THE LAST STAND
REFUSING Sergeant Alderhame's offer to accompany him and leaving him
in charge, Ralph, with Corporal Anderson and a private, emerged from
the Tank.
There was no time to be lost. Already Setley had caught sight of a
battery of German fixed field guns moving somewhat in the direction
of the crippled Tank. Even if the survivors of the troop train did
not inform the artillery officers of the presence of the British
landship there was not the faintest chance of the huge,
multi-coloured target escaping the notice of the gunners.
Bearing the explosive the subaltern and the two men raced to the
bridge. Waist deep in water Ginger Anderson placed the charge in a
space between the baulks of timber forming one of the principal
piers, applied and lit the fuse.
The three started to run back to the shelter of the Tank when the
sharp crack of a rifle rang out and Corporal Anderson pitched
headlong on his face and rolled over on his back.
"'Ard lines," he gasped. "Properly plugged, an' no chance of gettin'
back to Blighty. 'Op it, sir, an' don't worry arter me."
Ralph knelt by the side of his wounded corporal and one-time
fellow-private. The other man also stopped and threw himself upon the
ground. The time-limit of the fuse was nearly up.
"Where are you hit?" asked Setley.
"Left leg, sir," replied Ginger Anderson.
"No more bloomin' football for me, worse luck. It's like this,
sir----"
A deafening crash denoted the fact that the charge had exploded. When
the dust cleared away the greater portion of the bridge was no longer
in existence. That part of the business had been successfully
accomplished.
"Put your hands round my neck and hang on," ordered Setley. "I'm
going to carry you in."
With the assistance of the private Anderson was hoisted on the
subaltern's back and the last stage of the return journey began, but
before Ralph had taken a dozen steps something like a hot-iron seared
his shoulder. In spite of the weight of his burden he turned round
twice and then collapsed, losing consciousness to the rattle of one
of the Tank's machine-guns.
At the report of the rifle-shot that had brought Ginger Anderson down
Sergeant Alderhame, keenly on the alert, kept a sharp look-out for
the sniper's position. When the second report rang out the sergeant
let rip with the machine-gun, with the result that he had the
satisfaction of seeing a Hun scurrying for more efficient cover and
being brought down as he ran.
A rescue party quickly brought the wounded officer and corporal back
to the Tank.
"Bringin' 'em in, sergeant?" asked one of the men. "We're all best
outside, I'm thinking. They're bringing up the guns."
"By Jove, so they are!" exclaimed Alderhame. "Yes, outside every man
jack of you. We'll be having fifteen-pounder shells this way in half
a jiffey."
The operation of abandoning the landship was proceeded with. Sergeant
Alderhame was the last man to leave, having previously lit a fuse
that would lead to the complete destruction of the Tank. She had
played her part nobly, and her reward was destruction at the hands of
her crew.
Presently Ralph opened his eyes, to find himself being carried by
four of his men. Others were bearing the wounded corporal, while more
were carrying off one of the maxims. At the same moment the first of
the German shells burst a hundred yards to the rear and within a few
feet of the already doomed landship.
"Where are you making for, sergeant?" asked Ralph.
"For that farmhouse, sir," replied Alderhame.
"Better not," protested the wounded subaltern, as resolutely as his
bodily weakness permitted. "They'll mark us down for a dead cert if
we take up our position there. Select a spot at least two hundred
yards away."
The crew of the Tank proceeded on their quest for shelter.
Instinctively they realized that they were in a very tight corner,
isolated on hostile ground. Nothing short of a miracle, they decided,
could extricate them from their dangerous position; yet with
unfailing resolution they made up their minds to "fight it out."
Death with their faces to the foe was infinitely preferable to the
horrors of the life of a prisoner of war in the hands of the Huns.
Keeping to the scanty cover afforded by a slight dip in the ground
the dauntless men made their way with the utmost caution. Just as
they gained the spot indicated by the officer a crash, completely
outvoicing the bursting of the shells, announced that Setley's Tank
was no longer in existence.
Propped against a shattered tree-trunk Ralph directed operations for
defence, while one of his men attended to his wound.
"Where's the German officer?" he asked suddenly.
Ginger Anderson, who was lying close to his disabled officer, grinned
broadly, despite the agony caused by his badly fractured leg.
"I 'it 'im a little too 'ard, sir," he explained. "Meant ter put 'im
to sleep in the best perfessional manner, but----"
"He was as dead as a doornail before you left to destroy the bridge,
sir," reported Sergeant Alderhame. "We didn't worry to bring his
carcase away, and I guess it will be a warning to his pals when they
find him. Hullo, sir! You're right. Fritz has started to shell the
farmhouse."
