Blood, Mud and Corpses (Royal Zombie Corps Book 1)

by C. M. Harald

  'Bloody awful. We all line up along the trench and wait for our artillery to stop. Then when the officers start blowing their whistles, you climb up your ladder and pray that the Germans aren't yet out of their bunkers and manning the machine guns.' Everyone was listening intently to Scott as he explained, 'Doctrine says we move steadily towards the enemy, besides, the ground is often so churned up you can't run. The biggest problem is the machine guns. They dish out death and they're hard to avoid. Fritz has them positioned so there are usually two or three supporting each other, therefore you get shot from the front and both sides. You do your best, keep your head down, it's like walking into iron rain. You close them down and lob a grenade or two. Neither side is too keen on taking machine gunners prisoner, so be ready with your bayonet.'

  'Must be hell.' Simmonds commented.

  'Aye, it's bloody hell. You'll be terrified. Any man who tells you they're not scared is bloody lying or mad.'

  'There must be a better way to deal with them?' Marsh asked, 'There's got to be something cleverer than walking towards them.'

  'Well if you figure it out, make sure you tell the Brass about it. Maybe we'll be in Berlin by Christmas.' Scott grinned at the idea, 'Digging them out with artillery, that's all we can really hope for. We started the war thinking we'd have a quick war of movement, but we hadn't banked on the machine gun and how we'd go having to dig into the ground to avoid the bullets.'

  It was that night that notification arrived that the squad were to be sent forward as reinforcements to a quiet sector in Belgium. Due to losses, the whole squad would be sent intact rather than the individuals dispersed across several units. This had a positive effect on the men as they had spent their time in training together and now had clearly been kept together when moving into the line. The sheer number of losses experienced by the units on the front was leading to changes in policy.

  Over The Top

  "It was late 1916 when the first cases were observed. Occasional reports started to come in of animate corpses in the trenches. The reports were rare enough that they dismissed as the hallucinations of stressed men. Some of the more enlightened, even considered the reports to be symptomatic of 'shell shock', an early form of diagnosis of, what we today diagnose as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Unlike the Germans and French, the British General Staff, did not immediately dismiss these cases as 'shell shock', possibly due to their general suspicions of the validity of 'shell shock' as a medical condition. It can be argued that as a result, the British quickly adapted to the emergence of the Zombie on the battlefield."

  Milton Davies, A History of Zombies and Warfare, (London, 2016)

  Having expected to be deployed to a quiet sector near the coast, Marsh was surprised when new orders arrived. They had been about to leave Étaples for such a quiet sector, but their new orders directed them to a unit in Flanders. Travelling on the train, the only evidence of the war had been the large numbers of men in uniform, the occasional plane and the large numbers of trucks that ran in loops from the railway stations to the depots nearer the frontline. Yet, as they neared Flanders, the evidence of warfare grew. There were few scars on the fields, perhaps the occasional bomb crater, or burnt out aeroplane wreck, but there were large numbers of airfields, supply dumps and camps of all sizes. They were clearly approaching an area where there was a build-up by the Allied armies.

  Their new unit was in reserve and the squad were quickly integrated into their new platoon. Most of the soldiers were replacements, the regiment having been mauled in a few days earlier, and they were not the only replacement squad in the company. There were few veterans around, and those that were, were either like Daniel Scott, troops who had been out of the line and were being fed back as replacements, or were hollow eyed, drawn faced individuals who seemed to be in deep shock from all they had seen. Eventually Wells was able to get the story out of one of the veterans in exchange for a couple of bottles of red wine he had 'liberated' at Étaples.

  'It was sheer bloody murder. The ground was soft, as usual around here, and we couldn’t get up enough speed to cover no-mans-land. No, surprise, the Germans were waiting for us. Our barrage stopped and they came out of their dug-outs with their machine guns. Sheer blood slaughter.' The solider, Tom Matthews, took a swig from the wine bottle with shaking hands, 'Eventually we broke and fell back to our lines. Hardly anyone survived. We'd been supposed to take this machine gun blockhouse, but hadn't got close, barely out of our own lines.' He voice trailed away and he eventually took another swig from the bottle.

