by C. M. Harald
The Colonel stood up and went over to a travel chest, which he opened, and removed a helmet from. At first glance it looked like a Stahlhelm coal scuttle helmet, just like the Germans had started to introduce the previous year. The design had the advantage of providing splinter protection lower down the back and side of the head. This specific helmet had been modified with the addition of a short chainmail skirt hanging off the back and sides, extending the shell splinter protection.
'It won't stop a bullet.' The Colonel said, handing the helmet to Marsh, 'But it will stop a glancing splinter, and will give quite a bit more protection around the head than our helmets do.'
'What about our lads mistaking the Tigers for Germans when they're wearing this?' Marsh asked.
'They may do so, so it'll keep them on their toes a bit more and remind them to not get too comfortable around our Tigers.' The Colonel explained, before reaching back into the chest and withdrawing a heavy object that looked like half a helmet, 'Here, attach this to the front of the helmet using the lugs,' The Colonel said handing it over, 'The Germans call it Stirnpanzer. It's basically armoured plate for the front of the helmet.'
'Weights a lot.' Marsh commented, attaching the armour plate to the front of the helmet and then tying the leather strap around the back to hold it in place.
'That's why you don't see it a lot. It also unbalances the helmet, so the average Fritz tends to lose his as soon as possible to avoid carrying the extra weight.'
'Will it stop a bullet? It feels thick enough.'
'Not always, but it's still much better than a normal helmet.' Hudson said, 'We'll be issuing this to all the Tigers as soon as possible, later today hopefully.'
'That's progress Sir. At least that'll increase the survival chances of the Tigers.' Marsh decided.
Gas, gas, gas!
'Great big bloody clouds of the stuff. It was all you could do to keep from soiling yourself when you saw that stuff creeping across no-mans-land toward you.'
Interview with William Murphy in Duncan, F, 'A Soldier's War: Accounts from the trenches' (1931, London)
The new helmets were indeed issued that afternoon and Marsh got to work with his enlarged combat group. Most of that time was spent fitting the new helmets to the ten Tigers assigned to him. It was also an opportunity to introduce Mullen, and the other new additions to the security squad, to the rest of the team.
'Corp, how're we going to stop 'em if things go wrong?' One of the new riflemen, assigned from what had been A Company asked. 'That armour plate will stop any bullet I fire to put a Tiger down.'
'Same as before. Chop their bloody heads off.' Davies interrupted, hand on the hilt of his sheathed machete.
'I don't like these new tactics Alfie.' Matthews complained, 'They smack of the stupidity that happened in the months before I met up with you lads.' He had been in regular units before getting injured and meeting up with Marsh in the replacement depot. To widespread snickering, Matthews put on a posh voice to represent the officer classes, 'Walk towards the enemy, men! Our spirit will beat the evil Hun.'
'Well the General Staff don't want us to outpace the follow-up troops.' Marsh said, 'Or run into our own artillery barrage.'
'Then the follow-ups should bloody well run faster and the artillery shoot further.' Matthews offered his simple solution.
'Maybe, but think about the trouble we had with the artillery in the last attack, that'll be fixed by us goings slower. So there is a "silver lining".'
'I've heard that before.' Matthews commented, 'But we've got quite some firepower for ourselves now, so perhaps we can start to operate independently of the infantry?'
'We've got a couple of Chauchats, each handler has a shotgun and we've got enough blades to start a butcher's shop.' Davis said.
'Maybe we should be thinking about moving in closer with the Tigers?' Matthews suggested, 'With us able bodied, we've got the strength to help seize the German trenches. The follow-up guys can just turn up and make us a brew.'
'It'll depend on how we're meant to advance.' Marsh grinned, wanting a cup of tea, 'When we first looked at these tactics, we were thinking about sneaking across no-mans-land like a trench raid, but instead we've been advancing from our trenches directly at the enemy. That gives him the chance to turn his machine-guns on us.'
'And that's not going to change any time soon.' Matthews interrupted, 'We need to get back to what we were planning to do. We could seize a trench in seconds if we sneak up on it, close in with the Tigers. It's a perfect idea for night-fighting.'
