by Lloyd, Nick
The British may have been fighting over familiar territory – Beaumont Hamel, La Boisselle, Thiepval – but that was where the similarity with 1916 ended. Battlefield weapons and communications systems had progressed greatly since then and allowed battalions to deal swiftly and effectively with enemy strongpoints that, two years ago, would have held them up for weeks. If tanks were available, they were ideal for this kind of work. Holmes was a battalion signaller and carried a variety of equipment with him, most importantly his lamp. After the first resistance was encountered, he dropped into a shell hole, while his officer told him to make his first signal of the day. Opening his heavy lamp and pointing it to the rear, Holmes flashed a coded signal for ‘Machine gun post active’. It was shortly answered by the reply ‘aaa’, which meant that the message had been received and understood. ‘Soon a new sound struck our ears,’ he wrote.
A deep chug-chugging. Out of the smoke giant shapes dramatically loomed up, lurching along like ungainly prehistoric monsters. They were tanks. I remember cheering, which was rather a waste of precious breath. They clattered past, and we followed a respectful distance behind them. One of them swivelled awkwardly towards where the sparks of the machine gun revealed the position of the post, and churned right over it.
Even if tanks were unavailable, by 1918 British troops carried a remarkable array of equipment to help them survive on the battlefield. Indeed, if the Western Front was anything, it was heavy. ‘Fighting order’ was 250 rounds of small-arms ammunition (for the Lee Enfield rifle), a gas mask, a water bottle, iron rations, an entrenching tool, two Mills bombs and two sandbags. Several shovels, picks, wire cutters and phosphorus grenades were also distributed among the men.15 Although the British could never match the number of machine-guns employed by German units, they were equipped with the Lewis gun; an excellent battlefield weapon that was relatively light and portable, and provided a high rate of fire. Platoon tactics emphasized ‘fire and movement’, with sections conducting coordinated attacks against strongpoints, pinning them down with fire before surrounding them. Grenades and bombs were vital tools in providing infantry with the necessary firepower to do this, with the rifle grenade being particularly effective. Mills bombs would be fired from either a rod and cartridge or a special discharger fitted to the barrel. Colonel J. Durrant, a staff officer with the Australian Corps, reckoned that veteran infantry ‘could hit a large shell-hole five times out of six at one hundred yards, and do very good practice at twice that distance, or even farther’.16
The tactical proficiency of the BEF was particularly noticeable in one of the most impressive actions of this period, the Australian Corps’s capture of Mont Saint-Quentin on 31 August. After its exertions at Amiens, Monash’s troops had returned to the front on 26 August and continued pushing the enemy back along the wooded valley of the River Somme. The Germans may have been in disarray, but they benefited from falling back across terrain that was an attacker’s nightmare. The large town of Péronne, in particular, lay in one of the most formidable positions ever held by German troops. It was protected from the west by the river and wide stretches of marshy ground, over which General von der Marwitz had ensured that no bridges were left standing. Sergeant Walter Downing, serving with 5th Australian Division, was one of those who witnessed the attacks here. There were no tanks in support; the defences were manned by crack German units; and the terrain was open and devoid of cover. Various attempts were made to cross, but none succeeded. It was almost impossible for engineers to construct bridges across such a wide, fast-flowing river, let alone under the guns of the enemy batteries that commanded the entire area. Downing would always be haunted by the sight of Australian infantry coming under fire as they tried to cross ‘a few narrow duckboard paths, twenty inches wide’, which he called ‘death traps’.
