THE BOGGED LANDSHIP
FULL speed ahead represented a speed of nearly ten miles an hour, not
taking into consideration detours and slowing down to avoid craters
and other obstructions. Henricourt Farm, Ralph found by consulting
his large scale map, was approximately two miles away, and on the
eastern slope of Vimy Ridge. Barring accidents, the Tank ought to be
on the spot in fifteen minutes.
Already the motor-cyclist dispatch-rider was speeding over the rough
ground on his return journey. Setley could not help admiring the
pluck and determination of the man. Not only had he to avoid
shell-holes, heaps of debris and stray strands of barbed wire, but
the while desultory shells from the German long-distance guns were
"watering" the ground in a vain hope of checking the irresistible
British advance.
Even as Ralph looked a projectile struck the ground almost under the
dispatch-rider's front wheel. With a lurid flash the shell burst,
throwing masses of earth in all directions. Through the
yellowish-green smoke the subaltern had a momentary glimpse of the
motor-bike flying in one direction, the rider in another.
"Gone West, poor fellow," thought Ralph; but almost the next instant
the man picked himself up and staggered towards the prostrate
machine. The motor-cycle had finished its career. It consisted mostly
of a tangled mass of steel and a grotesquely bent petrol tank.
"We'll have that fellow in," said Setley to his sergeant--a
trustworthy non-com. of the name of Archer. "Tell him to look sharp
about it."
Although the sergeant shouted at the top of his stentorian voice to
the dispatch-rider he paid no attention. Either the roar of the
distant guns drowned his words, or else the man had been rendered
deaf by the concussion. To remain there in the open was to court
death from bullets which were "plonking" sullenly into the sodden
earth.
"Shell-shock, sir, that's what it is," declared Sergeant Archer.
"I'll fetch him in."
A shell bursting eighty yards away sent fragments rattling harmlessly
on the Tank's armoured side. The dispatch-rider never turned his
head. It was a clear proof that he had lost his sense of hearing.
Descending from the comparative security of the landship Archer raced
across the intervening distance. It was not until he touched the
unfortunate man on the shoulder that the latter was aware of his
presence. He stared vacantly at the non-com., then pointed to the
wreckage of his motor-cycle, but although his lips moved he was
unable to utter a sound. It was a bad case of shell-shock. Without
sustaining visible injury, he had been deprived of both speech and
hearing.
Archer pointed towards the waiting Tank, but the man obstinately
shook his head and turned his attention once more to the smashed
motor-cycle.
"It's nah-poo!" yelled the non-com. "You come along with me at once."
The vocal effect was completely thrown away, and when Archer gripped
the man's arm the dispatch-rider resisted strenuously.
Just then another motor-cyclist dashed up. He was riding with a set
purpose, and could not stop to see what was wrong. Crippled
motor-bikes were too common objects. Like the Levite, he passed by on
the other side.
Close behind came another motor-cyclist He evidently was returning,
having accomplished his errand, and was merely indulging in a
friendly "speed-burst" with the other man. Slowing down he came to a
standstill, and surveyed the wrecked machine.
"What's wrong, chum?" he asked inconsequently.
"He's got shell-shock, and is as obstinate as a mule," declared
Archer.
There was method in his obstinacy, for seeing one of his own men the
disabled dispatch-rider fumbled in his pouch and produced a sealed
envelope.
The new-comer glanced at the address and the endorsement, "Highly
urgent!"
"All right, chum; I'll see to it," said the man, and with a flying
start he leapt into his saddle and rode furiously away.
A look of satisfaction spread over the face of the speechless
motor-cyclist, then, staggering, he fell unconscious into the arms of
Sergeant Archer, as a shell whizzing a couple of feet over the
non-com.'s head buried itself deep in the ground, fortunately without
exploding.
Willing hands relieved the sergeant of his burden and lifted the
unconscious soldier into the Tank. A precious three minutes had been
lost, but, did Ralph but know it, the retransmission of the dispatch
was of far more vital importance than the work of succouring the
stranded landship.
But by the time Setley's Tank arrived upon the scene the situation
was serious enough. The bogged consort was lying on the floor of a
vertical pit twenty feet in depth--a cunningly devised trap right in
front of a hitherto masked position, where nearly a hundred of the
Prussian Guard, supported by a strong machine-gun detachment, still
held out.
Into the pit the Huns were lobbing bombs galore. These did but little
damage, although the fumes were trying the crew of the trapped
mammoth very severely, and, to make matters worse, the enemy had
brought up a liquid flame apparatus from an undemolished dug-out and
were about to squirt a fiery stream upon the helpless and hapless
Tankers.
In front of the position lay between forty and fifty dead or wounded
Highlanders--reserves, who, caught in the open while advancing in
support of an Irish battalion, had been surprised and mown down by
machine-gun fire. The wily Prussians had lain low when the first wave
of British had swept over their trenches, and by one of those
inexplicable omissions a detachment had not been left to consolidate
and clear up the captured ground.
Several of the wounded Jocks frantically cheered the oncoming Tank,
at the same time shouting warnings that there was a pitfall in front.