  'Looks like we'll be bringing the company up to strength.' Scott said, indicating the numerous replacements busying themselves with settling in.

  'Well you won't have long to wait, Corporal,' Matthews said, 'That blockhouse has still got to go and there ain't no-one else around here to do it. Overheard the CO saying we'd be attacking as soon as you lot arrived.'

  'Aw Corp, aren't we going to get some rest?' moaned Davies.

  'Doesn't sound like it.' Scott replied, 'Check you kit lads. We're going to be using it soon enough so make sure everything is in working order.'

  It was only half an hour before an officer came along and introduced himself. It was Lieutenant Sellers, acting CO of D Company, to which they were attached. The company was still vastly under-strength, even with all the replacements, and Sellers split the men into two makeshift platoons. Scott's squad was made up to full strength and Sellers was pleased to see that he had been sent someone with a bit of experience in Scott, even if the other replacements were a bit green. Matthews found himself assigned to the squad and set about checking his kit with an almost religious fervour, knowing what awaited him.

  'What do we do with our packs when we attack?' Davies asked while the squad and platoon leaders had a conference by a hedge.

  'I ain't carrying it into battle.' Marsh said, 'It's too cumbersome.'

  'Any excuse to leave behind your boot polish eh?' Taff Morgan teased.

  'You'd better take your pack with you so you've got something to stand on so you can see over the edge of the trench.' Marsh retorted.

  'I'm not leaving that carton of cigarettes.' Wells said while hurriedly stuffing said cigarettes, and several other items, into his pockets. He even removed ammunition from one of his pouches to make more room for his contraband.

  'We'll most likely leave our packs here.' Matthews said, 'Then when we've finished we'll come back and pick them up, well some of us will anyway.'

  They started to move out, leaving behind anything unnecessary. Dusk had fallen and it was completely dark by the time they entered the rearmost trench. Marsh was surprised by the general quiet of the front lines as they moved up. He could hear the men around him and occasionally there was a gunshot or explosion in the distance, but there was nothing close by. He had always thought that the frontline was going to be chaotic and noisy. Scott caught his eye.

  'Corp, thought it would be noisier than this?' Marsh asked.

  'It's usually really quiet. Only time it gets busy is when there's an attack. Otherwise we leave Fritz to his business and he leaves us to ours.' Scott replied, 'They'll have extra ears out in non-mans-land listening out for the possibility of an attack. That's why we'll get told to keep the noise down when we get closer to the reserve trench.'

  The prophecy came true as they left the third line trench and entered the zig-zagging communication trench that led to the reserve line. A grim looking sergeant, who Marsh had seen earlier, reminded them to keep the noise down. It had taken them hours to get this far and Marsh thought it must be the middle of the night by now. A flare lit up the sky in the distance. He wondered what it looked like outside of the trench, but he was not curious enough to want to take the chance of finding out. However, he knew that despite the dry weather, there was still wet mud everywhere, the low-lying land always saturated with water.

  The communication trench was quite well built, duckboards on the floor made out of ammunition crates, the sides of the trench likewise
shorn up with wood and steel poles. Sandbags topped the parapet on both sides of the communication trench to ensure that the enemy could neither see, nor directly fire into it. The constant zigging and zagging of the trench meant that the Germans would never be able to expose any substantial length of the trench to enfilading fire, even though the general direction of the communication trench was towards the front line. There were even dugouts along the communications trench and short spurs, along which were sited heavy mortars, aid stations, toilets and even what appeared to be a rest area complete with humorous signs such as 'No Man's Theatre' and 'The Mud Cabaret.'

  Eventually they arrived in the reserve trench were they were due to rest for a few hours before moving up to the front line before dawn. The tired men immediately made themselves as comfortable as they could, leaning against the wall of the trench and, in the case of many of the veterans, going to sleep. The newer soldiers were too concerned by the impending action for sleep. There was excitement and fear.

  'Taff, you want a cigarette?' Wells had been dishing out his stash of cigarettes quite generously.

  'Can't pay you back mate.' Morgan replied.

  'Pay me back by watching everyone’s' backs tomorrow.' Wells replied.