Patrols, wading hither and thither on the edge of the marsh, found and followed them among the tussocks until, on turning a corner, the men found themselves in the face of enemy machine-guns, set by design to sweep the track at point-blank range. There were many gallant but futile deeds – when, attempting to push forward at any cost, or dashing into showers of bullets to the aid of comrades lying wounded and limp upon the boards with their bodies hung half in the water, our men walked one by one to death, and fell in heaps on those narrow wandering causeways, or tumbled into the marsh and sank beneath its rippling surface, as the bullets splashed in the water or struck splinters from the duckboards.17
Monash, the Australian Corps commander, rapidly concluded that any attack from the west, across this open ground, would be extremely costly. He therefore decided that it would have to be outflanked from the north. The only problem was that a heavily defended hill, Mont Saint-Quentin, guarded the northern approaches to the town. It was, in the words of the Australian Corps commander, ‘a bastion of solid defence against any advance from the west’.18
The assault on Mont Saint-Quentin began at 5 a.m. on 30 August. 5 Australian Brigade was given the task of rushing forward and overwhelming the defenders on the high ground. Its objective was, according to one witness, ‘just a great hill, pock-marked by shell holes and capped by stunted trees now slashed and broken’.19 The infantry had already fought hard for two days by the time they reached their advanced trenches, all the time being under shellfire, and facing elite German troops. After swigging down their rum ration – which fortunately arrived at 3 a.m. – the tired infantry moved forward, crossing trenches, bombing dug-outs, and trying to follow their barrage as it chewed up the ground in front of them. The trenches on the Mont were held by three battalions of the Kaiser Alexander Regiment, averaging about 600 men each. They had been ordered to hold the position at all costs, but were surprised by the suddenness and ferocity of the Australian assault. ‘Here there was a sharp fight with bullets and bombs: a short check; then machine gun fire from the right . . .’ wrote its regimental history. One veteran remembered how ‘It all happened like lightning, and before we had fired a shot we were taken unawares.’ Just 550 tired Australian soldiers had captured one of the most formidable positions on the Western Front and taken over 500 prisoners.20 When Rawlinson’s Chief of Staff, Sir Archibald Montgomery, heard the news at Fourth Army HQ, he was stunned. He would later call it ‘one of the most notable examples of pluck and enterprise during the war’.21
Gradually, painfully but inexorably the German armies fell back through the Somme sector, leaving behind the wilderness of 1916 and the scarred hills around Péronne. For General von der Marwitz, who had hoped to make an indefinite stand here, the loss of Mont Saint-Quentin was a particularly heavy blow. On 31 August, he confided to his diary that his men had endured ‘hard, very hard battles today’. They had fought off seven British divisions and managed to prevent a breakthrough, but the intensity of the fighting caused him no end of concern. ‘The English are continuing the attacks with the French at so many places that you get the impression they are pushing for a decision. Facing my front today were Australians again, the same ones that came up with the tanks on 8 August . . . Stocked up with 18-year-olds through dire need, they keep on coming . . . It’s a gruelling time.’ He was worried about the lack of leave available to his men and dutifully told his wife, ‘Don’t even think of me coming home.’22
The Army Group commander, General Hans von Boehn, went to the front every day with his Chief of Staff, Fritz von Lossberg, to ‘assess the state of battle for himself’. His main task was to assign ‘the increasingly rare relief divisions to the fronts most at risk’ and try to free his armies from the vice-like grip of their pursuers. Casualty rates were ominous. Lossberg noted that during these ‘mighty enemy onslaughts’ several German divisions had suffered so heavily that they had to be broken up. He estimated that by early September the Seventeenth, Second, Eighteenth and Ninth Armies had collectively lost more than 100,000 men.23 Nine divisions had been in the line against Third Army’s attack on 21 August, including 2nd Guard Reserve Division, which had defended Courcelles, and 4th Bavarian Divisio
n, which had fought at Achiet-le-Petit. This latter division had taken a pounding since the beginning of the offensive, suffering over 2,800 casualties, and was utterly spent. It was relieved on the night of 23 August.24 This seems to have been entirely typical of the attrition suffered by the Germans at this time. One unit, 55 Infantry Regiment (of 13th Division) spent several days fighting at Bazentin-le-Grand on the old Somme front. According to its regimental history, by the time it was pulled out on 27 August, the strength of its three battalions had ‘melted away’ because of the heavy fighting, leaving the regiment ‘destitute’ and desperately in need of relief.25