'I know, Tom, but for now we have explicit orders on how we're to fight.' Marsh replied, unsure how he could marry the new orders to the Colonel's guidance to blend in the best of the existing tactics.
'Great, moving at snail's pace across open ground.' Matthews muttered to himself giving up on trying to persuade Marsh to bend his orders. Everyone knew that Simpson was behind the change in tactics, and all knew his obsession with 'correct' formations and formal military conventions. It was also common knowledge that Simpson was tactically stuck in the last century, with no desire to apply the lessons learnt, and relearnt, every day in the trenches. The man had consistently demonstrated a desire to have neatly arranged files of 'spit and polish' soldiers march towards the enemy. That the enemy was now armed with machine-guns, rather than breach loading muskets, did not feature in Simpson's thinking.
'Aye,' Mullens said, 'And don't anyone cross Lieutenant Simpson or you'll be peeling potatoes for a week.'
'Or feeding the worms more like.' Davies chimed in.
'Lads,' It was Sergeant Wells, just arrived from the C.O.'s tent, 'We're moving out tonight. Just us.' The news caused some surprised looks.
'Just us Sarge?' Davis asked. 'With our Tigers as well?'
'Yes. There's a blockhouse causing problems for the British division north of Bullecourt. We've been asked to take it out. The Colonel's wanting to try out the new tactics and Simpson suggested our team. As it's a limited objective, they thought it would only need us. We'll be going over the top in the morning, so go get your kit stowed.'
There was a bustle around the camp as the enlarged combat group got to work preparing for movement and immanent action. Personal effects were stowed and Tigers were equipped. The later task took the most time with the handlers paying careful attention to their work to ensure that no accidental injuries were caused to either the living or the dead. The Tigers would be moved close to the front in covered wagons before moving through the trenches by foot. It was less of an attempt to conceal the movement from prying enemy eyes, than an attempt to keep people safe from the zombies. Final checks of weapons were completed and last letters were written. Going over the top was a brutal experience and there were no illusions about their chances of survival, despite some of the Tiger combat groups, such as Marsh's, having a good combat record. Other combat groups had suffered previously in combat.
The preparations proceeded without any major issue. As a handler, Marsh attended the briefing with Colonel Hudson and returned to his combat group, ensuring that they had the full details of the operation. Lieutenant Simpson would accompany the force as Lieutenant Scott was at General Headquarters working with a new liaison team. As usual Marsh, as the senior handler, would be in charge during the assault, but for all other purposes, Lieutenant Simpson would command. This was not ideal in Marsh's mind as Simpson had such a strong dislike of him as well as a less than perfect track record of interfering in the use of Tigers in the field. However, his combat record showed that the officer was clearly a brave and capable combat soldier, having achieved recognition in combat before he joined the Experimental Battalion.
Simpson took Marsh aside as they left the briefing in the Colonel's tent, 'Remember Marsh, we'll be using the new tactics. I expect you to keep to them.'
'Of course, Sir.' Marsh replied in the innocent tone favoured by NCOs talking to their officers. He did not want to cause any problems before going into action under Simpson's leadership.
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'I'll be watching you closely.' Simpson sounded critical, 'Don't mess up. Just follow my orders and you'll do well. I'll expect you to set an example to the men. It's important that we do this correctly.' Simpson always did things by the "book".
'Yes Sir.' As long as you do not overrule my control on the battlefield, Marsh thought. It would be typical of Simpson to insist on complete control even when it was necessary for the handlers to be the ones making the decisions.
'Oh, and Marsh?'
'Yes, Sir?'
'Get your kit cleaned up before we move out. You cannot be an example to men under your command with the filth that is on your boots and trousers.' Simpson walked off before Marsh had a chance to respond.
Moving into position took most of the night. As a result, few in the combat group achieved little more than a brief nap prior to sunrise. As dawn broke, the men of the Experimental Battalion found themselves in a forward trench ready to go over the top once more.
