by J. T. Edson
‘So that was it!’ Alvin said, unable to conceal his relief. ‘I was thinking you’d reckoned it was a mistake to say you’d have me for a partner.’
‘Nope,’ Branch admitted and indicated the dog which, having reverted to its usual languorous behavior, was sprawled on its side at his feet. ‘I knowed you-all’d work out fine, way ole Lightning here took to you’s soon’s you and him met up.’
‘You knew from that?’ Alvin inquired, remembering the blue-tick’s far from vigorous response when passing him in Major Tragg’s room at the Cattlemen’s Hotel.
‘Why sure,’ Branch confirmed. ‘He took on real enthusi-astical – for him.’
Case Two – Jubal Branch’s Lucky B.A.R.
It was shortly after noon on September the 29th, 1918. What was to become known as World War I was, although few realized it, entering its final stages. However, despite the fighting which was taking place elsewhere, all appeared peaceful enough along the wood-lined stretch of road in the west of the area in France to which its residents—with typical Gallic local pride and stubbornness—still insisted upon referring to as the Province of Champagne rather than, as had become law in 1790, the Department of Meuse.
The pacific appearance was very deceptive!
In fact, men were on the point of taking the lives of other human beings!
Hearing the sound of an aircraft approaching, Sergeant Otto Eisenfaust of the Graf Bar fuss (4. Westphalia) No. 15 Infantry Regiment was prevented from seeing it by the fairly dense foliage of the woodland where he and his ten men were waiting in concealment. Watching the dozen khaki clad figures who—having emerged from the trees at the opposite side and crossed the road—were advancing in an extended line through the hip-high grass that formed an almost one hundred yards wide border towards his position, he hoped that they would consider the plane as friendly. Convinced that they had no suspicion of the presence of himself and his men, the last thing he wanted was for them to be disturbed by the arrival of a flying machine they would regard as being hostile.
The hope did not materialize!
Flieger-Lieutenant Manfred von Crimmitschau was flying his garishly painted Albatross Va scout aircraft [21] in search of whatever targets of opportunity might present themselves along the wood-lined road from Montmedy to Verdun. Due to bad liaison, he had not been notified that any of his country’s infantrymen were patrolling in the vicinity. Nor, being a newly promoted officer of the elite German Imperial Air Service’s Jasta 8, would he have changed his intentions if he had discovered they were there. Such was his feeling of superiority over the humble foot-soldiers that it would not have bothered him if he had known they were on the point of launching the ambush they were laying. He regarded their intended quarry as offering him some legitimate and comparatively safe prey as he came over the trees and obtained a view which had previously been concealed by a bend in the road.
Oblivious of the plan he was about to disrupt, von Crimmitschau smiled pityingly as he studied his proposed victims. He assumed from what he had been told about the area over which he was flying that they must be Americans, but he was neither interested in, nor disturbed, by the discovery. As far as he was concerned, they were merely enemy to be killed. He was confident that the Springfield Model of 1903 rifles in the hands of the doughboys would pose no more of a threat to him in his swiftly moving aircraft than the Short Magazine Lee Enfield of the British Tommy Atkins or the Lebel Ml886/93 used by France’s poilus. They would be just as helpless against the twin Spandau machine guns—each being synchronized to fire five hundred rounds per minute without the bullets striking the whirling propeller—with which his Albatross was armed. Having that comforting thought in mind, he started to deliver what was already becoming known as a strafing attack. [22]
Possessing a far greater length of service and combat experience than the pilot, as well as being in a better position to make a visual examination, the sergeant had drawn a similar conclusion with regards to the nationality of the approaching enemy. Although they wore round topped steel helmets and khaki uniforms much like those of the British Army, there were obvious differences to be detected by trained eyes. The webbing ammunition belts around their waists had two sets of five pouches in line, instead of two being positioned above three. Nor could the Springfield rifle be mistaken for the British S.M.L.E. In addition to a bayonet, each enlisted man had a trench knife with a knuckleduster hilt in a sheath tucked down the right leg of the leather leggings which many members of the American Expeditionary Force wore instead of the difficult to affix long cloth puttees issued to Tommy Atkins if not to his officers. Even the man with the insignia of a first lieutenant was supplementing the Winchester Model of 1912 trench gun in his hands and the Colt Government Model automatic pistol in the low hanging leather holster at the right side of his belt with the same kind of knife. It was, in fact, those weapons—and one other even more so—which established beyond any doubt to which Army they belonged.
