THE FIRST ADVANCE
"MY eye, you chaps! Come out and have a look," exclaimed Penfold,
who, having gone to draw rations for the rest of the occupants of the
dug-out, had just returned with a generous quantity of tea, bacon,
and comparatively fresh loaves.
"Look at what?" asked Alderhame, still stretched on his bed of damp
straw. "The dawn----?"
"At what those strafed Huns have done," declared Penfold.
"If it's young Sidney they've been doing in there'll be trouble,"
declared Alderhame.
The quartette left their subterranean retreat and made their way to
the fire-trench. By means of a trench periscope they surveyed the
hostile lines. Above the sand-bags was a rough notice-board on which
was chalked:
"OTHER COMRADS WELKOME."
A fusillade of rifle bullets quickly demolished the offending board,
but almost immediately it was replaced by another:
"WHEN ARE YOU ENGLANDER COMING? WE
ARE TIRED OF WATEING FOR THE ADVANCE
PROMISED."
This, too, was speedily shot to pieces, and having let off a
considerable quantity of "hot air" the Tommies returned to their
breakfasts.
At ten o'clock the men crowded into the fire-trench. Although no
information had been given out concerning the revised arrangements
for the attack the men instinctively realized that the crucial moment
was at hand.
Suddenly the desultory cannonade gave place to a violent artillery
bombardment, to which the German guns could do little or nothing in
reply. Admirably registered, their range being regulated either by
observation officers at isolated posts or else from the aeroplanes
that hovered overhead, the shells battered the Hun wire entanglements
and first-line trenches almost out of recognition. The air was filled
with dust and smoke--red, yellow, and green in colour--while through
the clouds of vapour could be discerned the dismembered bodies of
German soldiers hurled twenty feet or more into the air by the
terrific force of the exploding missiles.
For a solid twenty minutes the hail of high explosive projectiles
continued, while simultaneously shrapnel put up a barrage in the rear
of the hostile trenches with a two-fold purpose: to prevent the Huns
running away and also to make it almost impossible for reinforcements
to be brought up to the firing line.
"They're lifting!" exclaimed Penfold as the shells began to drop
further away.
"Five minutes more, lads!" said the platoon commander in clear,
decisive tones. "Now, show them what the Wheatshires can do in broad
daylight."
"D'ye want a leg-up, Tubby?" sang out George Anderson, addressing his
remarks to a corpulent private whose previous efforts to surmount the
parapet were ludicrous in spite of the mental and physical strain of
"going over the top."
A general laugh greeted George's words, the butt of his remarks
joining in the hilarity. With few exceptions the men were
high-spirited. Their confidence in the artillery and the knowledge
that they were "top-dog" when it came to hand-to-hand fighting made
them eager and alert to rush forward at the first blast of the
whistle.
Thirty seconds more.
With an ear-splitting roar and a veritable volcano of flame the mine
under the Pumpnickel Redoubt was exploded. The earth trembled
violently with the crash of the detonation. In places sand-bags
slipped bodily into the British trench. A gust of violently displaced
air, bearing grit and dust, mingled with weightier fragments, swept
over the heads of the waiting Tommies. Where the strongly fortified
earthworks had stood was a crater quite two hundred yards across, but
how deep the British were yet to learn.
Before the last of the far-flung debris had fallen to earth the
whistles sounded. With a rousing cheer the line of khaki-clad men
swarmed over the parapet into the muddy and smoke-laden,
crater-pitted No Man's Land.
Almost without opposition the Wheatshires gained their objective.
More, carried away by their enthusiasm, pressed onwards, until their
officers, realizing that the men were in danger of being hit by their
own shells, recalled them with difficulty.
Lining the outer edge of the enormous mine-crater, the Wheatshires
set to work to consolidate their easily won position. Setley, while
engaged in the work, viewed with astonishment the stupendous result
of the explosion of the mine. For full seventy feet the scorched and
still smoking earth sloped steeply to the bottom of the immense pit.
Everything of a defensive nature--concrete gun-pits, reinforced
trenches, and deep dug-outs--was obliterated by the comparatively
smooth "batter" of displaced chalk and earth.
"When are the guns going to lift, do you think, sergeant?" asked
Penfold, who, having laid aside his rifle, was piling up sand-bags
with the energy of a steam-engine.
"'Bout time," replied Sergeant Ferris. "We're supposed to make good
for a mile. Hullo! What's happening on our left flank?"
Setley glanced in the direction indicated by the non-com. Here the
Coalshires, many obliquely to the general line of advance, were
falling in heaps. Men were tugging and hacking frantically at
formidable barriers of uncut barbed wire. Evidently this section of
the hostile line had escaped the otherwise general pulverization of
the Hun entanglements, while the enemy, quick to grasp the advantage,
had brought up dozens of machine-guns from deep dug-outs, raising the
intact weapons to the surface by means of lifts.
"Good God!" ejaculated Alderhame hoarsely. "Our fellows are giving
way."
