by Ruskin Bond
And I was not wrong. I was wanted to replace casualties.
Our little party of gunners and signallers left the wagon-line as the mist was clearing. We could see the road quite plainly in front of us—so plainly, in fact, that we saw things on it which decided us not to take the road at all but make a detour across country. Only a few hours previously I had ridden along that road in the light of the stars, and it had seemed like a country road at home in its untouched whiteness; but now it was different. The shells had torn great holes in its length, and with the shells had come the red splashes of death where ammunition-waggons and infantry transport had been caught in the open when the barrage started. Smashed vehicles festooned its borders; horses lay there rigid alongside them, and occasionally a blotch of khaki.
The gun-position looked somehow different. Something had been happening there, too. Shell-holes were dotted about between the guns, gaping holes which showed up glaringly against the smooth green of the turf, and the guns were in action with the covers off and piles of ammunition ready at the trails. No shells came over as we walked on to the position, and ahead in the line the landscape was beginning to show its accustomed outlines as the fog lifted. Outside the TDO there was a little crowd of gunners, and an officer bending over some one who was lying on the grass at their feet. It was poor old Corporal S——, of the signallers, who had caught it badly, and was about to be carried away to the dressing-station. I looked at his face as the stretcher passed me, and recognition came into his eyes. And then they called me into the dugout to take over the telephone.
All the morning the gunners 'stood to,' ready to fire as soon as we should hear where the enemy had got to in their advance. No information had come down yet except the tales the wounded had to tell of how they had been suddenly overwhelmed in the front line and surrounded by hordes of Jerries in the fog. The enemy had broken through all right after the terrific bombardment of the early hours, but he was held up somewhere or other, and now and again the rattle of machine guns came back to us.
The front grew quieter as the morning wore on. Shelling became less frequent. But the fog had cleared completely, and every moment we expected orders for action now that observation of the enemy movements was possible. Towards midday the noises of firing dropped to an occasional shell or so, and then came silence. It was all very mysterious and alarming. What was happening up there in front? Should we see the Boches coming over?
It was half-past twelve when the first message came over the phone. Five minutes later the range had been worked out and the battery was in action, banging away at some unseen target over the low slopes in front of us, wooded slopes towards which we had directed half-fearful glances during the morning. With minor alterations of range the guns kept it up for the next hour, two rounds per gun per minute, and I seized the opportunity of getting out on the position to have a look at things.
Directly ahead the rising ground precluded all view of the line, so my sightseeing was limited to the flanks. On the right there was another battery in action about half a mile away, going strong with flashing salvoes. I looked to the left, and then I saw something which made my heart contract and sent me running back to the TDO to fetch Ross out to have a look.
The infantry were running away.
Down the slopes they came, throwing away their rifles as they ran, coming down towards the guns at the double in twos and threes, hatless and wholly demoralised, calling out to us as they passed that Jerry was through and that it was all over. No use staying there with those guns, they yelled as they ran by; he was through! Privates, non-commissioned officers, running for their lives out of the horror they had tried to stand up to all that day, running past our guns in increasing numbers, and making us realise to the full the desperate plight we were in. Why should we not retire as well and save the guns?
But the Major was out on the position now, tight-lipped and grim, swinging his revolver in his hand and telling us all that no man was to leave the guns without orders or he would be shot; watching the rise ahead and then glancing back at the broken remnant of the battalion fleeing in disorder; sweeping the skyline with his glasses for the first signs of grey figures coming over—we were to stay.
Towards three o'clock more and more infantry retired on our left and made us feel that we would shortly be the only people in the line at all. Messages came through with increasing rapidity ordering us to fire here and there on the advancing enemy. The ammunition was running out and an orderly was sent galloping off to the waggon-line for more. The whole brigade was now firing salvo after salvo into Lambay Wood, just in front, where masses of the Jerries were. Across the front as far as the eye could see there was no other artillery brigade firing; the one on our right had packed up at midday, and we were alone on the sector with the whole might of the enemy closing on us.