  'Look at your boots Taff,' Marsh said, 'They're just as messy as mine. Does that mean I'm as good a soldier as you?' He teased.

  'Never. You can't march.' Morgan replied.

  'Fat lot of use marching is around here.' A pile of clothes in a corner, that was Matthews, said in a groggy voice.

  'Thought you was asleep Tom.' Marsh said.

  'Hard to sleep with you lot talking such nonsense.' Matthews growled, 'Give me one of those fags.' Wells handed over the cigarette.

  'Is it right that I can't get a wink?' Simmonds asked while hugging a warm enamel mug of tea in his hands.

  'First time in action for you lot?' Matthews asked.

  'Yes.'

  Matthews did not answer immediately, as if considering an appropriate response.

  'It's not like you'd expect. You get into uniform and think all the girls are going to swoon over you; you think you'll give Kaiser Bill a bloody nose, but it ain't like that. I'm sure your Corporal has told you all about it. He's seen action.' Matthews said as he puffed on the cigarette.

  'He did. Taught us what he could as well, none of that spit and polish. Real lessons on how to survive.' Marsh enthusiastically replied.

  'I hope you paid attention, because most of the stuff that happens here was never written in any training manual.' Matthews took a swig from his flask, 'You'll feel every emotion from fear to euphoria over the next few hours.'

  'I'm not scared.' Davies said foolishly.

  'You'll piss your pants as soon as you see a German.' Morgan joked.

  'No, save that piss in case Fritz has any gas around.' Wells added helpfully.

  'Well at least I'll make a good show of myself. Someone like Marsh, well he's a misfit. How will he survive?' Morgan boasted.

  'Survival ain't about spit and polish. It's about luck and good sense. A good soldier in a war is not the same as a good soldier on the parade ground.' Scott announced, having arrived from a meeting with the company sergeant, further up the line.

  'Maybe you lads are not scared now, but you will be. Or more likely, some of you are just full of it.' Matthews looked directly at Morgan and Davies when he said this, 'Any man who goes over the top who is not terrified is a liar or a madman.' Matthews paused to think about what he had just said, 'Although there's plenty of madmen around here, believe me, but most of them are the officers behind the lines.'

  'Keep low, move fast and don't run in a straight line. That's pretty much the advice.' Scott reminded them, 'But I'll add to that. If you come under heavy fire, get into a hole and then skip from hole to hole when you can.'

  'Holes, Corporal?' Davies asked.

  'Bloody big shell holes.' Marsh interrupted.

  'That's right Alfie. There's shell holes everywhere out there, wire as well. The wire should be taken out by the artillery.' Scott paused when Matthews laughed sarcastically at the idea. Scott grinned at him rather than issue a reprimand, 'Let's just say, the wire will still be there. Run like hell. Don't pause to reload or muck around with anything.'

  'Don't reload? It'll only take me a second to reload.' Davies had still not learnt to be quiet.

  'That'll be a dozen machine gun bullets hitting you in that second then.' Scott replied, 'Keep moving.' Scott looked at Matthews knowing that hearing it from two veterans would reinforce the lesson, 'Tell 'em what to do when they hit the enemy trenches and blockhouse.'

  'Jump in the 'ole and stab anything that's not wearing a British uniform. Don't waste time reloading if you can see a Boche, just charge him down and skewer him with your bayonet. If you think there's enemy around a zig-zag, then chuck a grenade first, wait for it to pop, and then charge round the corner.' Matthews scratched his chin, wiping mud across it as a result, 'Now this blockhouse is the problem. We can't easily charge it down as it can fire in different directions. The best way to get to it is along the trenches. It'll have a back door or something we can lob a grenade, or two, through.'

  Dawn saw the squad deployed on the right of the platoon, itself on the right flank of the company. As was the routine, 'stand to' saw them all ready to receive a dawn attack from the Germans. Their bayonets were drawn and they stood silently beside each other. A couple of hours before dawn they had moved up from the second trench line, into the now crowded front line along with the soldiers from the many other units that were already there. The tension of being so close to the enemy had been getting to them, Morgan and Simmonds had briefly exchanged punches before Corporal Scott had pinned Morgan against the trench wall to stop him pursuing a defensive Simmonds. Matthews had gone quiet again, no doubt recalling the failed attack on the blockhouse that he had taken part in a few days previously.

