by Peter Brune
. . . armoured machines on caterpillars brought up into position at night . . . advancing into the enemy’s positions, smashing obstructions on the way and sweeping trenches with machine-gun fire. Infantry would advance behind in short rushes . . . Once the positions had been consolidated the assault would continue against the second line. Above all, surprise would be vital . . . smoke screens might be used to cover the assembly of the force.17
The political impetus for the concept was provided by Winston Churchill. After having read Hankey’s paper, he contacted Prime Minister Asquith, which resulted in a committee being established to assess the feasibility of Swinton’s original proposal. For the next year the project was variously developed under such titles as ‘landships’, ‘landcruisers’ and ‘caterpillar machine-gun destroyers’. It was soon realised that some form of secrecy was in order. Lieutenant-Colonel (later Major-General) Sir Ernest Swinton:
The structure of the machine in its early stages being boxlike, some term conveying the idea of a box or container seemed appropriate. We rejected in turn—‘container’—‘receptacle’—‘reservoir’—‘cistern.’ The monosyllable ‘tank’ appealed to us as being likely to catch on and be remembered.18
The tank was born.
After changes in specifications and design during 1915, the prototype ‘Big Willie’, soon to be known as the Mark I, was, on 2 February 1916, put through trials in front of staff officers, Churchill and members of the Cabinet. Ten days later the War Office agreed to the production of 100 tanks.
The Mark I was shaped like a rhombus and was 26 feet 5 inches long, 13 feet 9 inches wide and 8 feet 5 inches high; it weighed around 28 tons; its armour was approximately a half-inch thick at the front, slightly less on the sides, and about a quarter-inch thick on the roof; it was powered by a 105 hp Daimler petrol engine, with a maximum speed of 3.7 mph and an average speed of 2 mph; and it had a radius of action of about twelve miles or just over six hours of driving time.19 There were two types of this Mark I Tank—the male and female. The difference between the two was quite simply their differing armament: the male carried two protruding 6-pounder guns (57-mm cannon) and four Hotchkiss machine guns, while the female was armed with six machine guns. The Mark I had two caterpillar tracks, each consisting of 90 steel plates, which ran around rollers and passed round its body.
Two distinctive features of this first tank were its tail and two large sponsons (a semi-circular gun turret fitted to either side of the tank). The tail consisted of two heavy, large-diameter wheels attached to the rear on a carriage. They were designed to allow the tank to be steered by means of pulling on steel cables. If the tank commander ordered a change in direction, the tail had to be raised off the ground, which was a time-consuming operation. During 1916, after a number of these tails had been damaged or shot away, it was found that they were an unnecessary addition to the hull. Because an armed turret would have caused the tank’s hull to be too high and thus render it unstable, the sponsons were designed and added to house the machine guns. These protruding objects were a nuisance when it came to transportation by rail—both had to be detached prior to movement and reassembled upon arrival at any given destination.
It was found that the Mark I could cover flat ground at around 100 to 120 yards per minute and move over trench-intersected ground at around 40 yards per minute, while at night its speed was reduced to about 15 yards per minute. One of its great features was its ability to traverse wire entanglements and either drag them away or crush them to create an infantry passage through those obstacles. The Mark I could also cross an eleven-and-a-half-foot trench, breach barriers up to five feet high and climb slopes.20
The tank was manned by a crew of eight, four of whom were required to operate its steering and speed. Of those four, two were drivers: the commander managed the brakes, and a second crew member steered and operated the main gearbox. The other two were stationed on either side at the rear to control the gears for each of the two tracks. It was a cumbersome and time-consuming system, which necessitated the driver hand-signalling (amid the tremendous internal noise of the tank) to either of his rear ‘gearmen’ for a change in direction. The remaining four crew members were responsible for firing the guns and/or machine guns, depending on whether the tank was a male or female.
