CHAPTER VII
THE FIRST ADVANCE
""My eye, you chaps! Come out and have a look," exclaimed Penfold, who, having gone to draw rations for the rest of the occupants of the dug-out, had just returned with a generous quantity of tea, bacon, and comparatively fresh loaves.
"Look at what?" asked Alderhame, still stretched on his bed of damp straw. "The dawn——?"
"At what those strafed Huns have done," declared Penfold.
"If it's young Sidney they've been doing in there'll be trouble," declared Alderhame.
The quartette left their subterranean retreat and made their way to the fire-trench. By means of a trench periscope they surveyed the hostile lines. Above the sand-bags was a rough notice-board on which was chalked:
"OTHER COMRADS WELKOME."
A fusillade of rifle bullets quickly demolished the offending board, but almost immediately it was replaced by another:
"WHEN ARE YOU ENGLANDER COMING? WE
ARE TIRED OF WATEING FOR THE ADVANCE
PROMISED."
This, too, was speedily shot to pieces, and having let off a considerable quantity of "hot air" the Tommies returned to their breakfasts.
At ten o'clock the men crowded into the fire-trench. Although no information had been given out concerning the revised arrangements for the attack the men instinctively realized that the crucial moment was at hand.
Suddenly the desultory cannonade gave place to a violent artillery bombardment, to which the German guns could do little or nothing in reply. Admirably registered, their range being regulated either by observation officers at isolated posts or else from the aeroplanes that hovered overhead, the shells battered the Hun wire entanglements and first-line trenches almost out of recognition. The air was filled with dust and smoke—red, yellow, and green in colour—while through the clouds of vapour could be discerned the dismembered bodies of German soldiers hurled twenty feet or more into the air by the terrific force of the exploding missiles.
For a solid twenty minutes the hail of high explosive projectiles continued, while simultaneously shrapnel put up a barrage in the rear of the hostile trenches with a two-fold purpose: to prevent the Huns running away and also to make it almost impossible for reinforcements to be brought up to the firing line.
"They're lifting!" exclaimed Penfold as the shells began to drop further away.
"Five minutes more, lads!" said the platoon commander in clear, decisive tones. "Now, show them what the Wheatshires can do in broad daylight."
"D'ye want a leg-up, Tubby?" sang out George Anderson, addressing his remarks to a corpulent private whose previous efforts to surmount the parapet were ludicrous in spite of the mental and physical strain of "going over the top."
A general laugh greeted George's words, the butt of his remarks joining in the hilarity. With few exceptions the men were high-spirited. Their confidence in the artillery and the knowledge that they were "top-dog" when it came to hand-to-hand fighting made them eager and alert to rush forward at the first blast of the whistle.
Thirty seconds more.
With an ear-splitting roar and a veritable volcano of flame the mine under the Pumpnickel Redoubt was exploded. The earth trembled violently with the crash of the detonation. In places sand-bags slipped bodily into the British trench. A gust of violently displaced air, bearing grit and dust, mingled with weightier fragments, swept over the heads of the waiting Tommies. Where the strongly fortified earthworks had stood was a crater quite two hundred yards across, but how deep the British were yet to learn.
Before the last of the far-flung debris had fallen to earth the whistles sounded. With a rousing cheer the line of khaki-clad men swarmed over the parapet into the muddy and smoke-laden, crater-pitted No Man's Land.
Almost without opposition the Wheatshires gained their objective. More, carried away by their enthusiasm, pressed onwards, until their officers, realizing that the men were in danger of being hit by their own shells, recalled them with difficulty.
Lining the outer edge of the enormous mine-crater, the Wheatshires set to work to consolidate their easily won position. Setley, while engaged in the work, viewed with astonishment the stupendous result of the explosion of the mine. For full seventy feet the scorched and still smoking earth sloped steeply to the bottom of the immense pit. Everything of a defensive nature—concrete gun-pits, reinforced trenches, and deep dug-outs—was obliterated by the comparatively smooth "batter" of displaced chalk and earth.
"When are the guns going to lift, do you think, sergeant?" asked Penfold, who, having laid aside his rifle, was piling up sand-bags with the energy of a steam-engine.
"'Bout time," replied Sergeant Ferris. "We're supposed to make good for a mile. Hullo! What's happening on our left flank?"
Setley glanced in the direction indicated by the non-com. Here the Coalshires, many obliquely to the general line of advance, were falling in heaps. Men were tugging and hacking frantically at formidable barriers of uncut barbed wire. Evidently this section of the hostile line had escaped the otherwise general pulverization of the Hun entanglements, while the enemy, quick to grasp the advantage, had brought up dozens of machine-guns from deep dug-outs, raising the intact weapons to the surface by means of lifts.
"Good God!" ejaculated Alderhame hoarsely. "Our fellows are giving way."
