At 6 p.m., in pitch darkness, "B" Company filed out into "no man's land." Instructions were, "No firing, bayonet only if necessary." There were Hun flares and machine guns, but no search-light. Had the enemy but used the light, all might have been spoiled. Their lives depended on no Hun reaching their line, or getting back with information. They went straight out the 600 yards without a hitch. That fixed their right flank, where Major J.R. Young was in command. Captain Russell led his half Company 500 yards straight across the front, with two scouts on either side, checking. At every five yards a man dropped and was placed, facing his proper front. They moved slowly, snail pace, but only three times in the 500 yards had the line to drop flat, until the last man was placed. The next thing was to get in touch with "A" Company, who were putting out the platoon to guard "B" Company's left flank. Rather jumpy work, this joining hands in pitch darkness. It was a long, silent night. At 9.30 the tinkling sound of the wire being fixed was heard, and they knew from this that the digging had commenced—some 800 men, good and true, working silently as they had never worked before.
When 1.30 a.m. came their time was up. The right half Company, under Major Young, rose silently, and crept off to a place in the wire where a gap had been arranged for the men to pass through. Captain Russell with the left half Company followed. The wiring and digging went on till 3 a.m., protected by patrols sent out in front of the wire. A new trench, with communication trenches, had been laid 300 yards out from their old line, protected by treble staked wire, on a frontage of 600 yards. The new trench was held till dawn before handing over. There was no hitch, and not a man wounded. The Battalion would have given much to see the Huns' faces when they looked across and found that long line of serpentine earth and wire shoved out under their noses. There would probably be some court-martialling of their patrols. Everything worked in absolute harmony, and with perfect success, and all got back safe to tell the tale. The Hun discovered what had been done only the following morning when all was over.
The lack of the more strenuous forms of active service excitement during the digging of this trench was more than made up for in the week following—when it was manned nightly in full strength, in spite of severe bombardment by the enemy.
After the successful and useful piece of work in advancing the line just described, the Battalion settled down to a period of normal trench warfare and intensive training, but managed to slip in a game of Rugger and an Association game or two. Intermittent spells of artillery and trench mortar and gas shell bombardments of varying severity disturbed the sector, but despite this the unit not only immediately repaired any damage done, but considerably extended and improved the system.
On the 9th of February the shelling became very heavy, culminating towards evening in an intense bombardment on the sector lying to the left of F1. At the same time an attempt was made to neutralise the fire of the British batteries on the Ancre by gas shells. Intense excitement prevailed in the Battalion, which was billeted in Aveluy, in Brigade support, when it was called on to "stand to" and man the bridge-head defences. Meantime the Hun carried out a raid on a part of the line known as the Nab, which was occupied by the 2nd K.O.Y.L.I. This point was occupied for half-an-hour or so by the enemy, who picked up about eleven K.O.Y.L.I. prisoners and then retired. The K.O.Y.L.I. suffered some sixty casualties in killed, wounded and missing, so "B" Company and part of "C" of the 17th were rushed up into the raided sector to reinforce the battered garrison, and stayed there till morning.
Again the conditions stereotyped themselves into that nerve racking ordeal known to the civilian public as "nothing to report"—the type of warfare recognised by all who have any experience of modern active service life as calling for all that is highest in regimental efficiency and discipline, and individual initiative and grit. The weather, taking it all over, was wet and stormy, causing endless work in repairing the line and pumping the trenches clear of water. But the bright star in this bloody, muddy firmament was the commencement of leave, which opened about the 14th February. Even if your name was well down the list, or not yet even on it at all, a new species of keen counter-attraction was provided to the demands of war.