Angels at Mons

by Carl Leckey

  Close encounter

  As I approach the gate the horrible MP Sergeant spots me.

  “‘Come here you piece of Boche loving shit.” He yells.

  I run over and stop in front of him springing to attention.

  My God what now, how I hate these bloody MPs. He stands about an inch from my face glaring at me, his foul wine stinking breath wafts towards my nose making me wanting to heave.

  Although some of the new arrivals consider me to be an old soldier these MPs still terrify me. After Hell there come’s Heaven I recall in a reversal of the old saying, something pleasant happens making the encounter worthwhile. He unexpectedly doubles up in a fit of coughing, when he straightens up his eyes are red and watering and his nose streams snot.

  “You were friendly with that no good bastard prisoner that did a runner, weren’t you?”

  He begins more coughing and retching. The horrible swine looks really ill now. My spirits soar as I suspect what is happening to him.

  He makes another attempt to browbeat me.

  “You are a traitorous little turd. Cough, cough!”

  “What prisoner is that Sergeant?” I reply, my wavering voice becoming stronger at each of the coughing spells wracks his evil body.

  He snarls. “Don’t come the little innocent with me you miserable little bugger.”

  I’m really beginning to enjoy his suffering as he bends over in another fit of lung wrenching coughing. I have to give him credit for persistence in being an absolute shit as he continues to accuse me.

  “I’ve seen you together laughing and joking, now how did you arrange his escape, and where is the Boche swine now?”

  It becomes difficult to keep a smile off my face as I witness with delight his suffering. “Answer me you smirking bastard or by God I’ll have you.”

  He doesn’t finish his threat as the last fit of coughing brings him to his knees vomiting an evil stream undigested food and wine.

  I can’t control my glee as he collapses onto the stone covered ground into his own spew.

  I consider walking away and leaving him to either die or recover alone.

  I even begin to make my way towards the motor pool when my conscience gets the better of me.

  Despite my hatred of him I can’t do it I change direction and run to the guard tent to alert his comrades. When I arrive the canvass is pulled closed, I haven’t the nerve to enter the bullies den, instead I shout through the tent flap but nobody replies.

  I pull the flap aside to reveal the four other MPs bed-bound sniffing coughing all of them are in high fever. Despite the seriousness of the situation I find myself giggling with delight.

  The words of another downtrodden person I read somewhere comes to my mind. “Sometimes the little man wins.” I lift a blanket from the unoccupied bunk take it outside and cover the Sergeant.

  The only experience I have had with telephones is the time in the front line trench during the big advance. I nervously pick up the mouthpiece and wind the crank, a tinny voice responds immediately. I nearly jump out of my skin as I make contact.

  “Er I am er I’m at the German compound everyone is sick and there is no guard on the gate.” I hear the operator shout to someone, this is followed by a hurried conversation. Another voice comes on the line.

  “This is the Adjutant here, who are you?” In total confusion I reveal nervously who I am.” My name is Adam my number is ???????. I’m an Ambulance driver on my way to the motor pool I was passing the compound.” He interrupts me impatiently. “Never mind all that nonsense,

  what is the exact situation there?” I advise him. “Well I am standing looking down at the MP Sergeant he is laying on the track all the other MP’s are sick in the tent.” He interrupts me abruptly again.

  “I don’t want a Bloody saga you silly fellow. Are you armed?” With increasing apprehension I remind him. “No Sir. I’m an ambulance driver er, we are not allowed to carry weapons Sir.”

  “We shall be on our way shortly in the meantime don’t panic.” He gives me the order with an obvious hint of hysteria in his voice.

  I am feeling quite calm now in fact he sounds more panicky than I do when he orders me. “In the meanwhile take the MP Sergeant’s revolver and guard the prison gate. Do you understand? If any of the prisoners attempts to escape you have my orders to shoot them.”