In March 1916 Lieutenant-Colonel Swinton established the HQ of the ‘Heavy Section Machine Gun Corps’ (named as such for reasons of secrecy) at Elveden Camp in Norfolk, and began to raise six tank companies. There was much to do. Swinton appreciated that the selection of personnel, their training, the evolution of combined infantry–tank tactics, and the elimination of mechanical faults in the Mark I were his priorities. Given that the new ‘Mechanical Warfare Supply Department’ under the Ministry of Munitions would also take considerable time to produce the new weapon in large numbers, Swinton hoped that time, training and sufficient tanks would, if secrecy was maintained, eventually produce a decisive break-through on the Western Front. It was not to be. He was disappointed to learn that Haig planned to employ his 60 available tanks during August 1916 to assist in his continuation of the Somme offensive.
The Mark I’s first battle occurred at Flers-Courcelette on 15 September 1916. It was less than auspicious. Of the 49 tanks deployed for the attack 17 failed to reach the start line through either being ditched or suffering mechanical failure—over one-third. Although a number did cause understandable distress to the enemy, in a tactical sense their deployment bore no resemblance to Swinton’s vision for them, and, more importantly, the surprise that might have been gained by their massed appearance on the battlefield with some semblance of a practised tactical doctrine was lost. A similar disappointment occurred ten days later. The Battle of the Ancre (13–14 November 1916) was yet another disaster. Heavy rain and the consequent difficult ground along that river caused an originally designated twenty tanks to be reduced to five, and all of those became stuck in the mud.
The lessons came thick and fast. It was very soon appreciated that the Mark I needed fine weather and firm ground, and therefore considerable reconnaissance and planning was required to ascertain where, in terms of the terrain, it was to be deployed. This necessity would eliminate its use crossing swamps, streams with marshy banks, sunken roads, and ground that had been savaged by intense artillery fire and then turned into a mire of mud. It was also found that when the Mark I ditched with its nose down, the petrol supply was often cut off, as it was gravity-fed from the main front tanks to the carburettor. Further, the engine had no silencer and a quiet approach was thus prejudiced.
If the tank itself had a multitude of early teething problems, then the crews operating them faced critical challenges. We have noted the twelve-mile or six-hour limit to the range of the Mark I. A similar constraint was placed on the crew’s ability to function in that cramped environment. It was found that both entering and leaving the Mark I was difficult, and in the event of fire almost impossible, and as the petrol tank was inside that vehicle the risk of fire was heightened. Further, after a twelve-mile or six-hour stint in the tank, the combination of a confined space where movement was cramped and tedious, the tremendous internal noise, the extreme heat, and nauseating carbon monoxide fumes caused vomiting, dizziness and resulting fatigue. Added to these problems was the fact that because of enemy fire hitting the outside of the tank, splinter masks had to be worn to shield the face from flying paint fragments.
Communication, both internally and externally, was to prove another ongoing problem. As has been noted, the noise forced hand signals to be employed to steer the tank; often two pigeons were housed in the back of the vehicle for potential release with messages (they too suffered fatigue from carbon monoxide fumes); communication with the infantry was primitive, in that a bell and rope were housed at the rear of the tank, or hand signals were given; and communication with other tanks was virtually non-existent. While flags or tin strips were tried and found to be of some assistance, decent communication, and thus coordination f
rom tank to tank, and tank(s) to infantry, would remain a great handicap.
The next significant battle in which the new tank weapon was involved was the Battle of Arras (9 April to 16 May 1917). There were three participating tank efforts: the first at Feuchy Chapel on Monchy, the second from Neuville-Vitasse down the Hindenburg Line, and the third at Bullecourt. For our purposes, the last of these three attacks—in support of the Australians at Bullecourt—provides a number of lessons.
