CHAPTER XXI
TRAPPED
""'Old 'ard, chapses; 'old 'ard!"
"What's that?" enquired Ralph, hearing a voice but unable to distinguish the words owing to the din both within and without.
"It's Corporal Anderson, sir," reported one of the crew.
Setley gave orders for the door to be opened. With the Tank still in motion, George Anderson clambered into the interior and gave vent to an exclamation of profound relief.
"Thoughter wasn't goin' to pick you up, sir," he remarked. "I got them Boches back all right, and then blow me if I could find you anywheres. If I've chased one bloomin' Tank I've chased a dozen, to say nothin' of a few cripples, although I didn't think as 'ow anythink could 'appen to this 'ere gadget."
The corporal was too modest to relate the peculiar adventures he had undergone in his finally successful quest; how he had twice been knocked flat by exploding shells, and how he had alighted upon a "pocket" of armed Germans who had been overlooked in the forward movement. With his utmost coolness Ginger had beckoned to a totally imaginary crowd of Tommies, and at the same time had shouted to the Huns to "'Ands up," with the result that more time was taken up in the return journey to the advance cages, shepherding eleven Guardsmen in front of him.
"Have you seen anything of Mr. Danvers?" enquired Ralph.
"Yes, sir," replied Ginger. "It was 'im wot told me where you was. 'Is Tank was just off along the Hoppy Road, goin' like a young racehorse."
It was in the direction of the fortified village of Oppy that Ralph was making. At this point the massing of German infantry had been reported by aerial scouts. By road and rail reserves had been rushed up from other sections of the Hindenburg Line. The Tanks were to cut the enemy's communications, if possible, and hinder the concentration of Germans for the counter-attack.
The shell-pitted ground over which Setley's Tank nosed her way was no longer under fire. The enormous craters had been torn up by the bombardment of the British heavies. The guns were now being pushed forward, and although the German artillery was still putting up a strong barrage the projectiles were falling between the captured Von der Golz Redoubt and Néancourt village.
Every foot of the way was strewn with evidences of the devastating effect of the pounding of the shells. Numerous corpses, half-buried limbers, dismounted field-guns, and a medley of shattered transport waggons testified to the terrible gruelling the Huns had received behind their trenches. Here and there were heaps of brickwork mingled with still smouldering woodwork—all that was left of a dozen villages. Hardly a tree was left standing. The few that were had been stripped of branches and reared their scorched and seared trunks like grim gallows trees silhouetted against the black and yellow waste of smoke.
Already British cavalry were patrolling considerably beyond the ground held by the infantry. The men, filled with wild enthusiasm at being able to be in the saddle and after their foes, were making short work of all small detachments of Germans who had got out of touch with the main body.
For three miles Setley's Tank pursued her way before losing sight of the cavalry. Occasionally a Hun sniper would send a bullet pinging harmlessly against her steel sides, but the crew loftily ignored the useless compliment. With bigger game in view, the individual German marksman could be simply left alone.
As the Tank approached a ruined wall a khaki-clad figure appeared as from the earth and began running towards the oncoming machine, waving his hands in a manner that clearly indicated his wish for the landship to stop.
"He's an officer, sir," reported Sergeant Alderhame. "Wonder what he's doing so far ahead? Prisoner, perhaps, who has managed to give the Huns the slip."
Giving orders for the motors to be switched off, Ralph brought the Tank to a dead stop, and unbolting the armoured door awaited the officer's approach. Caution urged him not to throw the door wide open, in case there were snipers about, but without drawing the fire of a single rifle the stranger gained the Tank and at Ralph's invitation nimbly hopped in.
"Glad to have fallen in with you," was the new-comer's greeting. He was a tall sparely built man in the uniform of a captain of the Royal Flying Corps. "My name is Cludderborough. I suppose I have already been reported as missing. I was brought down a week ago last Friday. Nearly came a good old crash, but got off lightly, with the exception of a sprained ankle. I managed to escape during the bending of the Hindenburg Line. That was early this morning. So far I've not done so badly, but my ankle is giving me a lot of pain. So that is why I signalled for you to stop."
"But we aren't going your way," remarked Ralph. "We're off on a sort of independent cruise, don't you know. I would suggest that you enjoy the hospitality of the nearest shell-hole until our cavalry patrols come up. They are not so very far behind."
Captain Cludderborough did not hail the proposition with enthusiasm. In fact, he promptly "turned it down."
"Too jolly risky," he observed. "Already snipers have put shots through my coat. You have no objection to taking me as a passenger, I hope? I may come in pretty useful, since I know the country behind the German line very well, both from the standpoint of an aerial observer and from that of an escaped prisoner."
Ralph did not immediately accept the offer. There was no good reason why he should not do so. Rapidly weighing up the situation, he decided that no great harm could be done in the giving the Flying Corps officer a "lift."
"I must warn you," he said, "that we are about to engage in a particularly hazardous enterprise. If you are anxious to rejoin your Corps as quickly as possible I should advise you to accept my proposition. If, on the other hand, you think you can materially assist us then by all means come along."
"Right," rejoined the captain promptly. "You are about to cut the Germans' lines of communication in the neighbourhood of Oppy? There's a beautiful temporary trestle-bridge which the Huns have recently made to take the place of a steel viaduct brought down by one of our airmen. This Tank ought to crumple the structure as easily as if it were a pack of cards. By the by, have you a snack of something to offer me? I am absolutely ravenous."