With almost every officer either killed or wounded, confronted by an
almost insurmountable barrier of barbed wire, and subjected to a
terrific hail of machine-gun fire the Coalshires were almost
decimated. Bodies, riddled with bullets, were hanging from the wire,
their clothing held by the tenacious barbs. Contradictory orders
added to the confusion, while to make matters worse the Huns began
firing gas-shells into the wavering troops.
The quick eye of the Wheatshires' Colonel took in the situation.
Another regiment, hitherto held in reserve, was advancing to assist
in the holding of the mine-crater in anticipation of the usual
counter-attack. For the time being the reinforcements must make good
the advantage won by the battalion already in possession of the
position.
At the word of command the Wheatshires swung out of the captured
crater and charged the flank of that part of the German trenches left
intact.
Almost before he realized it Setley found himself in a traverse, the
furthermost end of which was packed with Huns, whose attention was
mainly directed upon the disordered Coalshires on their immediate
front.
With bayonet and bomb the attackers cleared the front three bays of
the trench, the surviving Germans either bolting from their dug-outs
or throwing up their hands with the now familiar cry of "Mercy,
Kamerad."
Briefly the situation was as follows. On a front of nearly four miles
the British had advanced a distance averaging eight hundred yards
with the exception of half a mile of trenches before which the
Coalshires had been held up. This section, strongly defended, was a
tough nut to be cracked, but now surrounded on three sides, the Huns
had either the option to resist to the last man or surrender. For the
present they chose the former alternative, conscious that by holding
out they were deferring the general advance of the British troops.
"Clear those dug-outs!" shouted a captain to No. 3 Platoon.
Experience had taught him the inadvisability of leaving a nest of
armed Huns behind the advancing Tommies.
"Out you come!" shouted Alderhame, flattening himself against the
concrete sides of the first dug-out and pointing his rifle down the
flight of steps leading to the deep subterranean retreat.
With his bayonet at the "ready" Setley took up his stand at the
opposite side and awaited the result of his comrade's challenge,
while George Anderson covered the mouth of the dug-out with a Mills
bomb. "Ja! We come!" shouted a guttural voice from the deep recesses.
"And be mighty sharp about it," rejoined Alderhame.
But instead of the head of a procession of grey-coated Huns with
upheld hands a bomb came hurtling from the dug-out. With the fuse
sizzling briskly the missile dropped midway between Setley and the
ex-actor.
In a trice Alderhame threw himself flat upon the ground. Setley,
hardly realizing the danger, stood stockstill, his bayonet still
directed towards the mouth of the dug-out. In another second----
With a muffled bang the bomb exploded. Ralph had a momentary vision
of a khaki-clad Tommy being lifted five or six feet from the ground
and subsiding almost at his feet. Simultaneously George Anderson
hurled his missile straight into the cavernous recesses of the
dug-out with disastrous results to the former occupants. "'Urt?"
enquired Ginger laconically, as he assisted the fallen Tommy to his
feet. It was Penfold, dazed and shaken, but otherwise unhurt.
Seeing the bomb lying on the ground Penfold, with admirable presence
of mind, snatched up a sand-bag, threw it upon the missile and had
held it in position until the explosion took place. This sand-bag
resisted the disastrous effect of the bomb, although the detonation
was sufficient to blow the intrepid Penfold some feet into the air.
"Good for the D.C.M.," yelled Alderhame. "Come on, lads. Let's see if
any of the swine are still in this rat-hole."
"Give 'em another bomb first," suggested Ginger. "Stand by, 'ere
goes."
The men waited until the reverberations of the explosion had died
away; then looked at each other enquiringly.
"Come on," shouted Alderhame, unfixing his bayonet and placing his
rifle against the concrete face of the dug-out. Then, borrowing a
bomb from the obliging Anderson, he led the way into the underground
refuge, while Setley following, closely at his heels, flashed a torch
over his comrade's shoulder.
The place reeked vilely of sulphurous smoke. It had been lighted by
electricity, but the concussion had shattered the bulbs. The Hun who
had hurled the bomb was lying across the fifth step. A little lower
down two more were huddled lifeless against the walls. Another,
dangerously wounded, raised one hand in a mute appeal for mercy.
"All right, Fritz," said Alderhame. "We won't hurt you any more."
This was apparently the last of the original occupants of the
dug-out. For thirty-five steps the two chums descended cautiously,
while at some distance behind came Penfold, Anderson and another man
being left to guard the entrance in case an over-zealous Tommy took
it into his head to throw down a bomb "just for luck."
"Look out!" cautioned Setley. "There's someone still there."
Muttered guttural words and suspicious scuffling confirmed Ralph's
statement. The ex-actor made ready to pull out the safety pin of this
bomb.
"Surrender!" he shouted, "or I'll blow the crowd of you to Hades."
"Don't," was the reply. "I've got them properly set. I'm an
Englishman--a Wheatshire."
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Alderhame, while Setley gave vent to a whoop of
surprise and satisfaction, for the voice was that of Sidney Bartlett.