With almost every officer either killed or wounded, confronted by an almost insurmountable barrier of barbed wire, and subjected to a terrific hail of machine-gun fire the Coalshires were almost decimated. Bodies, riddled with bullets, were hanging from the wire, their clothing held by the tenacious barbs. Contradictory orders added to the confusion, while to make matters worse the Huns began firing gas-shells into the wavering troops.
The quick eye of the Wheatshires' Colonel took in the situation. Another regiment, hitherto held in reserve, was advancing to assist in the holding of the mine-crater in anticipation of the usual counter-attack. For the time being the reinforcements must make good the advantage won by the battalion already in possession of the position.
At the word of command the Wheatshires swung out of the captured crater and charged the flank of that part of the German trenches left intact.
Almost before he realized it Setley found himself in a traverse, the furthermost end of which was packed with Huns, whose attention was mainly directed upon the disordered Coalshires on their immediate front.
With bayonet and bomb the attackers cleared the front three bays of the trench, the surviving Germans either bolting from their dug-outs or throwing up their hands with the now familiar cry of "Mercy, Kamerad."
Briefly the situation was as follows. On a front of nearly four miles the British had advanced a distance averaging eight hundred yards with the exception of half a mile of trenches before which the Coalshires had been held up. This section, strongly defended, was a tough nut to be cracked, but now surrounded on three sides, the Huns had either the option to resist to the last man or surrender. For the present they chose the former alternative, conscious that by holding out they were deferring the general advance of the British troops.
"Clear those dug-outs!" shouted a captain to No. 3 Platoon. Experience had taught him the inadvisability of leaving a nest of armed Huns behind the advancing Tommies.
"Out you come!" shouted Alderhame, flattening himself against the concrete sides of the first dug-out and pointing his rifle down the flight of steps leading to the deep subterranean retreat.
With his bayonet at the "ready" Setley took up his stand at the opposite side and awaited the result of his comrade's challenge, while George Anderson covered the mouth of the dug-out with a Mills bomb. "Ja! We come!" shouted a guttural voice from the deep recesses.
"And be mighty sharp about it," rejoined Alderhame.
But instead of the head of a procession of grey-coated Huns with upheld hands a bomb came hurtling from the dug-out. With the fuse sizzling briskly the missile dropped midway between Setley and the ex-actor.
In a trice Alderhame threw himself flat upon the ground. Setley, hardly realizing the danger, stood stockstill, his bayonet still directed towards the mouth of the dug-out. In another second——
With a muffled bang the bomb exploded. Ralph had a momentary vision of a khaki-clad Tommy being lifted five or six feet from the ground and subsiding almost at his feet. Simultaneously George Anderson hurled his missile straight into the cavernous recesses of the dug-out with disastrous results to the former occupants. "'Urt?" enquired Ginger laconically, as he assisted the fallen Tommy to his feet. It was Penfold, dazed and shaken, but otherwise unhurt.
Seeing the bomb lying on the ground Penfold, with admirable presence of mind, snatched up a sand-bag, threw it upon the missile and had held it in position until the explosion took place. This sand-bag resisted the disastrous effect of the bomb, although the detonation was sufficient to blow the intrepid Penfold some feet into the air.
"Good for the D.C.M.," yelled Alderhame. "Come on, lads. Let's see if any of the swine are still in this rat-hole."
"Give 'em another bomb first," suggested Ginger. "Stand by, 'ere goes."
The men waited until the reverberations of the explosion had died away; then looked at each other enquiringly.
"Come on," shouted Alderhame, unfixing his bayonet and placing his rifle against the concrete face of the dug-out. Then, borrowing a bomb from the obliging Anderson, he led the way into the underground refuge, while Setley following, closely at his heels, flashed a torch over his comrade's shoulder.
The place reeked vilely of sulphurous smoke. It had been lighted by electricity, but the concussion had shattered the bulbs. The Hun who had hurled the bomb was lying across the fifth step. A little lower down two more were huddled lifeless against the walls. Another, dangerously wounded, raised one hand in a mute appeal for mercy.
"All right, Fritz," said Alderhame. "We won't hurt you any more."
This was apparently the last of the original occupants of the dug-out. For thirty-five steps the two chums descended cautiously, while at some distance behind came Penfold, Anderson and another man being left to guard the entrance in case an over-zealous Tommy took it into his head to throw down a bomb "just for luck."
"Look out!" cautioned Setley. "There's someone still there."
Muttered guttural words and suspicious scuffling confirmed Ralph's statement. The ex-actor made ready to pull out the safety pin of this bomb.
"Surrender!" he shouted, "or I'll blow the crowd of you to Hades."
"Don't," was the reply. "I've got them properly set. I'm an Englishman—a Wheatshire."
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Alderhame, while Setley gave vent to a whoop of surprise and satisfaction, for the voice was that of Sidney Bartlett.