THE STRUGGLE FOR NEANCOURT VILLAGE
"THANK your lucky stars that you fellows aren't in Blighty," was the
greeting Setley and Danvers received on the following morning, when
they put in an appearance in the building pretentiously styled the
Mess.
"What's wrong now?" asked Danvers. "Rotten news in the papers?"
"We were referring to your escapade last night," continued the
speaker. "Your efforts are like the padre's egg: good in parts. We
don't deny that the fellow who was shot by the sentry was a spy, but
the other----"
"What about him?" enquired Ralph impatiently.
"Don't jump down my throat, old chap," was the feigned indignant
protest. "That's the secret of the whole business. You simply leap at
erroneous conclusions like a bull at a gate. Sometimes the gate goes,
sometimes it doesn't, and then the animal is sorry for itself. Do you
remember what Gladstone said in 'sixty-eight?"
"Nothing to do with this spy business, I'll swear," interrupted
Danvers, seizing his tormentor by the scruff of the neck. "Now, you
prevaricating blighter, out with it! What are you hinting at?"
"I was testing your knowledge of political history before
enlightening you----"
The young officer had no further opportunity in that direction, for
Setley gripped him by the heels and Danvers by the shoulders. Between
them they bumped their victim till he yelled for mercy.
"Then straight to the point," declared Danvers, "or we'll strafe you
again."
"I was recalling the Prime Minister's immortal quotation in the year
of grace eighteen hundred and sixty-eight," gurgled the captive,
whereat the bumping process proceeded, until the entry of the senior
major restored things to their normal state.
"Yes," he remarked, when Danvers had informed him of the reason for
the impromptu "rag." "You fellows have made a mess of part of the
business. The man in British uniform is a major of the Coalshires. He
is suffering from shell-shock, and is now under the doctor's care.
Memory gone, and all that sort of thing. Got out of touch with his
battalion and wandered into the ruined farmhouse for shelter. The
plan he apparently took from a German prisoner, and although in the
major's present mental state it conveys nothing to him it means a lot
of precious information to us. It appears to be an accurate and
official plan of the system of trenches surrounding the Von der Golz
Redoubt and the fortress village of Néancourt."
"That's good, sir," remarked Danvers.
"I agree, and so does the C.O. In any case, the plan will enable the
C.O. to communicate accurate information to the Brigade Headquarters,
in which event be prepared for the fall of the hitherto impregnable
Von der Golz Redoubt."
Outside Ralph encountered Sergeant Alderhame, who was busily engaged
in dismantling a machine-gun.
"You might have got me to chip in last night's affair, sir," he said
reproachfully.
"Couldn't be helped," replied Setley. "I would have done so, if
possible. How do you like your new job?"
"Absolutely top-hole," declared the ex-actor enthusiastically. "I am
just pining to have another slap at the Boches, this time inside one
of these beauties."
And he indicated the array of landships, now quiescent, like
Behemoths resting after a fray.
"You are getting quite vindictive," declared Ralph.
"I came out here with the idea that a German was a human being like
ourselves," said Alderhame. "I have altered my opinion since then.
Why, only this morning I met one of the Wheatshires back from out
there. The wanton damage those brutes did before evacuating some of
the villages shows that he is a beast. What puzzles me is that the
German Staff isn't afraid of the consequences. They must know they're
being beaten. I suppose it's a case of:
"Before the curing of a strange disease,
Even in the instant of repair and health,
The fit is strongest; evils that take leave,
On their departure most of all show evil."
"And I hope you're right," said Ralph. "There seems no doubt that the
Huns are getting properly whacked. It'll be a tough job for some
time, but they're on the down grade."
"To quote the bard again:
He that stands upon a slippery place
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.
You know, Mr. Setley, since I've been out here I firmly believe that
Will Shakespeare must have foreseen this business. How appropriate
many of his quotations are! However, quoting Shakespeare won't get
this blessed machine-gun re-assembled, so here goes.
Before the day was out persistent rumours passed from man to man that
the Great Push was to attain its culminating point--or, at least, a
terrific intensity--on the following Monday. The guns had allowed the
enemy no rest. On a front of twenty miles tons and tons of shells
were being pumped into the Hun lines. It was a bombardment that
presaged an infantry advance on a large scale, and that meant that
the Tanks were to play a conspicuous part.
