An imposing number of batteries—greater than the public imagines—is now disposed en échelon over the plain. Cannon, howitzers and mortars are hidden so skilfully that they can hardly be detected even at a short distance. Hundreds of concrete shelters have been built for ammunition dumps and headquarters. Among the ruins rise practically indestructible observation posts, themselves invisible from afar, but commanding the whole country. From these a ceaseless watch is kept upon the enemy's lines. Artificial screens protect the works from direct observation, and clever "camouflage" entirely conceals them from overhead view. To mislead the enemy, "dummy" batteries are scattered about everywhere. Many reserve positions have also been prepared so that, should the need arise, the batteries may be shifted and re-concentrated in different sectors.
It has been, one sees, a great enterprise; and the men who have worked so hard and unremittingly may well feel a legitimate pride in what they have so successfully accomplished. Yet in this, as in other spheres of activity, work can never stop. Bad weather and bombardment alike inflict constant havoc; and in spite of the most ingenious precautions the enemy always succeeds eventually in spotting the emplacement of this or that battery or in marking off an area which conceals a group of batteries. A furious fire from heavy guns is then concentrated upon the point discovered, and by the time our artillery manages to silence it the damage done is sometimes of such a nature that works which represent long months of labour may have to be practically reconstructed.
Conclusion.
We have now described the most outstanding features of the remarkable feat which the Belgian Army has accomplished with the object of rendering impregnable the important sector of the western front entrusted to its watchful care. It may claim to have safely defended the vital route leading to Dunkirk and Calais.
Mere written words can, however, but imperfectly convey a complete idea of the colossal work it did among most discouraging and desolate surroundings; and prudence forbids us to say anything at all about many, and those by no means the least considerable, of the operations. Moreover, the few data which we have been permitted to give are but a slight indication of the efforts unsparingly made by men and officers alike.
The task was done in self-effacing silence; the world at large scarcely knows of it. But perhaps in these few pages we may have succeeded in making the merit of our fearless and tenacious troops better appreciated, and in showing how well they have earned the homage due to the determined energy which they have displayed for more than three years, with no thought but that of valiantly performing a duty of prime importance to the common cause, though it brings no glory with it.
Can anyone realise fully the kind of life Belgian soldiers are leading, even now that the essential military works are completed? A division guarding a sector of the front invariably divides its time between duty in the trenches, outpost duty and rest. Rest! magic word! You would like to think that our men enjoy a blissful calm, long hours of pleasant freedom, lounging about all the day, almost forgetful of the war and its cruel chances. Alack! how far the reality falls short of this seductive vision! "Rest" means shelter in comfortless hutments or squalid cantonments, with a truss of straw to serve as bed. Fatigue duties are needed to prepare, load up and move the materials for all the works whose upkeep and completion demand constant care. Then there are the long route marches to keep the troops in perfect training, and drill in which military instruction is given and our men are taught the latest modes of fighting with a view to making future attacks. At night come alarms and enemy shells bombarding their quarters and poisoning them with asphyxiating gases.
When on outpost duty in the second-line positions one must always be ready for a fight. When the German guns concentrate an intense fire upon certain sectors, one must wait stolidly and stoically in the shelters which a single shell can blow to atoms. Then, too, whenever the chance is offered, one must toil to restore defence works which are as constantly knocked to pieces again. With nightfall come the reliefs, a long and tiresome business, surrounded by deadly peril if the enemy be on his guard and puts up a barrage, searching the ground with sudden, furious bursts of machine-gun fire.
In the trenches one has to keep a close and cautious lookout, always watching the enemy's lines, mind and body ever alert, while pitiless death prowls about and threatens at every point. At times, no doubt, the hours pass slowly with tiresome monotony. A heavy silence broods over this corner of the great battlefield wherein the Belgian soldiers, tramping along the bottom of the trenches or huddled in a dark shelter, dream at length of all that they have in tender memory, the affections, the hopes left behind them in the country now oppressed and tyrannised over by the invader. Their souls are full of bitterness, as with fixed stare they dumbly surrender themselves to their sad musings. A mad desire comes over them to clasp again to their breast, if only for a moment, some suffering dear one—whether still living or with eyes closed for ever in death, they do not know. So violent an access of home-sickness sweeps over them that at times they cannot restrain their tears.
Then, suddenly, all heads are raised: eyes flash like points of steel. Let a shell whistle over the trenches and burst a few yards further on, and these men, who a moment ago were numbed by their gloomy broodings, become in a trice the fighters whose keenness awakes when danger threatens.