by Barry Sadler
Casca met up again with Hugh Edwards and Cockney Dave, whom he had not seen since their arrival at Mons. The thinning of the ranks and their successive retreats from trench to trench now brought them together again.
Rumor had it that the German General Kluck had already entered the Belgian capital of Brussels after the Battle of Tirlement. Most of Lorraine was in German hands, and they were about to take Namur. The French government was preparing to abandon Paris and remove to the safety of Bordeaux. Austria was about to fall upon Poland. The only good news was that "the Russian steamroller" was underway from the east and would crush the armies of the Central Powers at Tannenberg and then join forces with the Romanians, who had somehow become allies, to save the outnumbered Poles.
Dave was cockily confident and contemptuous of their allies. "It's not as if the Krauts has been up against any real opposition. The show's only just started. When we get some reinforcements, we'll show 'em."
"Some artillery would help," another soldier said. "Yeah, and some machine guns," said another. "Just some ammo would be an improvement."
Hugh sat quietly, and Casca, surprised that the big man was not involved in the discussion, joined him.
"What do you think of it, Hugh?"
"I don't rightly know what to think," the Welshman said looking up at him. "When I decided to get into this show, I set out to study a bit about warfare – did you ever hear of von Clausewitz?"
Casca suppressed a smile. "German philosopher, wasn't he?"
"Not quite a philosopher, more of a military thinker. The first thing I read was where he said that no one ever starts a war without first being clear what he wants to achieve and how to go about it."
"Makes sense," Casca nodded.
"Yeah – so what are we doing? Say we beat the Jerries tomorrow – say we win the whole blamed show and push 'em all the way back to Berlin. What then?"
Dave chipped in, "Ah, leave those problems to the generals and the politicians."
"They don't seem to have any more idea of what's going on than we do," Hugh answered. "Look at it this way: suppose the Jerries get their way and subdue France. Then what? And what's Russia in it for? And now Romania?"
Dave laughed. "Don't forget Poland, and they say Italy will be in it soon too. She's treaty partners with Germany and Austria. And maybe Japan is going to fight too."
"Japan? Japan go to war over an Austrian archduke? Why not China?" Hugh exploded. "Why not America? Sweden? Why not bloody Borneo?"
"New Guinea's in it," Dave answered laughing.
"Wha-a-at?"
"It's true." Casca felt sorry for the earnest miner, striving to understand the inexplicable. "Australian troops have seized the German colonies, and New Zealanders have taken Samoa."
"Samoa? Where in the name of God is Samoa?"
"It's a little island somewhere in the South Pacific Ocean. It was a German colony."
"Where will it end?" Hugh shook his snowy head. "What's it all about?"
The expected German artillery bombardment began well before the dawn of August twenty-fourth, but most of the shells fell around the abandoned line of trenches where presumably the guns had been previously aimed. With the approach of daylight the guns started to reach for the reserve trench. There were no direct hits in Casca's sector, but shells fell all around the area so that the troops cowered in the trenches, hands over their ears, praying that the attack would start soon so that the shelling would stop.
They were not kept waiting long. A huge force of Germans skirted the old trenches and mounted a fierce attack on the British position, while an even bigger force moved into the abandoned lines and worked purposefully to turn them to their own use.
Major Cartwright had been as good as his word; he had somehow procured several wagons of ammunition and more machine guns, Maxims, similar to the German guns. The Tommies repulsed the first German attack and left their trenches to chase the retreating Germans. But the Germans retired around their newly prepared trench leaving the British facing fresh troops, well dug in, and with numerous machine guns in place.
The British counter-attack was a disastrous failure and ended with the Tommies being chased back to their trench. Then a new barrage commenced, this time far more accurate, and there were a number of direct hits in the trenches and numerous casualties. When the German infantry attacked again, they overran the trenches, and the British were forced to withdraw to yet another reserve line.
The new trenches had been hastily prepared by French laborers and German prisoners of war. They were untimbered and in places the sides were already crumbling. The barbed wire was scanty and ill placed; there were no latrines or cookhouses, and the machine gunners were forced to set up their weapons in unprepared and exposed positions. And the sappers didn't have time to do more than plant a few charges in the old trenches, so the Germans were able to occupy them almost in comfort.
All day long the Germans pressed their attack. Only the additional machine guns enabled the hard-pressed Tommies to hold their line.
At nightfall Major Cartwright appeared again, as solicitous and courteous as ever, but clearly worried. He concluded his address with the news that reinforcements and more ammunition were on the way. Casca felt sorry for him as he turned away toward the Highlanders to no doubt repeat his performance word for word.
The food was the same as the previous night, but Cartwright had managed to procure a fresh supply of blankets and a small mountain of firewood. Casca passed the night comfortably enough, but every time he woke he observed the labor crews working by lamplight half a mile to their rear preparing yet another line of trenches for their next inevitable retreat.
August twenty-fifth started the same way as the twenty-fourth, and ended similarly with the sorely battered British troops occupying the new trenches which were scarcely usable, while the Germans had made yet another advance.