No more infantry came down now. There were no more there. Inquisitive aeroplanes had found the coast all clear for a general advance. Only our brigade held the line, firing desultory salvoes into Lambay Wood, sweeping the guns across a too-wide arc of the front in a futile attempt to stay the tide of field-grey that was spreading towards us out there in the darkness of the evening. Across the length and breadth of the sector, save only where our battery defiantly banged away and reloaded and banged again, there settled a prolonged silence. A faint and strangely alarming rumble of transport reached us at intervals from afar, as if the enemy had penetrated behind us on the flanks and was dragging up his artillery. We did not know. The hours went by to seven o'clock and then eight o'clock with still no order to retire. With the coming of night the guns ceased their work, as the location of the enemy was now shrouded in mystery. The next thing that would happen, I thought, would be our last shoot of the war, at point-blank range, as they came running down that same slope with their bombs and bayonets.
It was long past nine o'clock when the jingling gun-teams broke from the gloom behind the position and bore down upon us urgendy. In a flurry of excitement at our release we hooked them in, working like mad at the swingle-trees of the limbers, grabbing telephones and equipment and running over our horses as soon as the guns were ready to pull out. I got mounted, looked around for Ross—ah, here he was, all aboard. The first of the guns was moving across the field now, and one by one the others dropped into line. We trotted ahead to our places. In a few minutes the whole battery was safely out on the road and headed in the direction of Jussy, moving along at a fast walk that for me, at least, was not fast enough. My strained ears had detected, in the last few moments on the position, a nearer rumbling than ever of unseen transport, a murmuring of vast columns on the move through the night.
We retired through Jussy, taking a last look at the old familiar scenes of the waggon-line as we rode past, at the huts, now wrecked by the storm of shell-fire of that morning, at the low horse-shelters behind them; and presently we were riding through the next village of Flavy-le-Martel.
Here on the outskirts of the place the Major turned his horse off the main road and steered left in a southerly direction. Ahead of us we could dimly make out the outline of a hill against the night sky, and we felt ourselves climbing a steady rise leading up to the summit of the hill, where we halted. Now we were on a sort of plateau, from which we could look down on the almost-side-by-side villages of Jussy and Flavy. It was nearly midnight. We had travelled a good way back and felt much safer up there by Faillouel on the hill. I began to think about getting some sleep now that we were clear of immediate danger, but stood around for a while to find out what the orders were. There were no buildings near where we could billet; the guns had been run into position behind a low ridge in the open field so that if we slept at all it would be under the sky with all our clothes on. Then the order was passed round that we were staying there for the night. I found there was nothing for the signallers to do, so I spread my waterproof sheet under a waggon, wrapped myself in my shell-shocked coat and a blanket, and slept. I and the rest of the battery slept for five hours. I ment
ion this because it was the longest sleep we had for ten days and nights following this first stand at Faillouel.
It was cold up there on that plateau. Very early in the morning I awoke half frozen and scrounged two more blankets that some one had left lying about. The guard was pacing back and fore in rear of the silent guns. Another hour or so passed before morning dragged us all out to see how the war was going on down in the valley, and the smell of breakfast was in the air. Evidendy there was no danger just yet. No firing had been done during the night, but the guns were ready for any eventuality with a round in the breech.
Quite a number of the gunners, I noticed, were furtively eating biscuits and small cakes, and one or two of the more gluttonous were spreading the biscuits with condensed milk. Cigarettes were also in evidence, large packets of twenties and fifties that I stared at enviously, at the same time reflecting how foolish I had been not to have remembered that canteen in Flavy. The parsons had of course left everything they could not carry with them for the especial benefit of the troops following after; I determined to be on the look-out for the next canteen.
We opened fire on the approaching German infantry at ten o'clock that morning.