The sight of that particular weapon, noticed through his field glasses while scanning the woodland at the other side of the road, had aroused Eisenfaust’s interest to such an extent that he had been delighted to discover the enemy patrol was coming in his direction.
Things had been going badly for the Germans recently and the sergeant had felt that, provided he handled the situation properly, he might be able to supply an aid to swing the tide back in his country’s favor. Rumor had claimed that during the past few weeks, the doughboys had been employing some kind of new and very portable machine gun. It was apparently far lighter and less cumbersome than even the drum-fed Lewis guns with which troops of the other enemy nations were equipped, [23] permitting it to be carried easily and it was said to have been used very effectively to help break up his Army’s mass infantry attacks.
Usually skeptical where reports of ‘wonder weapons’ were concerned, Eisenfaust had heard it described by senior noncommissioned officers upon whose veracity he was certain he could rely. Remembering the description he had been given, brief though they had been, he believed one of the new firearms was in the hands of the patrol and he could visualize how useful it might prove if he could capture it. Once it reached them, he did not doubt that the arms’ manufacturers of his homeland could duplicate or even improve on the design and soon put something more effective at the Army’s disposal in large numbers. Once this happened, the recent setbacks—he was too race-proud to consider them defeats—would be turned into the kind of victories which had characterized the earlier years of the War.
Eager as the sergeant might be to ascertain whether his supposition was correct, his military instincts had demanded that he avoided any rash action. Such a weapon would render the position of his men extremely precarious if all he had been told about it was true and if the soldier who was carrying it should be given an opportunity to bring its fire power into use. So, explaining how he intended to deal with the situation, he had ordered his squad to refrain from shooting, or doing anything else that would make their presence known, until he gave the command. The losses suffered in the earlier fighting and increasing pressures had necessitated them being brought on to active service shortly after recruitment. So it was his intention to wait until the doughboys were near enough to ensure that his inexperienced and far from fully trained young soldiers would be unlikely to miss.
Measuring with skilled eyes the distance separating his squad from the approaching enemy, Eisenfaust listened to the aircraft roaring nearer. From all appearances, the Doughboys did not consider it to be any threat to them. This led him to assume it might pose a threat for his squad. Wanting to avoid any chance of its pilot spotting them and alerting their quarry, he decided that he might give the order to open fire somewhat earlier than he had intended. Having done so, he would immediately launch a bayonet charge to get them to such close quarters that the aircraft would not be able to turn its machine guns upon them. Drawing consolation from his assumption that the doughboys did not appear to be any more experience
d than his men, he opened his mouth to give the command.
Also estimating how close to an effective distance he was coming, von Crimmitschau was smiling even more mockingly as he watched the lack of reaction from his proposed victims and concluded that they had not identified his Albatross as a hostile aircraft. Telling himself that they would soon be taught their error, he grasped the spade-grip of the control column more firmly and placed his right thumb upon the firing button which was attached to it.
There were two factors which were to spoil the aims and intentions of both the young flieger-lieutenant and the middle-aged sergeant. One was created by a mutual ignorance and through underestimating the quality of the men with whom they were dealing.