  Communication with him ceased before I can ask him for the order in writing. I remember Sam’s sound advice. “Do it when ordered by a bleedin superior but always get that magic piece of paper with the orders written on. This will cover your bleedin arse in case anything goes wrong.” There is no way I can get the magic piece of paper under the present circumstances.

  I return to the collapsed MP to find him in a really high fever, rather than giving him comfort I feel like landing the rotten bully a good kick for his past callousness regarding Tommy.

  Instead I take his pistol from the holster and release the lanyard.

  Wouldn’t thousands of servicemen like to be in my shoes at this moment in time? As I bend over his twitching fever ridden body I find I have to do it for all the down trodden soldiers not forgetting myself. I cup his sweating face in my hands lean forward until I am a couple of inches from his ugly face and say.

  “You horrible excuse for a human being, I hope your soul burns in Hell when you die you lousy bastard.”

  As I stand up I hear clapping and a little cheer from two of the German wounded that witnessed the whole episode from their side of the barbed wire.

  I give a weak smile and begin patrolling in front of the gate the MPs pistol at the ready.

  I feel really daft because I have no idea how to cock or fire the damn thing, if the prisoners do decide to escape there is not a lot I can do to stop them. I literally quake in my boots when I realise there is only me standing between the German prisoners if they should make a bid for freedom at that moment. I laugh when I take another look at my charges as they stand inside the wire fence observing the pantomime supported on crutches and walking sticks. A mass break out today would seem to be impossible for the poor prisoners.

  Within another few minutes an ambulance arrives driven by Toot, this is shortly followed by a troop of armed soldiers marching at double time.

  The Adjutant arrives in a staff car and leaps out of the vehicle and surveys the situation.

  I have no idea how to salute an Officer with a pistol in my hand as common soldiers are not allowed side arms. I smartly come to attention and execute a perfect salute. Unfortunately in my confusion I forget the pistol in my right hand, as I bring my hand up to head height I clonk myself on the forehead resulting in me performing a kind of stagger. To my embarrassment the German and British soldiers howl with glee.

  The Adjutant gives me a withering glare, removes the pistol from my hand and dismisses me from the scene. Shame faced I skulk over and help Toot to load the sick MPs for transportation to the isolation tents.

  Chapter thirty-five

  The epidemic

  One by one our team of drivers, second men and fitters succumb to the dreaded influenza. I have evidently built up immunity and keep going while all around me are dropping in their tracks. Toot went down followed by Sam Dave and Jake. Thank goodness Billy returns to duty after two weeks to find me the only driver capable of taking an ambulance to the front line.

  Despite requests to Head Quarters for relief drivers none arrive, to cap it all the new Sergeant does not materialise either. When I ask the clerk when he’s due the clerk simply shrugs his shoulders answering.

  “Who knows, everything is in bloody chaos at the moment?”

  At seventeen I find myself in sole charge of the motor transport pool.

  The forms and paperwork pile up to such an extent I simply close the flaps on Toot’s tent office and ignore them, consequently the fuel, spares, and stores begin to run low.

  Most of the pickups I succeed in making single handed consist of fever-ridden patients rather than casualties of the
war. As the epidemic takes hold the supplies to the front line ease off giving the ambulance drivers an easier life on the road.

  The use of a second man has to be suspended due to lack of staff, the seat in the front he usually occupies is utilised to carry two sick soldiers.

  The Colonel’s Staff car driver Graham volunteers to help out although he has never driven trucks or ambulances before, with some basic tuition by me he soon masters the vehicles and becomes an enthusiastic ambulance driver. I remark on the change in him since he joined us. He explained. I’d like to transfer permanently to your outfit but the Colonel won’t let me. I would sooner spend a week on the ambulance facing the suffering of the poor buggers we fetch than another day with those snooty bloody officers. At least I’m doing something useful here not chauffeuring those over privileged buggers about.”