General Gough’s Fifth Army attack by the 4th Australian Division and the 62nd British Division on the Hindenburg Line at Bullecourt was planned to support the British Third Army to the north, and a French Army assault further south. In a rash decision to attack without artillery support, Gough trusted that a mere dozen Mark I tanks might support the infantry, cut the German wire and offer infantry fire support. The attack was meant to go in on 10 April 1917, but the failure of the tanks to arrive at the start line caused its cancellation. The assault mounted the next morning was a complete disaster. One of the twelve tanks did not even set off on its mission. Of the four tanks deployed on the right flank two lost direction with one breaking down and being forced to withdraw, and the other being hit by armour-piercing bullets. The third was hit and forced to withdraw with engine trouble, leaving the fourth to fight on. Four tanks were also committed to the left flank. All four of these tanks were late in arriving, and two were hit by shells before reaching the start line. The three tanks deployed in the centre of the assault were all hit and rendered incapable of further action. Thus, a paltry two of the twelve Mark I tanks committed at Bullecourt survived the fight.
Despite this dismal failure, the 4th and 12th AIF Brigades managed to fight their way through the enemy wire and occupy a portion of the Hindenburg Line trenches. They then requested artillery support to contest the German counter-attacks that must surely come. This was denied them, as the British artillery commander wrongly believed that the tanks were through the line and argued that he was not prepared to fire on his own troops. By midday on 11 April 1917, the Australians, isolated and having fought off numerous counter-attacks, were forced to withdraw. The fiasco that was Bullecourt cost the 4th Brigade 2339 casualties out of 3000 committed to the battle, while the 12th Brigade sustained some 950. Lieutenant-Colonel Ray Leane, CO 48th Battalion, 12th Brigade, AIF:
The men would have gone forward and successfully occupied the Objective under an artillery barrage without suffering such heavy casualties which undoubtedly resulted by the failure of the Tanks to start on time and their not advancing beyond the first ‘Jumping Off’ Trench.
Why the Tanks stopped and opened fire from the ‘Jumping Off’ Trench perhaps is best known to the O.C. Tanks. It was certainly bad tactics because it promptly brought a barrage right onto the men waiting to advance.
I am of the opinion that the tanks absolutely failed to carry out their part in the attack. I consider had they shown more dash and initiative things would have been better and perhaps we might have been still holding the line captured today.21
The lessons came thick and fast after Bullecourt. Lieutenant-Colonel Leane’s report would seem to indicate that there was little or no infantry–tank planning prior to the action. This was a flaw that would be remedied in no uncertain terms in 1918. The notion that an infantry–tank operation might be conducted without artillery support and counter-battery support was foolhardy in the extreme. The Mark I Tanks again showed their unreliability in the mechanical sense. They failed to reach their start line on time and they incurred a significant number of casualties to both men and machines on that approach. It was obvious that there had been flaws in planning and that the training of their crews was, at best, varied and, at worst, deficient. Bullecourt also taught the Tank Corps that a far greater emphasis must be placed on concentration of their weapon in far greater numbers, not dispersion; that sufficient reserves of tanks were needed to combat both casualties and breakdowns; and that an individual (tank) supply system was desirable. Bullecourt was the genesis of an understandably deep AIF mistrust of the capabilities and therefore the basic worth of the tank as a weapon. It would be 1918 before that scepticism was transformed into a genuine respect.
The Battle of Messines (7–14 June 1917) has come to be regarded as a model Great War limited-objective attack. Conducted by General Plumer’s Second Army, its aim was to capture the vital German defences on the Messines Ridge. The battle was noteworthy for its detailed planning and a much-improved use of its artillery. From a tank perspective, although their employment was on a relatively small scale towards the end of the battle, Messines was noteworthy for the appearance of the Mark IV tank—the Mark II had but a short stint at Arras, while the Mark III was essentially a training tank.