Major Cartwright put on a bold front and told them that there was a relief force at nearby Le Cateau under General Horace Smith-Dorrien and that his expected attack the next day would take the pressure off the Territorials. But the extent of their losses was made clear when the Welsh troops were merged with the Highlanders. More than half of the force were casualties. The merger brought Casca under the young piper sergeant whom he much admired.
Casca woke next to Cockney Dave who stretched and declaimed, "The twenty-sixth dawned bright and clear – and noisy," as the first incoming shell exploded somewhere nearby. Major Cartwright was in the trench talking earnestly to junior officers. Casca saw that the subalterns' faces grew more and more grim as the major spoke. Then there were whistles, bugle calls and George's bagpipes, and, in spite of the barrage, they were climbing over the top and racing for the German positions.
"Can't be any worse than sitting here waiting to get hit," Dave panted as they ran, and Casca agreed.
It was only half light, and they made it almost halfway to the German trenches before the defenders' machine guns started. Behind them their artillery barrage continued to fall around the now deserted trenches. They were almost through some of the wire before the surprised Germans realized what was happening. They were having breakfast, confident that the British were pinned down by their big guns, not expecting to go into action for another hour or so.
Casca found that this was the ideal application for the Mills bomb and regretted that he only had two. Lobbed into the confines of an enemy trench, the fragmenting grenade had tremendous effect, killing and wounding several men and thoroughly demoralizing many more.
The British suffered tremendous casualties, but they did get into the trenches, and after some desperately savage close combat, managed to force out some of the Germans.
As the sun came up the situation became more and more confused. Some trenches were securely in British hands, and parts of others were secured. German soldiers were milling about on the open ground behind the trenches without orders from their officers who were rushing from their breakfast in considerable confusion
and absorbing numerous casualties as they came within view of the Tommies in their trenches.
Almost half of the German force had been withdrawn to meet the threat from Smith-Dorrien's forces at Le Cateau, and now, for the first time, the Germans found themselves on a surprised defensive and facing troops in somewhat near their own numbers.
Casca saw the officers come running in groups, and he raced toward them. Sergeant George saw him and rushed to follow at the head of a number of his men.
The German officers stopped and drew their Mausers, some of them fitting their wooden holsters to them to convert the pistol to a carbine. So used, with a twenty-round magazine, these were very effective weapons, but the Germans were surprised, confused, and caught it the open. The Tommies cut them down to a man then turned on the approaching sergeants and wreaked similar devastation.
The German Army valued initiative in its ordinary soldiers no more than the British, and all training strove to stifle it. Lacking orders, the infantrymen turned this way and that, firing desultorily and, when they came under concentrated fire from the trenches, taking to their heels.
Sergeant George called to his men to let them go, as the next trench was full of Germans too. But Tommies were pouring out of the first trench, wildly excited at the sight of fleeing Germans and intent on pursuit. George shrugged and abandoned his attempt at restraint and joined in the chase. The leaderless rabble of panic-stricken soldiers was easy meat for the pursuing Tommies firing into their backs. And as more and more men fell, the panic grew. They threw away their rifles and bayonets, ammunition clips, even their helmets – anything they could get rid of that might enable them to run faster.
The Germans waiting in the next trenches were doubly surprised. They were more or less at rest, held in reserve in case they should be needed to reinforce the attack that was not even due to start for another hour. The noise of the action had not startled or worried them. It sounded normal enough as accompaniment to the continuing artillery barrage. But they were mightily surprised to see hundreds of their comrades rushing toward them in wild disarray.
The retreating Germans slowed when they came to the wire, running up and down its length seeking the few gaps left open for the eventual move-up of reinforcements. The delay allowed the Tommies to get even closer, and their rifle fire became even more effective.
Many of the Tommies had emptied their small magazines, and they fixed bayonets and charged the largely unarmed Germans, spearing them through the back or clubbing them over the head with their rifle butts.
From behind the wire the horrified reserve troops watched this butchering. Some turned and ran. Many reached for their unready rifles and strove to get them into action. There was only a handful of officers and NCOs in the area, and their hasty and uncoordinated orders only added to the confusion.
Confusion turned to rout as the despairing wave of terrorized soldiers tumbled into the trenches, overrunning the defenders and spreading their panic to them. Then the Tommies in the trenches, stabbing and clubbing at the dismayed soldiers while the reserve troops could not bring their weapons to bear for all of their comrades between them and the pursuers.
While many of the British had fixed their bayonets, just as many had paused to reload, and these now opened fire into the trenches from the earthworks.
Within minutes these trenches, too, were empty, the demoralized Germans fleeing wildly to the rear.
Sergeant George, Casca, and some other cool heads called on the Brits to restrain their pursuit. A number of subalterns who had been left behind in the speed and fury of the assault arrived and took charge. Runners were sent back to the main British lines. The captured German machine guns were turned around to face the rear for the inevitable counterattack. Medics arrived and began attending to the wounded.