German units had undoubtedly fought hard; doing enough to blunt the British attacks and then slipping away at night. Although there were still many instances of heroism and sacrifice – Marwitz decorated one junior officer who had destroyed fourteen tanks single-handedly on 24 August – the continuous attrition of the front began to take its toll.26 Officers began to notice that the legendary cohesion and fortitude of the German Army was faltering. They could see how nervousness and fear spread quickly through their companies, causing some soldiers to melt away in battle or run away at the first sign of enemy tanks. One German veteran remembered how the ‘mere mention of a tank was sufficient to put the whole trench into a state of excitement’ with men quickly tying bundles of hand grenades together in anticipation of their arrival.27 On 27 August 2nd Guards Division complained that some infantry ‘hardly made any use of their rifles’, leaving the defence entirely to the machine-gunners and artillery. ‘A large number of cases have also been substantiated in which companies of Infantry have passed through the artillery lines and have not observed the request of the artillery to protect them.’ It urged the ‘strongest measures’ to be taken to ensure that such behaviour was stamped out.28
One morning in late August, as Third Army was inching its way towards Bapaume, the pilot Rudolf Stark emerged from the mess of Jagdstaffel 35, to see his fellow aviators running around the meadow ‘like children’. It took him some time before he realized what they were doing. They were picking up leaflets dropped from Allied aircraft. ‘It is snowing from a clear sky. Great white flakes are dancing down. The wind had carried them a long distance and sends them sailing through the air like white butterflies.’ Collecting them was a profitable business. German headquarters regularly paid out money for every leaflet that was handed in. Apparently, you could earn ‘quite decent sums on the large masses of them they often have to collect’. Although Stark was convinced that ‘even the stupidest soldier’ was not influenced by this propaganda, the fact that headquarters was prepared to pay for them told its own story. Indeed because they were valuable, they became ‘a sort of paper currency, subject to the same fluctuations as real banknotes. Now they are sought for eagerly, and the result is that the information they contain always gets read.’29
There is no doubt that German morale – depressed by poor food and the sickness that swept through their divisions – was badly affected by Allied propaganda that was finally beginning to take effect. German trenches and rear areas would regularly be deluged with leaflets urging soldiers to give up, and telling them of the wonderful conditions in Allied prisoner-of-war camps, of all the food and the jolly concert performances, and how they could not possibly win the war, particularly now that the Americans were arriving in such strength. For Fritz von Lossberg, the German Army’s ‘resilience and fighting spirit were clearly on the wane’.
The soldiers on leave who were being indoctrinated back home, returned to the place where their units had been. But their divisions had very frequently already been moved to other locations. They followed on but did not find them. Even the information and checkpoints which had been set up everywhere could not in most cases supply any reliable information about the whereabouts of the detachments of troops. The effect of propaganda leaflets which enemy pilots had dropped over the German front and the area behind it was very evident. As a result a large number of shirkers emerged; their bad example had a negative effect on vigorous combatants. This went so far that enraged soldiers even shouted the derogatory word ‘strike-breaker’ at their comrades who were prepared to fight.30
Nervous orders, tinged with desperation, began issuing from senior German officers at all levels from late August. Ludendorff himself signed an order acknowledging the ‘very unfavourable impression’ created by individuals who had come back to the front after home leave and were spreading ‘high treason and incitement to disobedience’, threatening to deprive those found guilty of all leave.31 Second Army also noted the effect that rumours (spread ‘by people who have lost their nerves’) were having on the men on 25 August. ‘People with anxious temperaments saw everywhere squadrons of tanks, masses of cavalry, thick lines of infantry. It is in fact high time that our old battle-experienced soldiers spoke seriously to these cowards and weaklings and told them of the deeds that are done in the front line.’ This was to be read out to all units. ‘Therefore, there are no reasons for any panic.’