The Mark IV was by far the most numerous of the BEF’s tanks during the Great War: 1166 were manufactured, of which 950 were fighting tanks (about two male for every one female), and a further 205 were supply tanks, while the remainder were for experimental use. Although this tank was essentially the same as the Mark I in terms of its crew of eight, its shape, weight, length and engine, a number of important improvements had been made. After the Battle of Messines, the Mark IV acquired an unditching system which gave individual tanks a mechanism to unditch themselves rather than be salvaged or assisted by other tanks. A new silencer was fitted to a longer exhaust, which not only decreased the level of noise, but also reduced the incidence of sparks and flames that were formerly discharged from the roof. The Mark IV was less of a death trap: its rearward outside 70-gallon petrol tank—the Mark I had two internal petrol tanks located behind the commander and driver—and a larger double door beneath both sponsons in the female instead of the previous small door allowed a far greater chance of escape in the event of fire. The tedious task of removing the two sponsons prior to rail transportation was alleviated in the male tank by a shortened 6-pounder gun, and, significantly, while the armour plating was the same thickness as on its predecessors, it was made of hardened steel, which provided improved protection against the German armour-piercing bullet. The new tank’s rollers and links for the tracks were now made from cast iron, which gave greater durability. Two further initiatives were the installation of a set of lights to facilitate better communication between the driver at the front and his ‘gearmen’ at the back, and the addition of a tank compass. But the War Office was responsible for a meddling mistake when it insisted (against the wishes of tank personnel) on replacing the Hotchkiss Gun with the Lewis Gun. This error would only be corrected with the reintroduction of the Hotchkiss Gun in the Mark V Tank in 1918.
The Battle of Cambrai (20 November to 7 December 1917) marks a watershed in the development of a tank doctrine—and a growing sophistication and maturity in combined-arms planning and tactical execution. It was originally perceived by the Tank Corps as nothing more than a large-scale raid against the Hindenburg Line that was designed to draw German reserves away from the Fifth Army front at Ypres. However, this planned ‘massed raid’ soon developed into a full-scale assault, which deployed six infantry divisions, two cavalry divisions, more than 1000 guns and over 400 tanks.
From a Tank Corps perspective Cambrai produced three basic challenges. The first was its participation in the long-lost tactic of surprise. The startling artillery achievement that successfully employed predicted fire—not only with its quantity of fire, but with effective counter-battery fire—has been discussed. The secret arrival of the tanks by night was assisted by planes flying back and forth over the area of operations for two days prior to the attack, to drown out the noise of their movement. The second challenge was to concentrate and operate the tanks en masse with the infantry to cross the Hindenburg Line of trenches. In the approach, the key would be infantry–tank cooperation to either crush or drag away wire and to eliminate German machine gun posts while shielded by a creeping barrage. This involved infantry units and tanks in mutual-support training. In order to cross the German trenches a number of the leading tanks carried fasc
ines of bundled wood to be dropped into those obstacles. Each infantry objective was supported by a section of three tanks, which consisted of an advance tank and two infantry support tanks. The strength and priority of those German positions determined the number of tank sections deployed.
Cambrai was initially a stunning success: in places the Hindenburg Line was breached to a depth of four miles and across a six-mile front, with successive German trenches overrun and numerous guns and prisoners taken. While the break-in was thus a spectacular success, the familiar problem of a break-through remained unresolved. In essence the old problems remained: the need for a faster movement of the infantry to both consolidate and regroup for the break-through; the time taken to move guns forward and repeat the use of predicted fire; and the tendency for this ‘all arms battle’ to slow, if not break down, after the first day, when the coordination of artillery, infantry, tanks and planes became more difficult because of fatigue, the loss of that critical initial surprise, and the enemy’s ability to marshal forces for counter-attack.
The German counter-attack on 30 November saw not only lost ground retaken but new ground captured. It is not the purpose of this work to examine that BEF reversal. What is critical to our story is the fact that the initial BEF Cambrai break-in provided priceless lessons in the conduct of combined-arms operations. As there was no previous doctrine for such warfare, the lessons came as much through failure or disappointment as success.
