by Carl Leckey
My task from then on, entails the burial of the dead with a gang of other Labour Corp lads. We appreciate the fact that the burials are now regulated, and records are being strictly kept whenever possible.
This is thanks due entirely to the efforts of the excellent Gentleman Sir Fabian Ware. After one particularly big battle we are so overwhelmed by wounded and gassed soldiers, a plan is initiated to alleviate and resolve the problem. A Doctor examines casualties as they arrive, and decides their fate there and then before unloading the casualties. The wounded he considers too badly mauled even though still alive are taken directly to the burial ground for interment when they pass on. This procedure appals me but in fairness there are not enough medical personnel to deal with the mass of casualties being delivered to the station.
I seem to spend my entire life digging, carrying, and burying. Sleeping and eating are done whenever possible, but the idiots in charge still insist on the stupid parades, inspections, and bullshit.
We haven’t had a pay parade for several weeks, resulting in the all time low morale among the men.
The cooks and kitchens are now separated, something that had not occurred since the formation of this particular aid station.
The Officers and nurses receive their own rations, prepared by their own cooks. This is yet another reason for the bad feeling being generated amongst the other ranks.
Although the nurses remain sleeping in tents at the Adjutants insistence they are located far away from the OR’s. We are only permitted into their tent lines, when detailed to dig and line bunkers under their tents and dig latrines for them.
Brand new, American supplied motor ambulances now collect casualties directly from the front line.
The sight of these handsome vehicles makes me very envious of the motor pool lads. I conjure up an idea to get away from the irksome place.
Against the advice of my mates I volunteer to ride with the ambulances and help in retrieving the casualties?
Chapter nineteen
My new roll in the army
This time when I apply for transfer the Sergeant accepts my change of roll a bit too easily and agrees to my immediate transfer without any argument.
The next day all is arranged for me to make my first trip to the battlefront as Toots second man. When I inform him he seems pleased with the arrangements. First thing in the morning Toot and I load large thermoses filled with tea, and hay boxes containing stew from the cook house tent. He explains why he does this as we refuel.
“Saves the cooks going near to the front line, you see Scouse, there is no field kitchen set up in this sector as yet, it would be silly to take an empty ambulance to the front line eh? Make sure the transport lads bring the empties back, or we will be deep in the shit with the cooks, and we don’t want to upset them do we Scouse?”
As we climb into the cab and set off Toot continues briefing me on what to expect when we arrive at what is known as the pickup point.
“I have found a place as close to the fighting as possible but near enough to the reserve trenches without risking the ambulance. We have already lost four since we came here the bastard Huns are targeting the ambulances, I’m sure of it.”
I feel myself becoming very nervous as the noise of the gunfire increases the closer we get to the battle front. Toot briefs me on what to expect when we arrive. “I have found a good spot behind a wrecked church. The stretcher-bearers know where to bring the wounded lads for me and my mates to pick them up. It’s just inside the range of Fritz’s big guns but the poor buggers have far enough to carry the casualties without us giving them further to go. It’s open country from then on if we move in any closer without cover we will be definitely a prime target.
There are usually four bearers in a team, but when it’s been raining heavy, it can take six blokes to drag a stretcher through the mud.
Jeez, I really admire those fella’s, they don’t last long out here you know?”
When I first came across the NCC men I was initially told by a driver that stretcher-bearers were a bunch of cowards. I find it amazing how opinions change when people have firsthand experience. I find myself asking.
“I wonder what happened to my mate Sandy?”
Toot doesn’t answer my question and carries on telling me what to expect. “When we get there the bearers may have already left some poor sods waiting for us. We run a kind of shuttle and try keeping one ambulance at the front all the time, sometimes it doesn’t work out and the casualties pile up.”
I ask. “Are there no medics there to treat them?”
Toot informs me of the hard facts of war on the front line.
“No Scouse it’s every man for himself I’m afraid. Each Soldier is given a field dressing and is expected to treat himself until the stretcher-bearers find him. Some of the stretcher-bearers have some basic medical knowledge but mostly they have taught themselves to help the lads. It’s against orders to stop advancing in an attack to help a mate, what a bleeding war eh? What unfeeling pricks the General Staff are eh? Imagine having to leave your best mate when he needs you most? I picked a poor fella up last week he’d been lying in a shell hole for three days wounded in the legs. When no one recovered him the brave bugger crawled back to his own lines. When I loaded him he told me all about it as clear as anything. Poor sod was dead by the time I arrived back at the station. He bled to death you see in the back of my ambulance the poor bugger. After all he had been through he died when he thought he was in safe hands. If there had only been someone up the front line with medical training I reckon he would still be alive today.”
I ask a further question. “Why don’t we move the casualties at night?”
He explains. “They do Scouse, but they use the horse drawn meat wagons mostly then, the roads are crowded with horse drawn ammunition carriers at night. We have tried a few times, but it is murder trying to get through with a motor vehicle I can tell you.
The horse drawn wagons they work a bit like a train you see nose to tail, do you understand?”
