CHAPTER VII
When the Hun Pushed
There was little rest for anyone that night. In spite of the outward show of levity every man realized more or less the gravity of the situation. Taking advantage of heavy mists that caused the deadly poison-gas to roll sullenly over the British lines, the Huns were pushing forward regardless of the cost. Their High Command knew perfectly well that it was a gambler's last throw. Failure meant a total and sudden crumpling up of the German Empire on all fronts. It was a despairing effort to aim a knock-out blow at the British, in the hope that it would result in a relaxation of the British navy's strangle-hold upon every subject of the Kaiser.
Yet, although from an Allied point of view the situation was serious, not for one moment did the British, from the Commander-in-Chief down to the latest-arrived Tommy, entertain any doubts as to the issue of the titanic conflict. We were going back, it was true, but sooner or later the pendulum would swing in the opposite direction, and the Hunnish hordes would either be smashed by Foch, or else driven pell-mell across the Rhine.
Already airmen were busily engaged in getting stores and material away. Rumours, often too true, were coming through of vast quantities of stores falling into the hands of the enemy, often owing to the blind confidence of those in charge in the ability of a comparatively few British troops to withstand ten or even twenty times their number.
Huge motor-lorries, piled high with material, rumbled away as fast as they could be loaded up. Wounded men, some "walking cases", others badly hit, were streaming towards the now perilously-advanced dressing-stations. Troops, both British and French, were arriving to succour their worn-out and harassed comrades, while, almost momentarily, night bombing-machines were either going to or returning from their destructive missions.
The flashes of countless guns and the lurid flares of abandoned ammunition-dumps and petrol-stores illuminated the misty sky, while the sodden earth trembled under the thunder of artillery-fire. At frequent intervals Hun bombing-'planes, soaring at great heights, fearful lest their careers might be cut short by the British machines, dropped bombs indiscriminately, the loud clatter of which was distinctly audible above the roar of the howitzers and heavies. It was an inferno into which men, who a few years ago never thought to handle a rifle and bayonet, plunged bravely and resolutely to give their lives for their country.
Realizing that Flanders and Northern France were Britain's bulwarks, and that should the Channel ports be lost the thorny problem of Ostend and Zeebrugge would be magnified a thousand-fold, every foot of ground was obstinately contested by the hard-pressed troops. Isolated battalions deliberately sacrificed themselves on this account, thus obtaining a temporary respite for their undaunted comrades, while in countless numbers fresh hordes of field-greys hurled themselves by day and night against the dauntless khaki lines.
Derek soon found the reason for his hasty flight to France. With hundreds of other airmen he had been sent across to assist in stemming the tide of Huns. Success or failure in the present struggle depended mainly upon superiority in the air. Not only did aerial combination mean that the enemy's concentration could be clearly observed—mists and fogs alone preventing—but his lines of communication could be constantly interrupted, while a new factor, low-altitude machine-gunning, was "putting the wind up" the German infantry in no half-hearted fashion.
The young pilot was told off to start at dawn. Provided with a series of aerial photographs of the enemy's positions, and also a map ruled off in squares and numbered and lettered, he was able to obtain a clear idea of the sub-sector over which he was to operate. So elaborate were the preparations that there was hardly a square yard of ground captured by the enemy that was not mapped out for particular attention by the R.A.F. By bomb and machine-gun fire the Huns were to be unmercifully galled—but at a cost.