The trench was crowded, the earth muddy and slippery as a result of a night of rain. The air was slightly misty and the enemy blockhouse was only just visible as the men peered over the parapet during the dawn stand-to. A large artillery barrage had been conducted during the night and it had provided cover for the combat group, and the supporting infantry battalion, to move up into their initial positions. The barrage grew in intensity as the sun rose, the shells falling in significant numbers right up to the start time. There was an over optimistic intention to dig the Germans out of their bunkers, a strategy that had not worked so far during the war.
The British troops present to support the attack, kept well away from the Tigers. Their enthusiasm for the attack was clearly tempered by previous experience of the trenches and the dampness in the air. Marsh had assigned five of the Tigers to Mullen who was to take the left flank, while Marsh would go to the right, neither advancing directly at the bullet pitted concrete blockhouse. They would seize the trenches either side and then advance on the fortification, hoping that it did not have any gun-slits along the sides that could draw a bead on the trenches that they intended to approach from.
Lieutenant Simpson was going to advance with Marsh's group while Sergeant Wells would accompany Mullen. Simpson had been interfering constantly in minor matters, and was clearly trying to keep Marsh's friend, Wells, at a distance. Since their arrival in the start positions, Simpson had also been at pains to establish his dominance, not wanting the supporting infantry to realise that a mere corporal would be leading the Tigers during the assault. Simpson had agreed to Marsh's initial dispositions, but had continued to insist that the Tigers would advance at a slow pace, slightly ahead of the British infantry. Simpson was adamant that the mistakes of Bullecourt would not be repeated, simply because there was an extra handler and a larger security squad present. Marsh knew that even if the mistakes were not repeated, these measures would still not protect them from the German defensive fire. Only surprise could truly help, but as the assault was not being launched from no-man's-land, the intended set-piece battle would exchange the element of surprise for a long advance from the starting trenches.
'Going over the top in two minutes.' The British infantry captain called to the assembled men.
'I'm ready Alfie.' Davies said, sheafing his machete and putting away his sharpening block.
'How can you look so calm Colin?' Morgan asked Davies, a slight tick showing on his face.
'I'm not calm, but I'm ready.' Davies replied, satisfied with his pre-battle routine of preparing a blade.
'Keep at a steady pace. Keep low, and don't rush ahead of the infantry.' Marsh reminded them as Simpson came around the corner of the trench.
'Ah there you are Corporal. Are we ready?' Simpson asked Marsh.
'Yes sir.' Marsh stood next to the trench ladder, a Tiger at the bottom ready it and then run out into no-mans-land. With the Tigers spread out, it made more sense to get them to use the ladders to exit the trench. As a result, only the most mobile Tigers had been brought forward as any significant pre-existing damage to limbs would have prevented the use of the ladders. All the five ladders along from Marsh were assigned a Tiger. All the zombies would leave the trench in one go.
'Good. Keep the Tigers close to our lads.' Simpson shouted above the barrage, 'We want to make it hard for the Germans to spot them. Hold them back among our ranks until the last minute and then unleash them in the final assault.'
Marsh did not have time to reply to the Lieutenant as the artillery shifted to the enemy second line. The creeping barrage began. Whistles sounded along the British trench signalling the advance.
'Up and out.' Marsh shouted at the Tigers, clarifying the instructions in his head. He knew the mental commands would unsettle Morgan, but it was the easiest way to control the creatures without issuing a detailed stream of words. If he survived this attack, he would have to work with Mullen to see if the Irishman could develop the same ability.
The Tigers leapt up the ladders with inhuman speed and Marsh had to mentally remind them to slow down as they reached the top. Clearly his own excitement, and anxiety, had leaked into the mental commands. Marsh followed a Tiger up a nearby ladder and was soon walking across no-mans-land at a fairly brisk pace. He hunched over anticipating the impact of a bullet into his fragile body, a feeling of total exposure almost driving him to the ground. Looking to both sides, he could see that the assaulting infantry were only slightly behind his Tigers. To the Germans they would look like a single line, the deadly Tigers invisibly concealed among the masses.
