CHAPTER XXI
THE SECOND BATTLE OF LE CATEAU—THE RUNNING FIGHT
I
“Tank Corps Intelligence Summary, October 8th”
“An attack was launched this morning between Cambrai and St. Quentin on a front of eighteen miles, which was entirely successful—all objectives being gained—in spite of obstinate machine-gun defence.
“Heavy Tanks and Whippets co-operated.
“The line now runs N. and E. of Niergnies—E. of Seranvillers and La Targette—Esnes Mill—E. edge of Esnes—through Briseux Wood—Walincourt—Audigny trench line to Walincourt Wood—W. of Walincourt—N. and E. of Serain—E. of Prémont—E. of Brancourt—E. of Beauregard.
“Depth of penetration varies, the maximum being 6000 yards.
“The French continued the attack on the southern portion of the battle front and made progress in the vicinity of Fontaine Utetre and Essigny le Petit.
“A large number of prisoners have been taken, but the actual numbers are not yet known.
“The enemy made a heavy counter-attack from the direction of Awoingt against our line between Niergnies and Seranvillers, and the situation at Forenville is not quite clear.
“In this counter-attack the enemy used captured British Tanks. Seven appeared in the sunken road N.E. of Niergnies without any infantry support. Our infantry used enemy anti-Tank rifles, and four or five enemy Tanks are reported to have been put out of action.”
This was the form in which the news of what proved the last set action of the war reached resting Tank Battalions, and the great Tank organisation behind the lines.
The whole action had somehow seemed unusually dramatic. There was now everywhere a sense of momentousness of events. We knew in our hearts that the hour had come. Still, the enemy had so often revealed unexpected strengths, we had so often been tricked into optimism, and now we fought with a sort of surprised joy in thrusting home, of feeling the German resistance really crumble under our blows.
Every time we struck we were feverishly impatient at our own weariness, a weariness which delayed the next blow. We longed to be sure, to strike again and again, no matter how, and so end the long nightmare.
All through that last month we hurried on, blind with fatigue, too eager for the next battle to have been fought, too deeply concerned with the culmination of the great drama, to care what had been the details of our achievements in the last action.
It is difficult in attempting any chronicle of this period not to feel again the impatience of the hour, or to achieve enough detachment to describe the individual threads out of which the great pattern of victory was woven.