Evidently under the impression that the men from the Tank had
sheltered in the building the Huns began shelling the conspicuous
target. At the third round the place collapsed like a pack of cards.
"If they let it go at that we may even yet have a chance," thought
Ralph.
Ten minutes later Alderhame reported a considerable body of Germans
coming in the direction of the demolished house, while at the same
time the presence of a strong force of hostile infantry was seen
between the Tank's crew and the British front.
"No chance of slipping through," decided the sergeant. "We'll lie
close and trust to luck. They may not spot us. If they get too
curious we'll give them something to remember."
The Germans, on arriving at the site of the farm buildings, carefully
examined the debris. Disappointed in their expectations of finding
the bodies of their foes they signalled to the main force. The
receipt of this intelligence was followed by an encircling movement,
two battalions working round to the right, one to the left, while a
regiment of Jagers in extended order advanced immediately on their
front.
"They're mighty keen on getting us," said Ralph. "A couple of
thousand men at the very least."
About fifty of the Huns who had made their way to the farmhouse were
now heading directly for the spot where the British soldiers lay in
their scanty cover. It was impossible to escape detection.
"Stand by," whispered Alderhame tersely. He had taken over the
command, since Setley was too weak to direct operations effectively.
A guttural shout from one of the leading Germans proclaimed the fact
that he had spotted the group of khaki-clad men. A regular fusillade
was the immediate outcome of his discovery; but, with the usual
indifferent marksmanship of the Hun, the shots flew either wide or
else too high.
The maxim, aided by rifle fire, gave the enemy a very unpleasant
surprise, and before the first belt of ammunition was exhausted the
Germans were bolting for cover.
"Now for a good old shelling," thought Ralph.
But he was mistaken. For some unexplained reason the German field
guns had limbered up. Perhaps their presence was urgently required at
another point. Instead, the swarm of infantry began to converge upon
the isolated handful of Britons, until the position was surrounded by
a dense mass of field grey-clad troops.
Even then the Huns forbore to close. Sharpshooters crept forward,
taking admirable cover, but, generally speaking, the enemy kept
beyond effective rifle distance.
"They're going to wait until its dark and then rush us," decided
Alderhame. "By Jove, I never before played to such a crowded audience
as this!"
Slowly the time dragged on. Bullets from the skirmishers buzzed
incessantly over the defenders' heads. The crew of the Tank replied
leisurely, hardly ever throwing away a shot. The maxim was silent. It
was no use wasting ammunition on individual foes.
With disconcerting persistence, despite their losses, the Jagers drew
nearer and nearer. Numbers of them concentrated in a hollow within
eighty yards of the defenders' position, where, immune from fire,
they prepared to rush the little band at the point of the bayonet,
aided by the use of bombs.
Suddenly disorder appeared in the hostile ranks. Men, bolting for
cover, fled for dear life, many of them dropping from a fire more
intense than that of Setley's party.
The reason was soon apparent. Waddling over the undulating ground was
a British Tank. Spitting out fire as she advanced the rescuing
landship made straight for the place where the crew of her destroyed
consort held their own, and, taking up a position so as to form a
screen from the Germans' fire, she came to a stop.
"Buck up, Setley!" exclaimed Danvers. "Don't keep us waiting. Here's
plenty of room inside."
But Setley was temporarily beyond the "bucking up" stage. He had
fainted again.
When he recovered consciousness Ralph was in a base hospital. Almost
the first question he asked was whether his men were safe. Receiving
an affirmative reply, he enquired whether the nature of his wounds
would put him out of the running for active service.
"Bless my soul, no!" replied the doctor. "A few months at home and
you'll be as fit as a fiddle. Let me be the first to congratulate
you, Mr. Setley."
"On what?" asked Ralph.
"Promotion and the D.S.O.," replied the medico. "Both well earned,
let me say. Now, don't get excited, or you'll put yourself back. The
sooner you get fit the sooner you'll be given the command of one of
the latest super-Tanks. I know that for a fact."
"That's good," murmured the wounded lieutenant. "All I hope is that
when the Greatest Push comes off I'll again be to the Fore with the
Tanks!"
PRINTED BY
WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.
PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND
[Transcriber's Notes:
A probable misprint, which was not corrected, is:
[said Sefton] -> [said Setley]
Nowhere else in the book the name [Sefton] is used.
And the dialog where this occurs, implies that this
must be [Setley].
In the paper version, used to make this digital text, there
is a page (page no. 168, chapter XVI) where the text was
damaged to such an extent that it was unreadable. The area
covered five lines. On those lines the first words were
corrupted. These pieces are marked in this text with
[unreadable text].
A few cases of punctuation errors were corrected, but are
not mentioned here.
]
End of Project Gutenberg's To The Fore With the Tanks!, by Percy F. Westerman