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Without going too closely into the detailed methods of the attack—the normal methods of this particular period—it is enough to say that three objective lines had been marked up on the maps of the ground to be taken, a pink, a purple, and a “final objective” blue-black line. Between the moment of occupying the pink line and the move to attack the purple there were some twelve minutes allowed to bring supports into position, to pour further destructive artillery fire on the next objective, and so on. Corporal Ackroyd, in common with the rest of the battalion, had been very fully instructed in the map position, and rehearsed over carefully-measured-out ground in practice attack, and knew fairly well the time-table laid down. Before the officer was carried back by the bearers he gave one or two further simple guiding rules. “Send back a runner to report. If nobody comes up to take over in ten minutes, push on to the purple line. It’s the sunk road; you can’t mistake it. Keep close on the barrage, and you can’t go wrong”; and finally, “Take my watch; it’s synchronised time.”
Ackroyd sent back his runner, and was moving to a position where he could best keep control of the remains of the company, when there came an interruption.
“Some blighter out there flappin’ a white flag, Corporal,” reported a look-out, and pointed to where an arm and hand waved from a shell-hole a hundred yards to their front. The Corporal was wary. He had seen too much of the “white-flag trick” to give himself or his men away, but at the same time was keenly sensible of the advantage of getting a bunch of Germans on their immediate front to surrender, rather than have to advance in face of their fire. There was not much time to spare before the laid-down moment for the advance.
He half rose from his cover and waved an answer. Promptly a figure rose from the shell-hole and with hands well over his head came running and stumbling over the rough ground towards him. Three-quarter way over he dropped into another shell-hole, and from there waved again. At another reassuring wave from Ackroyd he rose, ran in and flung himself down into the shell-hole where the Corporal waited. The Corporal met him with his bayoneted rifle at the ready and his finger on the trigger, and the German rose to his knees shooting both hands up into the air with a quick “Kamerad.”
“Right-oh,” said Ackroyd. “But where is your chums? Ain’t any more coming?”
The German answered in guttural but clear enough English, “Mine comrades sended me, wherefore—because I speak English. They wish to kamerad, to become prisoner if you promise behave them well. You no shoot if they come.”
“Right,” said Ackroyd with another glance at his watch. “But you’ll ’ave to ’urry them up. We’re goin’ to advance in about seven minutes, and I’ll promise nothin’ after that. Signal ’em in quick.”
“If I to them wave they will come,” answered the German. “But mine officer come first and make proper kamerad.”
“He’ll make a proper bloomin’ sieve if he don’t come quick,” retorted Ackroyd. “The barrage is due to drop in less’n seven minutes. Signal ’im along quick,” he repeated impatiently, as he saw the other failed to understand. The German turned and made signals, and at once another figure came running and crouching to where they waited. “Mine officer,” said the first German, “he no speak English, so I interpret.”