I didn’t quite but pretended I did.
Toot paused talking as he manoeuvred the ambulance passed a wrecked ammunition cart, with dead, bloated horses still lying in their harnesses. The smell is nauseating, I can’t help myself and gag as I inhale a whiff. Toot grins. “It will pong worse than that where we are going. When we arrive we dump the food and tea then load the casualties as fast as possible and head back to the station.” He continued his voice in a serious tone
“Now I have to tell you something you won’t like Scouse. With experience I have gained since doing this shitty job, I am able to assess who is going to make it back to the station. I have to select who to load and which ones we leave. It’s a horrible job, but if we try to carry every one the stretcher-bearers bring in, well to be honest we will finish up carrying dead back to the station. It will mean leaving fella’s with a chance be it only a slim one behind. I don’t want any arguing from you understand?”
“I’m only a driver and yet the lives of these lads have been placed in my hands? That’s how it is, like it or not we have to live with the system.”
I feel sick, but know I have to agree.
“Another thing, this is very serious Scouse so take heed. Don’t give the lads with stomach wound’s a drink of water, no matter how much they beg you ok?”
I begin to wonder why I have volunteered for this job. The heavy gunfire lulls for a moment as we creep closer to the pickup point I’m able to detect even the reports of individual rifle fire.
When I bring this to Toots attention he explains.
“That’ll be the sniper fire you can hear. It’s a daft game they play when they have a quite period. It seems like the lads are more nervous when there is no major action going on than when there is. The daft buggers bait each other’s snipers and try to draw their gunfire so as they can locate them. Last week the stretcher bearers told me they made a target. Do you remember like you used in training?” I nod he continues. “
The silly sods were giving points to the other side, just like they do in the butts on the ranges. I don’t know, you would think they’d be glad of the rest wouldn’t you? Still, I suppose they dream these stupid games up to keep their sanity whilst all around them there is madness.”
I suppose this is Toot’s attempt at being philosophical.
“We are almost there now.” He warns me.
Another ambulance bumps towards us and stops just ahead on a wide stretch of road. Toot pulls up alongside enabling him to speak to the other driver. “What’s it like up by the church Sam, are there many waiting?” The other driver replies. “I’ve got six in. I left a couple of bad ones by the pickup, know what I mean?”
Toot nods. “Is there a full load for me?”
Sam informs him. “They are still coming in from last night’s bombardment. We have lost another two stretcher-bearers since yesterday. If this rate keeps up they won’t be able to breed the poor bleeders fast enough to keep up with the losses. Their mate told me they went into a shell hole to rescue a badly wounded man and they sank themselves into the shit. Poor bleeders have only been here a day and didn’t know the score about keeping away from those shit holes after the rain, before the others could get the rope to them they just disappeared. There must be bleedin quick sand or something in that area another one went the same way last week?”
Sam climbs down from his ambulance, moves over close to us, he leans into the cab of our vehicle and whispers.
“Eh! The worst of it is the fella they were trying to get out is a bleedin Officer. I’ve got him in the back of my ambulance right now with a bullet up his arse. He’s a right moaning bleeder. I mean, which way was he facing to get a bleedin bullet up the arse, I ask you?”
“Could have been one of our lads popped him eh?” Toot observes.
Sam smirks. “Fancy them daft bleeders giving your life for a bleeding Officer, and the way the bleeders treat them poor bleeding NCC Wallers?”
A voice from the back of his ambulance shouts impatiently.
“Why have we stopped driver don’t you know I’m in extreme pain here get a move on will you, damn your eyes.”
Sam answers him. “Just trying to stop the bleedin Sir, I won’t be a moment Sir.” He addresses Toot. “Got to go, what a bleedin life eh?” Sam says as he climbs into his cab with a grin on his face. “There is too much bleedin around here eh my old mate?”
As Toot moves our vehicle back into the line on the badly rutted road he remarks. “Poor Sam he’s seen too much bleeding and he can’t get it out of his mind.” We both laugh at his joke.
We arrive at the remains of the church via a sunken road. The ambulance drivers have indeed found a safe place to load casualties close to the action. Against the graveyard wall sit four NCC lads covered in wet clinging mud, lined up in front of them on the grass are seven casualties. When they see our ambulance they wearily climb to their feet and come over to the vehicle.
We begin unloading the hay boxes containing the stew and tea containers as we are enjoying an unexpected lull in the noise of the heavy guns when it appears all the forces of Hell break loose. The scream of incoming shells is terrifying I duck as the first one explodes nearby, the second round lands even closer. Without hesitation I dive for cover under the ambulance.
The ground shakes as the barrage of shells explodes all around us. The NCC lads continue unloading the food and tea, they seem oblivious to the bangs and crashes in their close proximity. These are battle trained veterans indeed. They are able to recognise an incoming shell sound and differentiate between the ones that threaten them and those that don’t
When the bombardment ceases and I creep sheepishly out of my hiding place, the NCC lads already sit against the wall eating from their mess tins. Toot doesn’t rebuke or ridicule me for my behaviour. He says kindly, as I busy myself unloading the remainder of the containers.