During the day we got shelled intermittently from the direction of Montescourt, doubtless in response to messages sent back by the scouting aeroplane which cruised cheekily over Faillouel and the battery, with no opposition from antiaircraft guns. Nothing came near enough to do any damage, however. All day the guns flashed and cracked from the plateau with a steadily decreasing range as the Fritzes came on through Jussy in the valley below us. The rate of advance was slower now. Evidently they were chary of penetrating farther into open country where our task of dropping high-explosive into them would be ever so much easier, preferring to hold on until their artillery could be brought to bear on the brigade that incessantly spoilt their crossing of the canal. A rumour spread that cavalry had been seen behind Jussy.
The short March afternoon waned, twilight fell, and still the guns kept up their barrage. Night found them lighting up the scrubby plateau with the six-fold flash of salvoes interspersed with successive rounds of gun-fire; no rest for the gunners and no friendly rolling of supporting artillery on either flank such as we were wont to hear in the line. In the small hours firing ceased for a while; then as soon as it was daylight somehow or other information came through which woke the guns again.
At midday there was more shelling and this time with more accuracy of aim, which was not to be wondered at now that they could look straight up at the battery-smoke on our plateau. Some of us scattered out of the way right over to the end of the field from where we found it was possible to see a wide stretch of what lay in front; and by dint of keeping careful watch I saw for the first time real live Germans on the warpath against us. They were a good way off, but the helmets were unmistakable.
Towards one o'clock came the disheartening sight of small detachments of our own infantry retiring on both sides of us. They came back in little knots of twos and threes, scattered wide apart. Seeing them made us more anxious than ever to get out to the crossroads before our way of escape was quite cut off. But right up to the last we were kept at it, firing now with the gun-teams hooked in alongside and the whole battery in a growing state of anticipation. From the smoke-covered position itself the actual front could not be seen, the banks of the lane obstructing our view, and our consequent ignorance of the movements of the enemy added to our alarm.
Then all of a sudden the gun stopped firing. I looked round. A messenger was galloping off to the other batteries, his horse's hoofs strumming across the plateau. There was a yell of 'Limber up!' and in a moment the guns were hidden by the swift-wheeling teams manoeuvring for the hook-in. Sharp orders rattled out. The position was now a confusion of horses, guns, and men, a confusion that straightened itself out as the first team drew clear and made for the gate. I leapt into the saddle, beckoned to Ross, and struck off after them before the next team should come through and perhaps get stuck in the difficult gateway. The first gun had managed it all right and was out in the lane waiting for the others, perhaps two hundred yards away from the gate. We rode to the head of them, dismounted for fear of observation up there on horseback, and hung about consumed with impatience at the time the rest of the battery were taking to follow us. At painfully slow intervals the teams struggled through and joined the column. Now there remained only one gun in the field. Anxiously we waited for its appearance, saw the heads of the leaders showing in the gateway, and then realised with a sharp fear that they were stuck. Over-eagerness and the psychological effect on the drivers of being last out had resulted in their 'trying to take the gate with them.' The Major was there directing the efforts of swearing gunners and steadying the frantic horses. Every second we expected to see coal-scuttle helmets coming round the corner of the crossroads.
I kept a sharp watch on the end of the lane. Should they come now I would be their first capture, then Ross, and then the whole line of guns. We stood close to our horses and hoped against hope that somehow that gun would come through. And then on top of everything came the whining scream of shells, one after the other, pounding on the plateau behind us and making the horses snort in fright. In the midst of all this I became aware that some one was scrambling down the bank towards me. I whirled round to find myself confronted by a young infantry officer with two privates in attendance. He, and they, had evidently been having a rough time somewhere. His face was dirty and bloodstreaked, his uniform nearly in tatters. I realised with a shock that he was mad.
'Who are you?' he snarled, his eyes glaring, 'and where are you going?'
'A Battery, 2—th Brigade, sir, preparing to retire.'
'Retire?' he said, 'Retire?' A wan smile flickered over his face as I answered him. 'Retire?' he repeated dreamily. 'But you can't retire. Don't you know that the German army is advancing up this slope?'