  It was another hour until the attack was due to begin and flashes behind them announced the start of the artillery barrage that was designed to break the wire and pummel the German defences. As the shells whistled overhead, on their way to the German lines, the troops were stood down from the routine dawn alert and the rum ration was issued early for the day. Marsh and Wells sat in silence, nursing their small rations of rum. It was not enough for them to get tipsy with, but at least they had something to distract them from the constant thud and vibration of the nearby artillery barrage.

  'They managed to not lose the bloody rum.' Scott was cheerful about it, 'Number of times the stuff never makes it to the lines, you'd be surprised.'

  'No hot food mind,' Wells said, 'Although I suppose it'll be too much of a problem to get it up here.'

  'You don't get much hot foot in the front line. By the time they've carried it forward, it's almost always cold. Besides, it'll take too much organisation to feed everyone this morning.' Matthews said, breaking his silence for the first time in hours.

  The attack was intended to be small, aimed as dislodging the blockhouse that was the centre of a small salient in the lines. Only a couple of battalions were to be used in the assault, the first wave to seize the German front line trench and take out the blockhouse, the second wave were to be reinforcements to fight off the anticipated German counter-attack. The squad already knew their part in this. They were to swing around from the right, enter the German trenches, securing them, if necessary attacking the blockhouse from the rear.

  'Why does the time pass so bloody slowly?' Marsh complained, impatient at the long wait.

  'What? You desperate to get out there?' Simmonds replied, his voice agitated by the stress.

  'Well if Marsh is going first, at least we can all hide behind him.' Morgan joked as usual.

  'Why hide behind someone Taff, you're so short they'll not see you.' Wells had to dodge as Morgan threw himself across the trench in a good humoured attack.

  'As long as you give me a leg-up out of here, I'll be ok. Otherwise I'll be stuck down here and they'll sh
oot me for desertion.' Morgan joked when he could not catch Wells.

  Ten minutes before the attack was due to start, orders came down from the officers for a final kit check, and for the men to ready themselves. Scott wandered up and down checking that his squad was ready for action. He was pleased to see that all appeared as it should. Some desk-bound Colonel would have had a fit at the state of the soldiers, their uniforms covered in dirt, but what mattered was that they had their weapons and equipment ready.

  Five minutes before the attack was due, the order to fix bayonets came along the line. The long steel blades clicked onto the end of each rifle, a sound that was hard to hear over the continued noise of the barrage. Each soldier now had a greatly extended reach, tipped with a deadly blade. Groups of soldiers gathered around the bottom of the ladders that had been erected up the side of the trench, ready for their climb over the parapet.

  Scott, at the top of their ladder, sneaked a look over the top of the parapet.

  'Won't be long now. As soon as the artillery stops, we'll listen for the whistle and then off we go.' Scott loudly announced to those within earshot.

  Suddenly the guns fell silent along the line. The last shells travelled overhead, before exploding on the German lines. The men braced themselves. There was a palpable air of fear in the trench. Davies and Simmonds had gone white, Morgan was ticking, his face twitching, the two veterans, Scott and Matthews looked grimly determined, yet were both shaking. Marsh realised that he was shaking as well, first at the ladder with his hands ready to scale. Wells was right behind him, so Marsh could not see how terrified his friend was.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Marsh heard the whistles blowing along the line and felt the push of Wells behind him. Marsh fumbled his way up the ladder, feeling utterly disconnected from his body which seemed to be moving automatically. At the top he nearly paused with shock at the sight in front of him, but fortunately Wells, pushing from behind, moved him on. The scene was horrific, a cratered waste of soil, muddy craters in some places while a pall of smoke hung over the German lines from the preparatory barrage. Sticks of wood attached to strands of barbed wire stood everywhere and he could clearly seem what looked like bodies lying in no-mans-land. It was hard to see the enemy trench, but a raised line, probably their reverse parapet was just over one hundred yards away. He just managed to wonder if the artillery shells had been landing that close before he started to move again.