There were, on the contrary, plenty of reasons for panic. In Berlin, the mood was, according to Leutnant Richard Schütt, ‘quite extraordinarily bad’. He wrote to his parents on 17 August and sketched out the dismal situation Germany faced when ‘the prospects of a happy end to the war are getting worse and worse’. He urged his father to sell his war bonds as quickly as possible (‘before the next subscription’) because, in his view:
the whole thing could collapse as soon as this year. Here I can see and hear more than you can, and I have also read various secret orders. The mood among the troops is quite extraordinarily bad. Many regiments that are supposed to attack are simply refusing to do so . . . Troops coming back there from the field simply refuse to cooperate, and officers can barely show themselves on the streets in the evenings. In my opinion, we will have the same conditions here as in Russia within one year at most. Not one person in the officer corps believes that we will gain a victory any more, and everyone believes that there will be a collapse.
His brother, Willy, wrote to him on 24 August. ‘We have had very difficult days and have to retreat further each day,’ he lamented. ‘On the first day of the offensive, I was almost captured. Our division has suffered a terrible number of losses from all this.’32
Schütt’s alarming prediction, of disaster and revolution in Germany before the year was out, was remarkably prescient. Many other officers evidently shared his sense that the end was nearing. A German Army postal censor reported on 31 August that the morale of the men had ‘changed drastically’ from the confident tone that had been reported before the great offensives earlier in the year. ‘The previous high morale and confidence of victory has given way to extremely widespread war-weariness, glumness and despondency. Such states of mind, although they are not universal, cannot be ignored.’ A constant complaint was the unfair allocation of leave, with farmers being allowed to return home in the spring and summer, and the remainder being promised leave in the winter, which was almost inevitably cancelled, leaving immense resentment behind. The report concluded that:
We are no longer dealing with the youthful soldiers of 1914. Most of the members of the army probably come from the middle and more mature years of life. These people are more serious and more sensitive! Now it is not only the events out here that have an effect on them; newspapers and letters provide them with news over some of the situation at home, about which a cool, level-headed observer, would have to shake his head.33
If the strain of constant operations was bad for the Allies, it was even worse for German soldiers, who were generally poorly fed and without the combat support Allied soldiers received. They also had less time out of the line. As the fighting intensified throughout August and September, units would often find themselves ‘resting’ in positions much closer to the front than they would have occupied previously. This caused yet more grumbling. General Marwitz complained on 26 August that his men had endured ‘unspeakably hard’ conditions after being left in the fro
nt line ‘for such a terribly long time’ because of poor rail connections.34
Fever – variously called ‘Flanders fever’ or ‘Champagne fever’ – laid out increasing numbers of men. The symptoms were varied, but usually consisted of cold sweating and then a terrible, throbbing weakness. Patients would be unable to eat or drink, and would often succumb to dysenteric attacks that left them even weaker. The diarist Rudolf Binding was struck by what he called an ‘extraordinary attack of fever’ in August, which left him existing in ‘an artificial condition of tottering weakness’. ‘I’m simply collapsing,’ he despaired. ‘Even so, we all (officers as well as men, be it said) have to eat bread that is as damp as a bath-sponge. The cooking is done with a so-called butter which is as old and rancid as war-fever, and, to finish up with, we dig green potatoes out of the fields – not new potatoes, but green October roots. So when once you have got it this diet makes quite certain that you will not get rid of it.’ The lack of proper food and drink and adequate amounts of leave had been complaints in the Kaiser’s army for some time. It was, however, the increasing realization that the war could not be won that caused sagging hearts to collapse into despair and – on occasion – mutiny. Although Rudolf Binding stayed with the Army to the end, the news that his division was being sent to the Somme left him shaken and angry. ‘It will be the same all over again,’ he wrote, ‘but without any confidence. Our troops will be thinner and worse; for days the horses have not had a grain of oats; the men are being given barley-bread which will not rise in the oven, and we have taken some knocks. Against us we shall have thousands of tanks, tens of thousands of airmen, hundreds of thousands of hearty young men, behind whom there will be an American Army which may number a million.’35