On the evening prior to the longed-for day rumour gave place to
certainty. The advance was definitely fixed. Come storm or sunshine,
mud or dust, the khaki-clad infantry were to go over the top at the
hour of five-thirty. Every available Tank was to cooperate; once the
positions were won the Tank commanders were to exercise their
discretion in pushing on, keeping within the limits and following up
the British artillery barrage.
At the final conference, the officers of the Tank Division pored over
their maps and listened to elaborate but simply explained
instructions from the C.O. The principle objective during the first
phase of the advance was the Von der Golz Redoubt. The most
practicable means of approach was pointed out--a circuitous route
that first meant the occupation of the nest of fortified ruins that
at one time formed the village of Néancourt.
"Gain that, gentlemen," concluded the C.O., "and your _raison
d'être_ is achieved. Afterwards you can rely upon your own
judgment."
Setley, like many others, sat up late that night. There was much to
be done on the eve of the battle. He had done it many times before,
but there was always the same sort of ritual to be undertaken in case
he "went West." The frequency with which he got his personal
belongings together, and wrote a farewell letter home, to be
forwarded in the event of anything happening, was becoming
monotonous. He dreaded the preliminaries, although he knew that the
moment the order for advance was received and the Tank set in motion
all fears on that score would be flung to the winds and absorbed by
the exhilaration of the battle.
The morning broke grey and misty. With the first signs of dawn the
infantry stood to arms, clustered as closely as the narrow width of
the trenches permitted. Overhead the British shells flew as thick as
hail, dropping with admirable precision upon the expanse of tortured
earth that recently had been the latest word in the system of German
field fortifications. Néancourt village remained fairly intact, as
far as observation from the British lines showed, while dominating it
was the strongly held Von der Golz Redoubt, formidable in spite of
the hammering it had received for the last forty-eight hours.
For good reasons, these two places had not been subjected to a
bombardment from H.E. shells. So long as they remained free from the
attentions of that sort of missile, the Germans kept their garrisons
up to full strength. They held the positions tenaciously, and
reckless of loss of life. Since every Hun put out of action meant an
irreparable loss to their reserves, it was better for the British to
leave a veritable death trap for their foes until the critical moment
of the advance than to pulverize the place and thus release German
troops for work in more extended positions.
"Those fellows will put up a stiff fight," remarked Danvers, as he
walked with Setley towards the waiting Tanks. "Prussian Guard and
Bavarian infantry: that's what we have in front of us. I hear that
the Saxons and Badeners have been withdrawn. They surrender too
freely to please old Hinder-beggar."
"Those blighters are obviously fed-up," agreed Ralph. "Sergeant
Alderhame showed me a card he had picked up in a captured dug-out. I
have it somewhere--yes, here it is."
He handed Danvers a piece of pasteboard, about four inches by three.
On it in German characters was the following:--
"Yield yourself prisoner: any one can who wishes to do so. Clear out
of your path those who lead you to the slaughter-house--they alone
are your enemies. Think of your dear ones. Do not sacrifice
yourselves for princes and the money bags of Prussia. Help yourselves
and God will help you.--Hans von Rippach."
"That shows the way the wind blows in the South German
principalities," commented Danvers. "Imagine our Tommies passing
round a thing like that. Hullo, there's the signal! S'long, old chap,
and the best of luck."
Five minutes later the array of Tanks ambled leisurely towards the
first-line trenches. Hardly a hostile shell came near them; the few
that did were "duds." Not only was the German fire diminished by the
British artillery, but the few missiles they did send over were
obviously deficient in quality.
Guided by the prearranged signals, the landships made for a part of
the British trenches that had already been cleared in order to allow
the mastodons to crawl over. As Ralph's Tank ground her way across
the deep and narrow trench the subaltern had a momentary glimpse of a
close line of steel-helmeted infantry, standing with one foot on the
fire-step and with their bayonets fixed, awaiting the shrill blast of
the whistles.