There was no fire coming from the German lines, not even the blockhouse. Marsh was worried that the fortification, less affected by the preparatory artillery barrage, was waiting for the British to walk into their killing zone, a perfect target. The enemy parapet was on a slight rise, heaped with freshly churned mud from the recent shelling. A short distance behind this was the maelstrom of the creeping barrage, targeting the German support lines, preventing them from offering any help to their forward troops.
Marsh felt one of his feet slip out from underneath him, his ankle twisting painfully as he fell onto his knees with only the butt of the shotgun preventing him going right over. He looked down to see he was kneeing in the remains of a soldier, flesh oozing a putrid fluid in the misty light. The smell was rank and he almost vomited.
'Get up you coward.' Simpson was suddenly beside him, chiding him on, while not offering any physical help.
Marsh gritted his teeth at the pain in his ankle as he rose, swallowing down the few choice words he would have liked to have spat at the officer. He brushed off the muddy end of his shotgun and tentatively took a step forward. Pain shot up from his damaged ankle. He did not think anything was broken, but it felt like a bad sprain. Yet with the unsympathetic Simpson present, he would just have to walk it off, moving forward at a limp.
Within seconds of Marsh recovering his feet, the blockhouse opened fire on the assaulting troops. A fusillade quickly spreading along the German line. Marsh bit his lip, tasting blood as he leant forward into the hail of lead, resisting the urge to send the Tigers on ahead. Simpson had been clear about this, the Tigers must stay with the rest of the troops until they were close enough for a quick final assault.
Screams came from near Mullen's team. The advancing infantry were being scythed by the machine=gun fire from the front of the blockhouse. As Marsh traced the fire back to the low concrete building, he saw a second gun firing from a slit to his side of the building. The rounds flew over the heads of the troops he was advancing alongside, but he knew the aim would soon be corrected. By the time the British launched their final assault, the machine-gun would be able to enfilade the ranks he was a part of. Marsh suspected there would be a similar gun position on the other side of the blockhouse. These guns were going to cause a massive problem with the planned attack.
Over the noise of the machine-guns, Marsh was sure that he heard the shout of 'Zombie' from the German lines. Within seconds, a Tiger off to his ri
ght was hit by several rifle rounds, one of which created sparks as it hit the helmet, the Tiger falling backwards from the impact. However, the creature immediately rose to its feet, the heavy helmet armour having sufficiently deflected the rifle round from the vulnerable areas of the brain.
Marsh paused in the edge of a shell crater as his ankle flared with pain again. He knew he was pushing himself too hard, but hanging around in no-mans-land was a poor idea, especially if Simpson caught him idling. The advancing Allied line was almost on the enemy trenches, the sheer volume of British troops greater than the Germans could cut down in the limited time it took to advance across the disputed territory. As Marsh looked back toward his own lines, there were more corpses and injured than he had seen. Even compared to Bullecourt, the number of casualties was horrific. Rows of men lay where they had fallen as the machine-guns worked their way along the slowly advancing British. The injured screamed and moaned, the fallen rows a constant riving mass.
'Marsh, send them forward now!' Simpson yelled, standing proudly in the open next to a crater, untouched by the mayhem around him.
There was a crack of exploding grenades as the Germans threw the explosives over the parapet in a last ditch attempt to keep the attackers out of their lines. Wordlessly, Marsh urged his five Tigers forward at full speed. He tried to keep up with them at the best limping run he could manage. The rest of his protection squad spotted the surge forward and joined him, shouting as they went. Likewise, the British troops broke into a roar as they joined in the sprint, relieved to finally be able to move quickly across the dangerous ground.
Simpson, who had been closely watching Marsh, was stunned by the change that came over the handler. He had never seen Marsh in action, neither had he so clearly seen any handler ordering the Tigers in the unnaturally silent fashion that Marsh was expert in. Like many men, he felt a cold finger of fear run down his back as he watched the Corporal unleash the terrifying power of the Tigers. It was not right. Simpson knew, in his bones, that this man was to be feared, crushed as soon as possible.