Although the term doughboy should properly have been given to infantrymen, the twelve soldiers were members of the United States’ 18th Cavalry; currently dismounted and predominantly comprised of Texans. In fact, each of the dozen had been born and raised in the Lone Star State. While, along with others of their countrymen who were serving with the American Expeditionary Force, they might be less experienced and well-schooled in the disciplines and techniques of modem warfare which had been acquired by the British Tommies and French poilus—who had suffered the sheer hell of it for close to four years—it was not this particular patrol’s first contact with fighting. Even before arriving in France, every one of them had had the need to take up arms in defense of his life, family and property. Their previous antagonists had been Mexican revolutionaries. No matter how the liberals of a later generation might seek to glamorize or justify their behavior, these were no more than cold-bloodedly murderous thieves who had—under the pretense of righting social injustices—crossed the Rio Grande into Texas searching for plunder.
Having learned their fighting business against such a wily and ruthless enemy, whose ability at lurking in concealment and the laying of ambushes could not be matched by a Prussian-trained professional soldier no matter how many years’ experience in formal warfare he might possess, the Texans were far from being the easy victims Eisenfaust and von Crimmitschau were anticipating. In fact, the tall, wide shouldered and ruggedly good-looking officer and the eleven enlisted men under his command were fully aware of the dangers they were facing.
Wishing to ascertain the state of the morale and willingness to sue for peace among the rank and file of the German Army, regardless of what the High Command and Governments of the Central Powers [24] might be contemplating, orders had been given to have prisoners taken for interrogation. Leading a patrol on such a mission, First Lieutenant Jackson Marsden Fog [25] had seen the glint of the sun on the field glasses with which Eisenfaust was scanning the woodland through which he and his men were passing. The discovery had been made in time for him to prevent his party from being detected until it suited his purpose for them to be. Studying the terrain, he had formulated a scheme by which a trap could be baited and he had set about putting it into operation.
Although he was not a professional soldier, Jackson Fog had seen the dangers of the line of action he had proposed to take. They were such that he would not have attempted such a hazardous undertaking without being convinced it was justifiable and likely to produce the required results. Certainly he would never have set about it if he had not been sure it could be accomplished without endangering his men’s lives recklessly. He had complete confidence in the courage and fight savvy of every member of the patrol, particularly as it would be backed by the capability his second in command had attained in handling the weapon which—although he did not realize it—had aroused the German sergeant’s interest. In return, he had earned their trust and respect sufficiently for them, on hearing how he proposed to handle the situation, to have no hesitation over accepting that it offered the best chance of successfully carrying out their assignment.
Skilled in such matters, by the time they had arrived at the road and created the impression of being blissfully unaware that any danger threatened, Jackson Fog and his men had already pin-pointed the positions of every one of their ‘concealed’ enemies. Furthermore, the continued lack of response to their appearance and advance appeared to be verification of his summations about the nature of their enemies. Having noticed the youth of the German privates compared with the age of the sergeant, he had been given an added indication by watching them fixing bayonets on what he had recognized as 7mm Kar 88 carbines. [26] Although originally intended as an arm for engineers, pioneers and artillerymen, the exigencies of the current situation were causing them to be issued to the recently recruited and hurriedly trained replacement foot soldiers who were being rushed to the front line in an attempt to stem the Allies’ advance. Taking these points into consideration, he had surmised correctly what Eisenfaust was meaning to do and based his own tactics accordingly.
The arrival of the Albatross had brought an urgent need for the Texans to revise the plan they were in the process of implementing.
Contrary to von Crimmitschau’s suppositions, neither Jackson Fog nor any of his men had believed the aircraft was friendly. Although they had been aware that it was hostile, they were too battle-wise to have let this become apparent. Having witnessed the effects of strafing, they had all appreciated the folly of making an attempt at evasion too early and had known the best way to save themselves when subjected to it, particularly while traversing such terrain.
Displaying an even more astute judgment of distance than that of the pilot, Jackson Fog timed his response to the threat perfectly. More so, in fact, than he realized. Just as von Crimmitschau was on the point of pressing the firing button, and with the German sergeant giving the order for the infantrymen to start shooting, he snapped out the one word for which the members of his patrol had had the courage and confidence to await.