  I am being overwhelmed by the numbers falling ill with the dreaded flu, to transport even more victims at a time I begin using Pompey Lill as a carrier using deck chairs utilised as extra seats in the aisle.

  The casualty station has become totally overloaded with Influenza patients when Sam returns to duty. Unfortunately he is not fully fit or capable of driving yet. He takes the leading roll of my shoulders and sends me in Pompey Lill with a full load of partially recovered casualties to the Chateau in late October.

  I have additional orders to bring back as much fuel, supplies and soldiers capable of driving as possible.

  I had conceived a plan to stop at the convent and try once again to see Denise but as I approach it is impossible to spare the time as two of the recovering wounded soldiers are developing definite signs of influenza.

  I drive fast without risking Pompey Lill and the passengers making the Chateau in record time, on arrival at the gates definite change have taken place.

  Instead of the usual three MPs guarding the entrance and checking papers there is now only one man wearing a mask on duty. The rest and recuperation tents and billets are now totally occupied by servicemen suffering with the effects of influenza.

  A Doctor examines my passengers confines the two feverish ones to a nearby tent and orders me to take the rest of my passengers up to the Chateau.

  The fuel measure on Pompey Lill’s fuel tank indicates extremely low when I dip the tank, I need to refuel immediately as the old girl must be already running on fresh air. When I approach the dump I observe red notices on the wire surrounding the compound, it reads.

  No petrol to be supplied from this facility without written orders from the camp CO. Evidently they are as bad off as the dressing station for petrol. I hope I can scrounge enough to return with fingers crossed I continue up the long drive to the hospital.

  After seeing the patients admitted I go in search of the Staff Sergeant, his office is empty no clerk sits at the usual desk either. I wander about looking for someone in authority to no avail, in desperation I go to the kitchen seeking my friend the cook Sergeant.

  Only a couple of French chefs and a waiter busy themselves at the stoves there is no sign of my friend.

  I can’t get any sense out of the Chefs so I decide to return to the admittance area. It is there my luck changes, I see the Colonel about to leave, catching him up I salute and ask.

  “Where is the Staff and Sergeant Sir?” He looks glum. I’ve never seen him so dejected.

  “I’m afraid I have bad news for you lad, our old friend the Sergeant died two days ago, the Staff Sergeant is seriously ill with this damned influenza.” He pauses for a moment as if he can’t take in what has happened to his friends.

  “We’ve been together and shared a lot of danger and hardship you know? To get through all that to be struck down by an unseen enemy is beyond belief. I’m on my way to the isolation area now to see how the Staff is.”

  The unfairness of it strikes me like a poleaxe. Two of the best NCO’s to have ever served in the Army brought down by stupid influenza, I am devastated but I have to apprehensively ask.

  “What about the cook Sergeant Sir, is he all right? I couldn’t find him in the kitchen.”

  “Yes, I’m glad to tell you he is recovering it was touch and go with him poor chap, he will be going on home leave when the Doctors release him, I’m sorry lad, what are you actually doing here anyway?”

  I explain about delivering casualties and influenza victims, I take the opportunity to inform him about the situation at the casualty station due to the lack of fuel and supplies.

  “It’s the lack of drivers that appears to be the cause of the trouble I haven’t that much petrol or stores to spare here either. Look, go and get some food, when I return I will sort something out for you old chap.”

  I return to the kitchen and by the use of sign language manage to acquire a meal from the French chefs. After eating a tasty meal I meander about the hospital looking for a familiar face. One of the Doctors does not recognise me and grabs my arm as I walk passed demanding.

  “Where is your mask you bloody fool?” I explain.

  “I have had flu Doctor and recovered.” He still insists I wear a mask.

  He’s the bloody fool but I have to obey, I can’t be bothered to point out none of the patients or kitchen staff are themselves wearing the stupid things. For the sake of peace and quiet I tie one around my face.