Some of them actually staggered to their feet, and grasping their
rifles followed the ponderous landship as it approached the ridge
held by the men of the Prussian Guard.
Almost at the brink of the exposed trap Setley brought his command to
a halt. While the quickfirers and machine-guns replied most
effectually to the Boches' fire the subaltern examined from the
interior of the Tank the nature and extent of the barrier that lay
betwixt him and the enemy.
The pit measured roughly fifty feet by thirty. A little less than
half of the covering still remained--fir planks covered with a few
inches of clay that harmonized with the surrounding ground. Unless
the Huns had constructed another pitfall alongside this one, it would
be practicable to pass it by keeping a few yards to the left.
The roof of the trapped Tank was plainly visible, but there were no
signs of any of her crew. In their unenviable position they could do
nothing in self-defence. The edge of the pit intervened between the
muzzles of the Tank's guns and the hostile trench, but this did not
prevent the Huns hurling their bombs over the parapet into the pit.
There was no chance of extricating the snared mastodon. Unlike the
one that was towed out of action when Setley, then a mere private,
played such a daring part, the Tank was penned in by the four
vertical sides of the deep cavity--climbing a vertical wall of stiff
clay is one of the accomplishments that a Tank cannot do. Later on,
when the foe were cleared away, gangs of men would be set to work to
dig an inclined plane, up which the ponderous machine would be able
to climb to the open ground.
Heaving a sigh of relief as his command safely negotiated the passage
past the hidden end of the obstruction, Ralph steered straight for
the strongly held earthwork. The Huns, working fervently to get their
diabolical fire-squirting apparatus in order, held their ground.
Seeking cover behind sand-bags hastily thrown across the floor of the
trench, and crouching in the concreted entrances to their dug-outs,
they hailed bullets against the avenging Tank's blunt, armour-plated
nose. Bombs, too, burst with an appalling clatter above and below the
stupendous moving fortress.
The crew gave good measure in exchange. With their machine-guns
spitting venomously and the quickfirers barking loudly the British
accounted for numbers of their foes, while the Tank set to work
systematically to level the barbed wire and flatten out the parapet
of sand-bags.
In their puny rage several of the Huns closed round the Tank. Immune
from the fire of her machine-guns they rained blows with axes at her
tractor-bands, and even attempted to check the resistless, crushing
motion by means of crossbars. All in vain: like a hippopotamus beset
with a swarm of flies the Tank continued its dignified progress,
levelling all that came in its way; until with the now monotonous cry
of "Kamerad," the surviving Prussians surrendered.
"Let a couple of Jocks take 'em back, sir," suggested Sergeant
Archer. "All the stuffing's knocked out of them, I guess."
A few slightly wounded Highlanders cheerfully accepted the
commission. Thirty badly scared Prussian Guardsmen, deprived of their
arms and accoutrements, meekly submitted to be marched off under the
escort of the indomitable Scotsmen, while in order to ingratiate
themselves with their captors the Huns voluntarily carried several of
the British wounded to the advanced dressing stations.
Setley's next task was to render what assistance he could to the crew
of the bogged Tank. Already the crew, finding that the mild
bombardment with bombs had ceased, had emerged from their metal-box
and were somewhat ruefully surveying the unclimbable walls of their
prison.
"Hullo, Danvers!" shouted Ralph. "Sorry you've had ill-luck. We'll
find a means to haul you out; but your bus must wait, I'm afraid."
Cautiously, and with his revolver ready for instant action, Sergeant
Archer, accompanied by two of the crew, descended into a dug-out, the
entrance of which was not blocked sufficiently to prevent squeezing
through. Within were half a dozen dead Huns--killed instantly by the
concussion of a high-explosive shell, yet without a wound on them.
Apparently, the dug-out formed the engineers' store, for there were
tools in plenty, including mattocks, spades, sectional ladders, and
ropes.
Returning with his find, the sergeant was about to report upon his
success when a bomb hurtled through the air. Instantly the three men
threw themselves flat on their faces, while a second later the
missile exploded without doing them harm beyond covering them with
mud and dust.
Starting to his feet, Archer levelled his revolver. He was at a loss
to discover the whereabouts of the thrower. It seemed as if the
missile had been projected from the Tank, until a burst of
machine-gun fire leapt from her side into the wall of earth within
three feet from the muzzle of the gun.
The landship had come to a stop immediately opposite the mouth of a
dug-out which had been so badly battered that the timber props were
leaning together like an inverted V. Within a desperate Hun still
lurked, and finding Archer and the two men in the open he had hurled
a bomb in the hope of strafing the Englishmen.
"Hands up!" shouted Archer, flattening himself against the bank of
earth by the entrance of the dug-out and firing a couple of shots
into the cavernous recess by way of adding weight to his words.
There was no reply.
"That Maxim laid the blighter out, sergeant," suggested one of the
men.
"I won't chance my arm on that," declared Archer. "Hand me that
spade."