‘Down!’
Instantly, like puppets operated by a single string, every Texan dived forward with great rapidity into the high and wind-stirred grass through which they were walking. This offered them the concealment which had formed a major part in their officer’s decision to put his plan into operation, although when making his plan he had not considered the possibility of a strafing aircraft.
The disappearance of what he had considered to be unsuspecting and certain victims caught von Crimmitschau completely unawares. Even with such a maneuverable aircraft as the Albatross Va, he could not change his point of aim swiftly enough to prevent the hail of bullets from the twin Spandaus flying harmlessly above rather than through the bodies of the Texans.
Nor did Eisenfaust and his men fare any better!
Brought about by the aircraft launching its attack, the evasive action came so unexpectedly that the sergeant was unable to hold back the order to fire. Having been waiting in a state of nervous tension for the command, the inexperienced soldiers had had sufficient discipline drilled into them to make them obey immediately it came. More seasoned troops might have been able to restrain themselves long enough to correct their aim on seeing what the doughboys were doing, but not them. Every one squeezed his Kar’s trigger, or jerked spasmodically at it in most cases, but their bullets met with no greater success than those which had begun to pour from the Albatross’s machine guns.
To make matters worse from the sergeant’s point of view, the young soldiers had not forgotten the rest of his instructions. Nor had his grimly profane warnings about their fate if they should fail to carry out without hesitation all he had told them passed from their recollection. So, having discharged their weapons, they sprang from their hiding places to deliver the bayonet charge which he had stated would follow the volley. Although he had seen exactly what had happened, they were less perceptive and rushed forward without heeding his bellowed warning. Seeing they were too excited to pay attention, he ran after them spluttering curses at their and the airman’s stupidity.
As he continued to follow the soldiers, Eisenfaust wondered if he had been mistaken and the shooting was more effective than he had imagined. There was no sign of the enemy as his men emerged from
the trees and began to enter the grass. A glance told him that the Albatross was rising and the man in the cockpit looking back. He hoped that the pilot would have the good sense to keep going and leave any further fighting which might prove necessary to men who were so much more capable of doing it properly. His thoughts on the subject were distracted in no uncertain fashion.
‘Yeeah, Texas Light!’
Following the shout which rang out in front of the Germans so closely that they had clearly understood what it meant and had even been waiting for it, [27] the Texans rose with the same alacrity they had exhibited when disappearing. Each of them returned into view with his weapon ready for instant use. Which was more than could be said for their would-be assailants.
Of the Germans, only Eisenfaust was in a position to start shooting immediately. This was because he had not discharged his Luger automatic pistol when ordering his men to fire upon the doughboys and none of them had taken the precaution of operating the Kars’ bolts to eject empty cartridge cases and feed live rounds into the chambers. The sergeant had refrained from shooting because he had been too far away to hope to make a hit. Nor was he yet at a distance where he could use it with much greater accuracy, particularly while he was running. With that thought in mind, he skidded to a halt and twisted until standing sideways. Then he began to bring the Luger up to shoulder level at arm’s length as he had been taught was the way to use it.
Having deduced that the sergeant would be the most dangerous of their attackers, Jackson Fog was looking for him while rising and, seeing what he was doing, was holding a weapon ideally suited to coping with him. Before he could finish raising the Luger, much less take aim and fire, two sprays of nine buckshot ball apiece issued in very rapid succession from the twenty inch long barrel—which had a radiating cooling sleeve and was equipped to take a bayonet—of the five-capacity tubular magazine, pump action shotgun. Intended for use in trench warfare, as its official designation suggested, it was a most efficient close quarters weapon. Not only could it be discharged rapidly when in skilled hands, the spreading out of its multiple ball loads gave it a greater effective range than a revolver or an automatic pistol. Struck in the body by six of the .32 caliber buckshot, Eisenfaust was knocked from his feet without being able to use his own weapon.