“You’ll get used to it after a while Scouse, look at them lads. It is first hot food the poor buggers have had for nearly two days, the poor sods must be nearly starving. Come on lad lets load up the casualties while they are enjoying their meal.” Toot begins walking along the line of casualties examining them. One man writhes in pain holding his stomach with his blood stained hands, the smell of shit about him makes me gag. Toot stands before him and shakes his head. I follow him to the next man and the next until he has scanned them all. “We are only taking five of these Scouse, we’ll put the one with the stomach wound over with those two.” He indicates two casualties lying by a toppled grave stone.
“We can take six at least Toot, please don’t leave him behind for God’s sake.” I plead. “It’s nothing to do with God Scouse, this is all mans doing. I warned you not to question my decision it’s bad enough having to make the trip when you are fit and able. Let me explain to you for the last time. It’s nearly an hour’s trip back to the station on shitty, bumpy roads. You know what it was like coming here. Why make the poor fellow suffer more? Take my word for it, he won’t last another half-hour, never mind an hour in the back of an ambulance. No, let him die in peace, I say. It’s what I would want if I were in his shoes. The stretcher-bearers will have pumped him full of opium to ease his pain. Come on Scouse, we are wasting time, and the other lads won’t thank us for keeping them here, let’s get the rest of them on board.” Another ambulance arrives four new stretcher-bearers emerge from the rear. “Oh-oh! Here’s some more fresh meat for the grinder.” Toot remarks cynically. The arrivals stand about looking extremely nervous until one of the experienced NCC men comes over and speaks to them. They follow him sheep like to where his colleagues are finishing their meal as we load the last groaning patient and set off for the station. What a trip that is, every bump must have been agony for the wounded lads. Toot pulls off the crowded road and stops in a field gate about halfway back to the base. From under his seat he brings out a bottle of rum. “Here you are Scouse, go and give the lads a good swig. There are no stomach wounds to worry about back there. This will ease their pain for a while.”
As I climb into the cramped interior the smell of shit and rotting flesh hits me like a smack in the face. I lift the first lads head and pour the liquor into his mouth, he grins his thanks. How he is able to stand the pain I don’t know? I have recently had a broken arm and that’s bad enough. His right foot is missing, a bundle of blood and mud soaked bandages clings to the end of his leg.
“I am on my way to blighty mate.” He whispers when I ask if he’s ok.
The next lad does not respond to my shake of his shoulder, another refuses the rum, and requests water I oblige, the other lads gulp the rum gratefully. After I have made them as comfortable as possible, we set off again.
We arrive at the station with one dead, the lad that had a foot missing has bled to death. I’m quite proud at least we have saved four patients.
Toot is disgusted that he has made a bad choice of casualties.
“I can’t win ‘em all Sir.” He comments when the surgeon scorns his judgement.
So that was my first trip to the front line over, but it is only the first of six trips that day, some more horrific than others. One of the new stretcher-bearers has already been killed when we arrive on our third trip.
“There is no training for this here job as soon as you arrive you are in at the deep end” A stretcher bearer explains.
I ask him about Sandy, he replies. “Sorry mate, they come and go so quick here the names and faces become a blur after a while.”
Because the ambulances are so valuable, they can’t be risked in the nightly air raids on the base, the lorry and ambulance pool have to be relocated away from the base in the woods nearby. This is inconvenient, but it is certainly much safer for the crews and the valuable vehicles.
The drivers and other attendants have established their own camp close to the vehicle park. As I am now a member of the team, the Sergeant in charge of the transport section invites me to shift billets into one of their tents.
&nbs
p; Although I am reluctant to leave my mates, Toot advises me to accept the Sergeants offer. “No bullshit here Scouse, we just get on with the job, the vehicles are the priority here not the stupid marching and drilling. As long as they are clean and well maintained those shit’s at HQ leave us alone. Tell you what Scouse do you want to learn to drive?”
I immediately jump at the chance, this is an opportunity to better myself and acquire a skill I have only dreamed of. After a few basic lessons he allows me drive the ambulance on our way to the front. I also learn about the mechanics of the vehicles. Toot teaches me how to carry out on the spot repairs in the case of emergency away from base.
I revel in my new roll, especially when Toot declares me a natural driver.
My reading and writing are being neglected since Sandy’s departure, which worries me greatly and the other illiterate lads also miss out. However, the new authorities are not at all interested in bettering the lot of the minions.
Toot offers to write the letter to Tommy’s Mum when I show him the letter and explain her situation.
As we ride along on yet another trip with an ambulance full of casualties, out of the blue he offers to continue teaching me to read where Sandy has left off, although he warns me, he is not a scholar like my previous teacher.
Toot turns out to be a good mate despite my initial impression of him. When I first encountered Toot I judged him to be a moaner and complainer. I realise as we become more familiar he is only trying to defend his position as a skilled soldier. Funny thing, as my time in the Army increases, I find myself adopting the same attitude where new intakes are concerned.
