Jumping over the trench, Lloyd raced across “No Man’s Land,” unheeding the rain of bullets, leaping over dark forms on the ground, some of which lay still, while others called out to him as he speeded past.
He came to the German front line, but it was deserted, except for heaps of dead and wounded—a grim tribute to the work of his Company, good old “D” Company. Leaping trenches, and gasping for breath, Lloyd could see right ahead of him his Company in a dead-ended sap of a communication trench, and across the open, away in front of them, a mass of Germans preparing for a charge. Why didn’t “D” Company fire on them? Why were they so strangely silent? What were they waiting for? Then he knew—their ammunition was exhausted.
But what was that on his right? A machine gun. Why didn’t it open fire and save them? He would make that gun’s crew do their duty. Rushing over to the gun, he saw why it had not opened fire. Scattered around its base lay six still forms. They had brought their gun to consolidate the captured position, but a German machine gun had decreed they would never fire again.
Lloyd rushed to the gun, and grasping the traversing handles, trained it on the Germans. He pressed the thumb piece, but only a sharp click was the result. The gun was unloaded. Then he realized his helplessness. He did not know how to load the gun. Oh, why hadn’t he attended the machine-gun course in England? He’d been offered the chance, but with a blush of shame he remembered that he had been afraid. The nickname of the machine gunners had frightened him. They were called the “Suicide Club.” Now, because of this fear, his Company would be destroyed, the men of “D” Company would have to die, because he, Albert Lloyd, had been afraid of a name. In his shame he cried like a baby. Anyway he could die with them, and, rising to his feet, he stumbled over the body of one of the gunners, who emitted a faint moan. A gleam of hope flashed through him. Perhaps this man could tell him how to load the gun. Stooping over the body, he gently shook it, and the soldier opened his eyes. Seeing Lloyd, he closed them again, and in a faint voice said:
“Get away, you blighter, leave me alone. I don’t want any coward around me.”
The words cut Lloyd like a knife, but he was desperate. Taking the revolver out of the holster of the dying man, he pressed the cold muzzle to the soldier’s head, and replied:
“Yes, it is Lloyd, the coward of Company ‘D,’ but if you don’t tell me how to load that gun, I’ll put a bullet through your brain!”
A sunny smile came over the countenance of the dying man, and he said in a faint whisper:
“Good old boy! I knew you wouldn’t disgrace our Company——”
Lloyd interposed, “For God’s sake, if you want to save that Company you are so proud of, tell me how to load that gun!”