Fifty--a hundred yards ahead the Tanks went, greeted by a fierce yet
ineffectual fire from scores of machine-guns. Despite the heavy
bombardment, the Huns had again managed to keep a large proportion of
these deadly weapons intact. Against infantry their scythe-like hail
of bullets would be terribly effective. The Tanks, drawing the fire,
made it possible for the men to charge without excessive losses.
Straight towards Néancourt village the squadron of landships
advanced, but only to a certain point. Then, amid the yells of the
exasperated Prussians, who had been hoping that the mammoth
steel-clad machines would blunder into a series of pitfalls, the
Tanks turned abruptly to the right and parallel to the hostile lines.
Thanks to the plan that Danvers and Setley had taken from the
supposed spy, the landships were able to attack effectively and
without danger of being "bogged."
Within the confined space of the Tank the noise of the motors and
rapid bark of the quickfirers and the metallic rattle of the maxims
muffled all other sounds from without; yet Ralph caught the sudden
roar of the inimitable British cheer as the Tommies swarmed over the
top.
It was a case of concentrating all his attention on the enemy. Every
hostile machine-gun put out of action meant greater security to the
British infantry, and nobly Setley went about his task. Following the
Tank next ahead he kept within fifty yards of the enemy lines, the
nearest that the Tanks could approach without toppling over into
cunningly concealed pitfalls. As hard as the gunners could open and
snap to the metal breech-blocks, as rapidly as the maxims could use
up their belts of ammunition, the Tank, like her consorts, poured
shot and shell into every possible spot that might be a German
machine-gun emplacement.
The Huns stood their ground. The terror that had seized them when
first they had seen what they took to be supernatural monsters was no
longer manifest. They knew what Tanks were, what damage they could
do, and that, like other engines of war, they were vulnerable. The
fact that a long, deep, covered pit lay between them and the oncoming
landships gave them confidence--a confidence that was to be shattered
when they realized that somehow the British had learned the secret of
the hidden anti-Tank defences.
Again turning abruptly, this time to the left, the array of landships
lurched and sidled over the partly flattened-out trench, almost
simultaneously with the leading platoon of the charging infantry.
Although the foremost line was thinly held the Huns fought with a
desperate and ferocious courage. They were Prussians, steeped in the
belief that they are the finest troops in the world, and taught to
despise the amateur army that had, Phoenix-like, arisen from the
ashes of the "contemptible" little British expeditionary force that,
outgunned and outnumbered, ought to have been wiped out by the German
legions on the glorious retirement from Mons. Yet it had not. The
Prussian military machine had not reckoned upon one thing--the
dauntless bravery and stolid tenacity of the individual British
soldier.
With bomb, rifle and bayonet, the Huns sought to defend themselves
against the irresistible khaki-clad boys. Hardly once was the
recreant cry of "Kamerad" raised. In five minutes the British troops
were in indisputable possession of the first-line trenches. Here they
paused for a well-needed "breather," while the Tanks cleared a path
to the outskirts of Néancourt.
Three landships undertook this part of the operations. Others were
executing a "turning movement" against the Von der Golz Redoubt. Two
were already out of action--one receiving a direct hit from a 5-inch
shell, the other toppling over into a concealed pit.
Fierce as had been the struggle for the Hun front trench the fight
for Néancourt excelled it in savagery and tenacity. Setley soon had
evidences of the desperate courage of the Prussian Guard, for on
approaching the barricade at the outskirts of the village scores of
Germans boldly quitted shelter and attacked the Tank with bombs. It
was a futile, inane act, but characteristic of the temper of the
Boches. In a trice the roof of the Tank was swarming with men who
endeavoured to find a vulnerable joint in the massive armour. They
even rained blows on the muzzles of the quickfirers and tried to jam
the tractor-bands by means of crowbars and wedges, while in their mad
excitement many were killed and injured by bombs hurled by their
compatriots.
Ralph gave orders for the motors to be reversed. With the sudden
change of motion the Huns on the roof rolled off like ninepins. Many
were caught and crushed under the broad-flanged tractor-bands, others
formed an easy mark for machine-guns; while the Tank, shaking herself
clear, like a retriever emerging from the water, forged ahead again
for the barrier thrown across the street.
