disjointed
sentences--conversation was far from being a success--the occupants
of the shelter remained silent.
"They're lifting, thank goodness!" exclaimed Fortescue. "Wonder if
Fritz will attempt a raid on a big scale? If so, he'll have the
shock of his life."
"What time do we assemble, Sergeant?" asked Henderson, who was
hesitating over the opening sentences of a letter he was about to
commence. "At five, my festive," replied Fortescue. "It will----"
The sound of heavy footsteps descending the steps leading to the
dug-out interrupted his words. Then a voice enquired: "All right,
down there?"
"All seats taken; house full," replied M'Turk. "Sorry; but try your
luck somewhere else."
The ground-sheet hung up over the entrance was pulled aside, and the
voice continued:
"That's all right, boys; hope you'll have a full house after the
stunt."
The men sprang to their feet and stood at attention. It was well
that the roof of the dug-out was a fairly lofty one. Sergeant
Fortescue saluted.
"Beg pardon, sir!" he exclaimed, for standing in the doorway,
cloaked and wearing his shrapnel-helmet, was the Brigadier.
"Glad to see you so chirpy, boys," remarked the Brigadier. "Good
night, and good luck!"
The next instant he was gone, to continue his flying visits to the
men. It had been an anxious time, especially to the commanding
officers, and, in order to satisfy themselves that the boys were
still in a position to carry out the attack, the brigadiers made
personal tours along the firing-line.
"He's some sport," declared Selwyn. "What's it like outside, I
wonder? I'll go and have a look round."
Malcolm accompanied his chum. In the open air the cold, contrasted
with the warmth of the dug-out, was intense. The wind blew chilly
upon their faces. Overhead the sky was darkened with drifting
clouds, between the rifts of which the light of the full moon shone
upon the ghostly expanse of shell-craters.
The German guns were still firing hotly, directing their missiles a
good four hundred yards behind the New Zealand lines. The British
artillery was replying, but lacking the intensity of the enemy's
fire.
"Hanged if I'd like to be with the ration-parties to-night,"
remarked Selwyn. "There'll be a few of the boys knocked out behind
our lines, I fancy."
"Let's get back out of it," suggested Malcolm. "It's too jolly cold
to stand here. What's the time?"
He consulted the luminous dial of his wristlet watch.
"By gum--a quarter to five!" he exclaimed. "The boys will start
assembling in another fifteen minutes."
"What's it doing?" enquired Fortescue when the chums returned to the
dug-out.
"Fine so far, but threatening," replied Selwyn. "It'll be our usual
luck--raining in torrents, I'm afraid."
"Anyone know our objectives?" enquired M'Kane as he slowly adjusted
the straps of two empty canvas bags that later on were to be crammed
full with Mills's bombs.
"Eighteen hundred yards on a two-thousand-yards front, and not an
inch beyond," replied Fortescue. "That'll bring us on to the hill,
which is what we want. Dry ground during the winter, you know."
At last Fortescue gave the word. The men, grasping their rifles,
filed out, to find the fortified craters filling up with silent
khaki-clad Diggers.
"Keep together," whispered Malcolm to Selwyn.
"Rather!" replied his chum. "Dash it all, I wish we were off. I
always loathe this hanging-about business."
Just then the German barrage redoubled in violence. As it did so the
long-threatening rain began to fall--a cold drizzle.
The New Zealanders could not understand why the Huns were putting up
such a persistent barrage. They could only put it down to the fact
that Fritz had a good inkling of the impending stunt and was getting
"jumpy". As a matter of fact, it was owing to another reason.
For an hour a handful of New Zealanders clung to the crater defences
in the front line. These men had orders not to go forward in the
advance, the attacking infantry being in the second and third line
of trenches. Quite under the impression that the nearmost German
pill-boxes were lightly held, the New Zealanders in the advance
posts were afterwards surprised to learn that they had been within a
few yards of hundreds of picked German troops. The Huns intended
attacking at about the same time as the New Zealanders, and the
hitherto deserted block-houses had been reoccupied during the night
by swarms of German infantry.
At six o'clock the British guns opened a barrage, compared with
which the German fire paled into insignificance. Eighteen-pounders
and 4.5-inch howitzers, supported by the giant 12- and 14-inch
long-range guns farther back, threw tons of metal upon the enemy
lines, the heavier projectiles hurtling overhead with a roar like
that of an express train. The earth trembled, and the sky was lurid
with the flashes of bursting shells, as rapidly the strongly
constructed pill-boxes were beaten into fragments of riven concrete.
So intense was the fire that the German artillery now replied but
feebly and inaccurately, while, a sure sign that Fritz was "done"
red and green rockets sent their distress signals from the enemy
position for aid that was not forthcoming.
"Fix bayonets!"
The order passed along the line. So deafening was the roar of the
guns that the click of the bayonets as they were fixed was
inaudible. Here and there men gave a final adjustment to their steel
helmets or fumbled with their equipment, but for the most part the
New Zealanders stood motionless, with firm, set faces, awaiting the
command to unleash.
The British barrage lifted, the whistles blew, and out of their
lines the khaki-clad troops surged.