"Get Captain Cludderborough something to eat, Corporal Anderson," said Ralph. "You'll have to excuse our lack of courtesy," he added. "The limited space, the jolting motion, and above all the fact that we are in an hostile country, prevents me from doing the honours properly."
"Where's your map?" asked the captain, after he had finished his meal. "Ah, there you are: no sign of the viaduct is shown. The thing's beastly inaccurate. See that slight river almost ahead? That's Nôtre Dame d'Huy. The railway line skirts the other side of the hill. There's a fairly broad valley between Nôtre Dame and the hill on the right. Both eminences are crossed with trenches, but they are not held. The Huns were clearing out as I slipped through. It's my belief that they have purposely retired in order to leave a tempting gap for our troops, and then they'll start shelling from both sides. However, it's too early for that, so we ought to get through and astride the railway line before they spot us."
Captain Cludderborough spoke with such decision that his words carried conviction. With his aid there was certainly a good chance of pulling off a highly successful coup. By destroying the railway bridge the transference of German troops from the southern sectors of the line to the threatened regions would be seriously impeded. By the time the men were taken by a circuitous loop-line the British heavy guns would be in position ready to meet the expected counter-attack upon the village of Néancourt and the captured Von der Golz Redoubt.
Steadily the Tank approached the gap between the two hills. So far all went well. Captain Cludderborough's statement that the Germans had abandoned the rising ground was evidently confirmed, for there were no signs of any living Huns.
"Rummy sort of show, sir," commented Sergeant Alderhame, as the defence came in sight. "I should feel inclined to go smack bang over the hill instead of through that gap."
"Eh?" interrupted the captain. "You would, would you? Not only would you have to surmount difficult ground, but you would be absolutely on the sky-line and a target for every German quickfirer within ten thousand yards."
"Very good, sir," said the sergeant quietly. Having made his protest, he had done all he could in that direction. He was bound to obey unquestionably the decision of his superior officer, and since Setley agreed to the captain's remark the matter was settled.
Nevertheless, Sergeant Alderhame's words impressed themselves upon Ralph's mind The subaltern decided that he would be unfeignedly glad when the Tank emerged from that forbidding valley. The very stillness, contrasting vividly with the rumble of the distant guns, seemed out of place.
The defile was nearly three quarters of a mile in length, its width averaging only a hundred yards. On either side the ground rose with tolerable abruptness, the height of the encircling hills being considerably greater than it had appeared when viewed from a distance. Half-way to the summit a triple line of trenches encompassed both hills, but these were as silent as the tents of Sennacherib when the angel of death had passed through the Assyrian hosts.
"Nearly through," remarked Captain Cludderborough, who had taken his stand at Ralph's elbow. "You'll see the precious trestle-bridge in half a shake."
As he spoke there was a loud roar. A dense cloud of smoke and dust leapt skywards at the distance of a furlong in front of the Tank. Almost simultaneously another explosion occurred at a similar distance to the rear. The Huns had sprung two land mines. The Tank, caught betwixt them, was trapped, and to impress the fact more strongly upon her hundreds of Germans appeared from the hitherto apparently deserted trenches.
The cold muzzle of an automatic pistol was pressed against Ralph's temple and the mocking voice of the pseudo Captain Cludderborough remarked:
"You will do well, sir, to order your men to surrender instantly. There is no escape. Give in without resistance and you will be accorded honourable treatment. I, Kapitan Karl von Hoerfelich, guarantee it."
Von Hoerfelich was a resourceful German who, attracted by the offer of a large monetary reward for the capture of an intact British Tank, and animated by a strong desire to further the interest of the Imperial arms, had employed a daring ruse in order to attempt to achieve his object. Speaking English with the utmost fluency and having a thorough knowledge of British military matters—a knowledge gained by a seven years' exile in Great Britain, during which time he had taken up a menial position as a waiter at a famous Army Club—he submitted his plan to his superiors.
In brief, he was to personate a British airman who had made a forced landing behind the German lines. The chance of meeting with a Tank operating far in advance of the infantry was realized, and so far he had successfully lured the landship into a formidable ambush. The moment had come for him boldly to proclaim his identity, his firm belief being that seeing the uselessness of resistance, the crew would tamely surrender at his summons.
Completely taken aback when he felt the muzzle of the pistol against his temple, Second-Lieutenant Setley wisely refrained from obeying his natural inclination of grappling with his declared enemy.
"Wouldn't it be advisable to stop the motors?" asked Ralph coolly. "We'll come an awful crash in that beastly hole ahead if we don't. It looks quite fifty feet deep, doesn't it?"
Deceived by the apparent simplicity and urgency of the question, von Hoerfelich gave a brief glance through the slit in the armour in order to verify Setley's statement.
Quick as was his action, Ralph was quicker. With a sharp upward movement of his elbow he jerked the German's automatic pistol. At the same time he ducked his head and gripped the Hun round the waist. Interlocked in a grim embrace, the two men struggled in the confined space while the Tank ambled uncontrolled towards the yawning mine-crater.
Something hard grazed Ralph's cheek and struck the German on the point of his chin with a dull hideous thud. With a muttered "Wot's yer game, old sport?" Ginger Anderson had planted a terrific left-hander on a vulnerable part of the Boche's anatomy. The fellow's resistance collapsed, and he dropped inertly at the little corporal's feet.
Recovering his disturbed senses, Ralph shouted to the men to open fire; then turning the Tank in as small a curve as possible he steered the monster up the steep side of the ravine, where hundreds of the enemy, assisted by the natural defence of the ground, awaited with complete confidence the capture of the trapped Tank.