It was a formidable obstacle. Trees had been felled so that their
trunks--some of which were two feet in diameter--lay athwart the
road. Before and behind these were piled sand-bags, stopped with a
veritable forest of criss-crossed barbed wire. Between the
tree-trunks were two studded-linked steel chains, which had been
given plenty of "slack" so that they would "give," to a certain
extent, under the initial impact of the assailing Tank. Machine-guns
in plenty were behind the barricade; others were showing their snouts
through the glazeless windows of the houses, while nearly a thousand
picked German troops held the village.
With a dull thud the blunt nose of the Tank encountered the massive
obstruction. Ralph had avoided making for the centre of the
barricade, and had steered his command towards the right-hand side of
the road. The tree-trunks were levered aside under the irresistible
pressure of the ponderous mass of moving steel, sand-bags flew in all
directions, while the chains, pinned down under the tractor-bands,
failed utterly to justify the confidence that the Huns had placed
upon them.
Thousands of machine-gun bullets splayed upon the Tank's sides, bombs
burst all around her; yet scorning such trivialities the Tank bumped
over the debris of the demolished barricade, her guns spitting lead
with terrific effect upon the field-grey clad troops.
The first house in the street attracted Setley's attention. Save for
a few shell-holes in the walls and that it was roofless the building
was otherwise almost intact. From an upper window projected the
nozzle of a _Flammenwerfer_ apparatus. Although the weapon was not
brought into use against the Tank, Ralph guessed that it was being
kept inactive for a purpose. Should the British troops force an
entrance into the street, the diabolical contrivance would then be
brought to bear upon the dense crowd of khaki-clad Tommies.
Setley's command held on as if with the intention of traversing the
village street, until with a sharp turn it bore down upon the house
in which the liquid-fire party waited to do their barbarous work.
Striking the front wall obliquely the Tank smashed her way into the
building. Stones and bricks were flung asunder, beams began to crash
from the upper floors. The Huns, uttering yells of terror, either
tumbled headlong upon the roof of the Tank and thence rolled off and
were crushed between her sides and the tottering brickwork, or else
they clung desperately to the remaining walls and beams. The
liquid-fire apparatus fell with the men, the cylinder bursting and
discharging its contents all over the Tank and the surrounding
debris. Had any of the Boches seized the opportunity and applied a
light to the inflammable fluid it would have resulted in Ralph and
his men being roasted alive in their steel cage; but, fortunately for
them, the disaster did not take place.
It had been Ralph's intention to force his Tank completely through
the building, but this task was beyond the powers of the
motor-propelled fortress. Vainly the tractor-bands revolved, grinding
to powder the brick rubble, yet without gaining another inch.
Failing to forge ahead the Tank endeavoured to back out of the blind
alley in which she found herself. With the reversing of her motors
the landship jerked back a couple of feet or more and then sank
perpendicularly for a distance of seven or eight feet, so that its
roof projected only a couple of feet above the level of the street.
For a few seconds the sickening thud knocked the stuffing out of the
Tank's crew. Used to bumps and jars though they were they had never
before experienced the effect of falling with a hideous thud for a
vertical distance of nearly three yards. They were in total darkness,
for so dense were the clouds of dust and smoke that the daylight was
completely obscured.
When the dust had subsided sufficiently to allow the murky light to
penetrate, Ralph took stock of the position. Through the gap in the
outer wall that the Tank had made he could see a considerable extent
of the village street. Crowds of Germans were rushing up to reinforce
the men at the partly demolished barricade, from which Ralph
concluded that the British infantry had begun to make the attempt to
rush the village.
"If only we had a gun able to bear upon that mob, sir," exclaimed
Sergeant Alderhame, "we could enfilade the whole crowd."
It was a vain wish, for in falling the muzzles of the quickfirers had
been held up by the brickwork, with the result that they had been
wrenched from their mountings, while the mound of rubble was a few
inches too high to enable the maxims to be depressed sufficiently to
bear upon the Huns in the street.
None of the enemy paid any attention to the stranded Tank. Perhaps
the imminent danger of the attacking infantry exercised the prior
claim. At any rate, the crew of the landship were passive spectators
of the combat, unable to bring a gun to bear upon their foes yet in a
position to see most of what was taking place at the commencement of
the village street.