  The rooms are well and truly over loaded, the nice airy wards of yesterdays with plenty of bed space now resemble a doss house. Beds are squeezed into every available space. Masked nurses and attendants hurry about attempting to look after the needs of everyone but evidently fighting a losing battle.

  After an hour or so I make my way to the Colonel’s office, as I look in through the open door I see him sitting at his desk talking on the telephone, I decide to wait outside until he finishes talking.

  When he rings off I am about to knock when I stop myself, through the crack in the door I observe him placing a service revolver on the desk in front of himself. He rests both elbows on the desk and cradles his head, the Colonel looks like a man with the troubles of the world on his shoulders.

  I can’t disturb him I can see the man is at the end of his tether but what can I do, a mere private?

  I step back from the doorway and begin to creep back along the corridor I need someone I can summon to help? I recall the Officer shooting himself in the back of my ambulance. God no! Please don’t let such a good man do this.

  The squeak of my boots on the polished floor gives me away.

  “Come in.” He orders. I begin to retrace my steps back to the office, in time to hear the sound of a drawer open and close just as I arrive at the doorway. His face momentary lights up as he welcomes me until he broke the awful news.

  “The Staff Sergeant died an hour ago. We have been together since Mafeking you know? That is another good man gone to his maker.”

  Total grief etches his tired face.

  My heart goes out to the man, a senior Officer I respect above all others, I find myself stuttering some inadequate words of condolence.

  After thanking me he recovers some of his usual composure.

  “Life and this bloody war must go on I suppose. You must be aware this place is totally overloaded because of this damned influenza epidemic?”

  “I’ve just been walking around the place Sir. I don’t know how you are coping. I have to inform you the casualty station is in the same mess.”

  “I have been in contact with your base, your new orders are to load as many of our recovering casualties as you can without causing them any added discomfort. We will arrange it so that only volunteers will tackle the trip, then it’s on to Le Havre for you my boy. I have been promised extra Staff and some additional drivers for your return trip. There are talks of an armistice in the wind, might be the usual rumours but we live in hope.”

  “When should I go Sir? They are very short of drivers at the station.”

  “Can’t be helped, we must get some of the lads out of here and on their way to blighty, you may bed down here for the night as usual and l
eave first thing in the morning.”

  “What about fuel Sir? There are red notices on the dump. I’m completely out of fuel. Will there be enough for my trip and what about coming back?”

  He gives a faint smile at my eagerness.

  “Good luck lad here’s your docket for fuel the MP on the gate will sort you out, I am assured there’s plenty of petrol and stores at the port.”

  I salute and leave his presence wondering if this is the last time I will ever see this kind Officer again.

  While I ate my evening meal in the large dining room a soldier begins a conversation with me.

  Unexpectedly he blurts out. “I know that voice, don’t you remember me?” As far as I know I have never seen him before.

  “Sorry mate I don’t think we have met, I’m sure I would have remembered you.” I reply.

  “You picked me up at the front line when I was gassed.” I shook my head. “You know there were lots of us, I sat in the front seat with you. I was blinded at the time, but I certainly remember your voice, you got me out of the shit that day.”

  “Now I remember, I did not recognise you without your bandage, how are you doing I thought you were permanently blinded by the gas?”

  Yes, strangely out of all the casualties I have transported I do remember this one. Maybe because we chatted for a couple of hours on the way back to the station, he had occupied my second mans seat on that day after the gas attack.

  “I’ve got it made here, I was only temporary blinded, the gas knackered my bloody lungs up though” He beams.

  “They were going to send me home but I volunteered to stay on, I was never so well treated at home as here. Good food, no bullshit, clean bedding and clothes, what more could a fellow want? You want to see the shit hole where I live in Manchester? I’ve got this great job as mail clerk. Eh! That reminds me, are you going back to the casualty station? There’s a backlog of mail waiting to go for there.”

  “Sorry mate I’m off to Le Havre in the morning.”

  Before I can say any more he jumps up from the table.