Cockney Dave led a rush on the German cookhouse, and soon the Tommies were stuffing themselves with good black bread, sausage, and potatoes.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The expected counterattack didn't come. News of the rout of their previously victorious troops came to German HQ just after the news of a forceful and successful attack by General Smith-Dorrien's force at Le Cateau.
At the first news the German commander ordered the reserve contingent from Mons to Le Cateau. His runners arrived at the reserve trenches just as some semblance of order was restored. Company commanders hastened to comply and readied their units to move out for Le Cateau. But before they could start, another runner arrived with orders that they should counterattack the Territorials who had put them to rout.
Then, before this move could be made, fresh orders arrived ordering that the troops stay where they were and wait for further orders. The German general had realized that there was grave danger that Smith-Dorrien would fall upon the rear of the troops at Mons.
Major Cartwright, unaware of the success of Smith-Dorrien at Le Cateau, made a similar mistake and did not press his advantage but waited for the counterattack that he felt must come quickly.
The two forces waited for the rest of the day only half a mile apart, neither making any attempt to attack the other. Meanwhile, at Le Cateau, Smith-Dorrien's attacking force ran short of ammunition and was unable to gain more ground. The defenders regrouped, and there was another stalemate. But if Major Cartwright made a mistake in not attacking, he made no mistake behind his lines. He pressed into work every laborer and prisoner he could locate. By sunset all three lines of trenches were in good order: large wire entanglements were set up, machine guns were emplaced and well provided with ammunition and water, wounded were removed to the base hospital, and the troops fed and rested. The "contemptible little army" was ready for whatever the dawn might bring.
And what the morning brought was a truly massive artillery barrage followed by a determined infantry assault that cost many lives on both sides but failed to dislodge the Tommies from their positions.
At Le Cateau a similarly determined German offensive tore holes in Smith-Dorrien's lines but did not succeed in overrunning them.
The vicious fighting went on all day with scarcely a pause, and at sunset the positions of the two armies were much the same as they had been the previous evening.
The next day the Germans brought up fresh troops and succeeded in forcing the British back to the next line of trenchworks and that afternoon forced a farther retreat. The following day they forced a withdrawal to the next line and then to the next. And the next day to another that had been readied in the interim north of the Marne River.
The German attacks continued, each with more troops than the last, and the British and French were forced to continually retreat. The withdrawals were orderly, however, and more costly to the attackers than the retiring defenders.
A few days later, the French government did, in fact, abandon the capital and withdraw to Bordeaux, leaving Paris under the control of a military governor, General Gallieni. The Germans had now driven all French forces out of Lorraine and had taken Namur, Longuy, Montmedy, Soissons, Laon, Rheims, and Maubeuge.
On the Eastern Front, the Battle of Tannenberg had resulted in a crushing defeat for the "Russian steamroller" that had been partly offset by the successful defense of Poland, inflicting even greater losses on the Austrian forces.
With German forces only fifteen miles from Paris, the military governor saw that the city was gravely threatened and urged General Joffre to mount a general counteroffensive. On September fifth, Joffre attempted to outflank the entrenched Germans, while they made a similar move against the well dug-in French troops and the shrinking British contingent.
The Battle of the Marne raged for five days with neither side able to gain any territory but with enormous casualties on both sides. The French army continued to pour more and more men into action. Eventually, on September ninth, both the army of General Kluck, the conqueror of Belgium, and that of General Bulow fell back; the whole German line withdrew west of Verdun.
Both the French and the British forces hesitated then advanced
cautiously. The German line withdrew farther, and the allies made another wary advance. By September thirteenth, the Germans had been pushed back north of the Aisne River where they made a stand.
The allies stayed cautious. The German withdrawal had been orderly, and, it seemed likely, pre-planned. They had yielded perhaps five miles of territory but might now be better established in previously prepared defenses. These defenses would surely be hardened with every day that passed.
In the British lines the soldiers argued among themselves, mostly coming down on the side of action. No doubt the same discussions were going on at HQ, but coming down on the side of caution.
An artillery sergeant major appeared and several companies were paraded before him. He addressed them as if they were schoolboys, informing them of some of the intricacies of artillery operations, particularly the need for detailed knowledge of the location of the enemy and of his movements. He said that it had been realized that experienced infantrymen made better observers than artillerymen who rarely saw what they were firing at and so lacked the background for accurate recognition and reportage.
"We need a volunteer," he finally smiled, "for a light-duty job. Nothing too much and right out of the firing line."
Even the rawest recruit could smell a trap. And there were no recruits in the Territorials so raw that they didn't know the first law of military survival-never volunteer.
The sergeant went on, "No fighting involved – the volunteer won't even need to carry his rifle. And he'll get a two-day pass to Paris at the end of his duty."
"What's left of him," Cockney Dave muttered.
"Must be suicidal," Casca replied.
"A decoy duck," another soldier breathed. Not a man in the ranks moved.
"I'd go myself," the sergeant major said in a wheedling tone, and a grim chuckle swept the ranks as each man realized that the danger of being appointed volunteer was getting closer, "but I'm afraid of heights."