Despite machine-gun fire and an incessant fusillade of bombs the
storming party gained the gap in the barricade. Two companies of
different regiments were the first to get to grips with the enemy.
One was a Highland battalion, the other was comprised of men of
Ralph's old regiment--the redoubtable Wheatshires.
Both the Jocks and the Tommies were yelling furiously. Amid the babel
of voices could be heard the ominous shout of "No Quarter!" The men
were up against the Prussian Guard, and there were old scores to pay
off. Both the Wheatshires and the Highlanders had cause to remember a
certain incident earlier in the war, when under pressure of
overwhelming numbers the men had to give ground. Every wounded Briton
left on the field was mercilessly bombed or bayoneted, and the
perpetrators of this cruel and unnecessary act were Huns of the
Prussian Guard. No wonder, then, that it was now a case of _te
quoque_.
Magnificently the khaki-clad men came on. Numbers fell, but still the
forward movement was maintained. Up and over they swarmed. Bombs met
bombs, bayonet crossed bayonet, rifle-butts descended with sickening
thuds on heads. Men badly wounded grappled madly on the ground,
regardless of those who trampled on them, their one object being to
"do in" their immediate antagonists. Shells from German light field
guns were dropping into the pack of friend and foe, till the air
rained blood.
In the fury of the fight the combatants were scornful of the dangers.
To Ralph, temporarily a mere onlooker, the ghastliness of the whole
business was apparent. The hollow mockery of modern civilization
stood unmasked. Was it merely to satisfy the insensate craving for
glory on the part of that megalomaniac Emperor that millions of Huns
and their vassals poured out their blood like water, and more equal
numbers of Britons and their Allies freely risked their lives to
thwart the sanguinary ambitions of militant Prussianism?
The Kaiser had sown the wind and was now reaping the whirlwind.
Whether the present war would be the last, and the sword finally
beaten into a ploughshare, still remained to be proved. In calmer
moments would the Great Powers grasp the full significance of the
devastating and murderous effect of modern war, or is the primeval
instinct so deeply rooted in mankind that as long as the world exists
international disputes must be settled by the arbitrament of the
sword?
The sight of the frenzied mob of hale, active men, most of whom had
until a few months before been engaged in eminently peaceful
commercial and agricultural pursuits and had been almost entirely
ignorant of the use of the rifle, seemed to prove otherwise. Beneath
the veneer of civilization the fighting instinct, controlled by
centuries of law-governed authority, there still remained the
pugnacious instinct. And now, to quote a well-known critic, "the lid
of hell was off," with a vengeance.
For a futile ten minutes pandemonium reigned. Mingled with the rattle
of machine-guns, the sharp reports of rifle-shots, and the crash of
steel, were shouts of vengeful triumph and the cries of the wounded.
Through the eddying clouds of dust and smoke tiles and bricks from
the shelled houses flew in showers. Occasionally whole buildings
would collapse like a pack of cards, burying the German machine
gunners in the ruins. Fires, too, were breaking out to add to the
horrors of the scene, while with typical indifference the German
artillery were dropping shrapnel and gas-shells in the midst of the
pack of swaying and struggling combatants.
Beyond the barricade the advance came to a standstill. For a few
moments the tide swayed erratically, until the opposing troops were
hampered by the dead and wounded. Masses of Germans were hurriedly
rushed up through a gap in the otherwise faultless British artillery
barrage, and hurled themselves into the fray.
The situation looked critical until a brawny Highlander sprang upon
the captured barricade and, holding unsupported a ponderous Lewis
gun, pumped in a tray of ammunition over the heads of his comrades.
Then, with renewed shouts of "Scotland for Ever!" on the part of the
Jocks, and the dogged "Stick it, the Wheatshires!" the British swept
forward with an irresistible rush. The majority of the Prussians
threw down their arms and fled, to find their retreat cut off by
other British battalions, who, assisted by the Tanks, had completed
the turning movement. Some of the Huns dashed precipitately to their
underground retreats, with parties of British bombers hard at their
heels to rout them out of their deep dug-outs.
The fortress village of Néancourt had fallen, but it was a mere
incident in the vast field of operations in connection with the
Greater Push. Until the Von der Golz Redoubt was in British hands the
day's objective could not be considered as achieved.