Removing his steel helmet, the non-com. placed it on the handle of
the spade and thrust it carefully in front of the partly blocked
tunnel. Again there was no response to the silent invitation. Archer
repeated the tactics, this time exposing a little more of his metal
head-dress.
A rifle-shot rang out. The helmet was completely perforated by the
bullet.
"All right, Fritz," exclaimed the sergeant. "If you won't give in
like a sensible fellow we'll have to rout you out. I've a smoke-bomb
ready."
"Is that an English officer who speaks?" enquired the lurking German.
"A British sergeant--quite good enough for a Boche to argue with,"
retorted Archer. "So you speak English? Come out and surrender.
That's plain enough, and you know it."
"What's happening, sergeant?" asked Setley, who, screened by the
immense bulk of his Tank from the Hun's lair, had been conversing
with Danvers.
"There's a Boche in this dug-out, sir," reported the non-com. "Be
careful, sir; he chucked a bomb out just now. I believe he's an
officer, because he enquired if he was chewing his rag to a British
officer."
"I officer am," interposed the unseen. "To you I make surrender."
"Right-o," replied Ralph. "Out you come."
The head and shoulders of a Prussian appeared. Setley stepped forward
to receive his prisoner, when with a curse the treacherous Hun hurled
a bomb full at the face of the subaltern.
With outstretched hand Archer intercepted the flying missile and
hurled it whence it came, where it exploded with a hollow vibration.
"Good thing I'm a cricketer, sir," he remarked. "That ought to have
settled the swine's hash. There's no trusting a Prussian."
"Don't," ordered Ralph, as the non-com. was about to investigate.
"We'll run no unnecessary risks, but the blighter must be accounted
for. Where's a smoke-bomb?"
The Prussian officer was still alive. The mention of the word
"smoke-bomb" made him find his tongue. He had very strong objections
to being driven from his shelter like a rat from its hole. It was he
who had ordered the liquid fire apparatus to be brought to play upon
the bogged Tank, and now, when threatened with efficacious but
comparatively humane measures, he asserted that the British soldiers
were taking a mean advantage.
"You've put yourself out of court," exclaimed Setley. "For your
treachery you deserve to be exterminated; but we'll give you another
chance. Come out and we'll give you quarter. Any attempt at your
low-down games and you'll be shot down."
The Hun hesitated. Having no regard for his own plighted word, he had
doubts concerning the British officer's pledge.
"I will not surrender make," he shouted almost spluttering in his
rage. "This a magazine is. If you a smoke-bomb throw den I fire der
powder an' blow you and your landship to pieces."
"We'll risk that," replied Ralph coolly.
The bomb was tossed into the mouth of the dug-out. Nauseating,
pungent fumes wafted out. For thirty seconds there was no sign of the
Prussian. With their revolvers ready, Ralph and the sergeant crouched
by the side of the flattened trench.
Suddenly a grey-coated figure dashed through the asphyxiating smoke.
Temporarily blinded by the vapour, well nigh suffocated, the Prussian
floundered into the open air, until his bent head came into violent
contact with the side of the Tank. Like a felled ox he dropped upon
the ground.
"Blessed if he isn't the very image of Little Willie, sir," remarked
the sergeant, turning the Prussian over with his boot.
"He certainly looks a mental degenerate," agreed Ralph. "Here, stop
those men. Let them carry him in."
A batch of thirty prisoners, under the escort of an imperturbable
Tommy, came trudging across the open. They were Saxons; perhaps that
accounted for the rough handling they accorded the Prussian officer.
"I've seen the last of that gentleman, I hope," remarked Setley.
"You've found a rope? And ladders, too, I see. Look alive there."
Danvers and his men were soon extricated from the pitfall. With them
was a German colonel, a tall, sparely built man, who was trembling
violently in every limb.
"We hauled him out of a dug-out on our way up," explained Danvers.
"The old bus squatted right over the entrance, and this cheerful Hun
surrendered. We couldn't send him back. There were no men available
for that job. Besides, there was a pretty hot machine-gun fire just
then; so we hauled him on board. We hadn't gone a couple of hundred
yards when the colonel josser began to get jumpy. He jabbered away as
hard as he could, but as I don't understand the beastly Hun jargon I
told him to shut up. After all, he was trying to tell me we were
blundering into a trap--not out of consideration for us, you
understand, but because he didn't relish the big bump. It was his own
cowardly carcase of which he was thinking.
"Then came the big bump. Talk about peas in a box. They weren't in
it. Thought the Tank was going to turn upside down, but she pitched
on her nose with a terrific whump, and then settled down on an even
base.
"For nearly an hour the Boches bombed us. At first it was a jolly
disconcerting experience, and our Hun started shouting to the bombers
to stop it--the skunk! Imagine our fellows doing that. Finding that
nothing happened he quieted down a bit, until he suddenly danced up
and down regardless of the fact that he was bumping his pig-headed
skull against the roof girders. In his raving I caught the word
_Flammenwerfer_ several times, so I was forced to come to the
unpleasant conclusion that the Huns were going to strafe us with
liquid fire. Then your bus rolled up and put the lid on. The rest you
know."