I knew only too well. 'Yes, sir.'
'Well, damn you, you must stop them!'
The glare returned. I felt very uncomfortable, and wished the Major would come along. I didn't like the way the stranger clapped the bolt of his rifle as he spoke.
'Now, come along all of you,' he continued. 'Get those rifles off the guns and climb up on the bank with my two hussars and hold the enemy. Get a move on, damn you!'
The drivers stared open-mouthed as Ross and I obeyed his orders and began slowly to unfasten the straps that held the rifles on the gun-limber. The two hussars had now posted themselves on top of the bank, but the officer stood there in the road muttering to himself In desperation I called to him, 'What about all these guns, sir?'
His only answer was to raise his rifle till he had me covered, and I really thought he would shoot. I went on unstrapping, and had got one rifle loose when I heard the urgent gallop of hoofs and the Major's voice: 'Walk! March!'
The poor mad officer turned to meet him. I slipped the rifle back in its place, dived between the wheel and centre horses and ran round to get my own mount, with Ross close at my heels. As we moved off I turned to watch developments. The Colonel had arrived now and was glaring at the forlorn figure in his path. I felt terribly sorry for the infantry officer, but he seemed past all reasoning with, and I had a last glimpse of him going to meet his end at the side of his two hussars on the top of the bank.
He vanished from my mind as we approached the crossroads and heard continuous whinings of bullets over our heads. We kept low on our horses. As long as the bank sheltered us it was not so bad, but at the turn there lay an open expanse in the centre of which was the crossroads. We began to trot. Behind us the ground quivered to the successive shocks of shells that smothered the plateau in black explosions.
Trot out!'
At a fast trot that threatened to break into a gallop we rode into full view of the German armoured car that was stuck there on the road up from Flavy with its machine gun spitting and cracking at the unexpected target that had so suddenly presented itself Faster and faster g
rew the pace; the noise of the guns and vehicles behind us increased to a sustained roar, and round we went with our heads down alongside the necks of our horses and the air full of eerie whistlings.
A mile down the road we eased up and finally settled down to a brisk walk-out now that the immediate danger was past. A little farther along we saw a sergeant of our B battery riding back to meet us. I thought B were through all right, but the next day I heard that they had been left behind to deal with the cavalry and that one of their gun-teams had been disabled at the crossroads by the machine gun. The sergeant had volunteered to go back and get the gun.
Very much pleased with ourselves at having got safely out of such a tight corner, we rode at ease through open, untouched country where the road wound gently around low wooded hills and dipped into pleasant valleys, wondering now and again where the Fritzes might be and how much farther we were to retire. There was no general flight on the part of the army which was in the line, or at least their flight was not visible. It was true that many bedraggled parties of infantrymen had passed through our positions that day, but apart from them we saw no great bodies of troops on the move. The reason for this I discovered later was the fact that the line had been so thinly held that when the retirement started there was hardly any one left to retire. Our own division, the Fourteenth, to which we had been attached for the last few months, seemed to be lost altogether. For the first three days of the great retreat of the Fifth Army we had seen no other artillery at all, nor had we heard any.
We were still retreating in a southerly direction which was bringing us more and more into the French army area. As yet we had seen no French troops, but a strong rumour spread that one of their army corps was hurrying to our support and would come along at any moment. We discovered some days afterwards that they were hurrying in a totally different direction.
At four o'clock in the afternoon the brigade dropped into action in open country with the guns elevated to fire over a range of thickly wooded hills. I did not know where the enemy were, and even now I do not know. A brisk rate of firing were kept up all the evening and till long past midnight. Sleep was again denied us; during the night we were shelled with light stuff which indicated that the enemy field batteries were not very far behind their infantry. All sorts of wild rumours were current. It was said that we were entirely surrounded and that the enemy was now in our rear and slowly closing in. We lost the desire for sleep, fidgeting about aimlessly. round the guns and hoping the next move was not far off. But it was ten o'clock in the morning when the order arrived.