Our only chance was a frontal attack on them. First we tried a series of rushes. I realized then exactly what was meant by “fire superiority,” and the enemy certainly had it. One Chauchat ran out of ammunition. The other was in Cocker’s hands, and he used it well until it jammed. He worked at it desperately for several minutes, as he advanced with the line; then he threw it up against a tree in disgust, crying bitterly “That’s a hell of a thing to give a man to fight with.” From then on we had only our rifle fire against their leaden hailstorm. Neither side could aim their shots, but they were shooting twenty bullets to our one, and our hastily formed line was driven back.
As they retired, Sgt. Fahey and I, with two other men, tried to sneak up along the top of the ridge and get close enough to bomb one of the machine guns. We were lucky at first, the enemy being busy with his bullets further down the slope. We saw four Germans, carrying ammunition ahead of us, but held our fire, hoping they would lead on to their gun. Fahey slipped me a bomb, and I pulled the pin, ready to throw. Just then a new devil’s tattoo broke out about fifty yards away to our left, and the bullets came showering about our ears. They must have caught sight of us through some opening in the trees, and were probably waiting for just such an attempt. One of our patrol was riddled through the stomach and back, and started crawling back on one hand and his knees, with strange, shrill moans like a wounded animal. The other was killed instantly. Fahey and I looked in each other’s eyes for a startled moment; each, I think, wondering why the other was not killed. A bullet went through the tube of my gas mask, as I noticed later. Fahey lifted his eyebrows and pointed at the new gun. I nodded, and we started for it. But the first gun’s crew heard the cries of the wounded man, and traversed back and forth by us. Fahey staggered, shot through the chest. We could not see to throw a bomb, and it would probably hit a branch and light on us anyhow. Our slender chance vanished, and we slipped back through the trees.
As we returned, I saw our left flank retiring in some disorder, further confusing our hard pressed right. The enemy had driven back the post holding the head of the ravine on our left, and we were in the desperate position of being enfiladed from both flanks. Our losses were heavy, and ammunition was very low.
I glanced at my watch—only 6:20. No chance for the Lt. Col. to have gotten a counter-attack under way. The position had become untenable, and at any moment might develop into a complete cul-de-sac. It was time to pull out.
I gave the order to withdraw by squads and fall back to the old outpost line; 4th platoon to go first, covered by the 1st and 3rd; then the 4th platoon to cover our withdrawal from the other side of the wire.
As the first squad from the 4th platoon started through the wire, a machine gun opened on the wire and the road before it, killing two and driving the rest back. The platoon leader reported that it was impossible to get across.
To remain, however, meant almost certain death for all, with very little chance of inflicting compensating losses on the enemy. So as a last resort I took the 1st platoon, and during a momentary lull in the firing we made a rush for it in two or three groups at different places.
The wire clawed and tore at us as though it were alive. My group scrambled through, somehow, anyhow, marvelling that the bullets did not come. When half way through I noticed that I was still mechanically holding Fahey’s bomb, with the pin out. I went a bit carefully after that, so was the last one through. As I ripped my puttee free from the last strand of wire, the machine guns started up again, and I hugged the dirt while bullets cracked viciously overhead. The grass and green leaves felt cool and smelled fresh and green, and a little green bug went scrambling along a creeper, two inches from my nose.
Presently another lull came, and I proceeded to worm my way through the underbrush, looking for my half platoon. Not a sign of them. They had gotten clear of the last burst of fire, and then made a break for it.
The machine guns were still firing intermittently, but I heard no reply from our rifles, and hoped that the others had followed us through the wire. Most of them had, as I found out later.