CHAPTER XVI
Konrad von Feldoffer
Slowly Malcolm raised himself into a sitting position. Breathlessfrom the violent shock, blinded by the shower of dust, deafened bythe terrific concussion, and with his sense of smell deadened toeverything but the acrid fumes of the burst shell, he was at a lossto know what had happened.
"Am I still No. 99,109, Rifleman Carr, or have I gone west?" heasked himself aloud. Beyond a faint hollow rumble, he failed todetect the sound of his own voice. Almost afraid to make theexperiment, he flexed his limbs. Nothing much wrong there, anyway.
He was beginning to see, despite the darkness and the nauseating,pungent fumes. He looked at his watch. The glass had vanished. Thehands told him that it was three minutes past twelve. Unless thewatch had stopped, only five or six minutes had elapsed since thecatastrophe took place. He held the timepiece close to his ear, butcould hear nothing. Anxiously he watched the big hand, until after aseemingly interminable interval he had conclusive evidence that thewatch was still going.
Satisfied on that point, Malcolm took stock of his surroundings. Theoutlook was limited to the sloping walls of the crater and the vaultof black night overhead. Except for a direct hit, he was in a placeof comparative safety. Enough for to-night; he would stay where hewas until dawn, and then----
"I'm all right," he thought, "but what of my chums?"
Filled with new-born resolution, Malcolm regained his feet andcommenced to climb the steep, yielding side of the shell crater. Atthe third step the soft soil gave way, and he fell on his face. Ashe did so he heard a loud popping sound, as if his ear-drums werebursting, and the next instant he could hear the distant rumble ofthe guns and the voices of men in his proximity.
"I'm from Timaru, but I'm not timorous," shouted a voice. "Buck up,lads!"
"That's the Corporal," decided Malcolm. "At all events we haven'tall been done in."
"Hallo there!" exclaimed Corporal Preston, as Malcolm gained the lipof the crater. "Who are you?"
"Carr."
"Shouldn't have recognized you," continued the non-com., for Malcolmwas hatless, his coat was partly torn away, while his face was blackwith grime. "Got a buckshie? No--good!"
"Cheer-o, Malcolm!"
This from Selwyn, who was engaged in binding a first-aid dressinground the ribs of the prophetic sergeant of engineers. Four othermen lay on the ground, killed outright. Two of them belonged to theration-party, and the others were Tommies who had been engaged inrelaying the uptorn line.
"No use waiting here," declared Preston. "Bring that other truckalong."
The first truck lay on its side, the woodwork shattered, and therations scattered in all directions. The two men on the side nearestthe exploding shell had been instantly killed, but the others,sheltered to a certain extent by the vehicle, had got off at theexpense of a severe shaking. Nevertheless, all available hands setto work to retrieve the rations, and to set the second truck uponthe uninterrupted stretch of rails.
High-explosives were still bursting at varying distances as theration-party continued their perilous way across the open. It waswith feelings of relief that Malcolm heard the Corporal give theword to unload once more. The men had reached the beginning of thecommunication-trench.
From this point progress was slow. The ramification of trenches waschock-a-block with troops under arms--Australians and NewZealanders, making ready for the task of going over the top.
"You've been a precious long time about it," was the Sergeant'sungracious comment when the ration-party found their own section oftrench. "Set to, lads; here's your grub."
Eagerly the men of the platoon threw themselves upon thedearly-bought food. So hungry were they that they made no complaintabout the gritty state of the loaves. Perhaps it was as well thatthey asked no questions. After all, they were able to feed, and in ashort space of time pannikins of tea were boiling over thebiscuit-tin stoves in the dug-out.
Having fed, Malcolm turned in on his straw bed. He was not sleepy,only stiff, and since it wanted less than an hour to the time fixedfor the New Zealanders to turn out under arms, he employed theinterval in writing. The other occupants of the dug-out weresimilarly engaged, knowing that, confronted by the problem of animpending battle, there was a possibility that this might be theirlast opportunity to communicate with their relatives and friends.
"This is the rottenest part of the whole business," remarked Selwyn."It gives a fellow time to think about going over, and the prospectisn't a cheerful one."
"You're right," assented a Digger who had taken part in four bigengagements. "I quite understand; but mark my words, you'll forgetyou ever had cold feet the moment the whistle goes."
"It's that plaguey uncut wire and those machineguns I don't like,"grumbled Joliffe. "What the brass-hats are thinking about to sendthe boys against that lot beats me. Why, back in Delville Wood----"
"Rifleman Carr here?" enquired a voice.
The ground-sheet hanging over the entrance to the dug-out was thrustaside, and Sergeant Fortescue, his head partly hidden in his steelhelmet, appeared in view.
"Thought I'd drop in for a little chin-wagging," continuedFortescue. "I've some news that might interest you--and Selwyn too."
He pulled a creased and folded newspaper from his pocket, and,holding it up to the guttering light, pointed a shapely yet begrimedforefinger at a certain paragraph.
"Our Muizenberg pal has dodged the firing-party," continuedFortescue. "The blighter is a bit of a wily fox, and judging by hishistory he's badly wanted."
The paragraph was to the effect that Konrad von Feldoffer, a Germanconvicted of espionage by a general court martial, had made a daringand successful attempt to escape. How, the report did not say, butthe fact remained that a dangerous spy was still at large. It wenton to say that Konrad von Feldoffer was known to be a German navalofficer. Upon the outbreak of hostilities he was in Canada. Aftervarious attempts, successful and otherwise, to cripple the internalcommunications of the Dominion, he fled across the border to theUnited States. Too late he was traced to Australia, where heenlisted in a Victoria regiment, deserting when the Anzacs wereunder fire in Gallipoli. Shortly afterwards he turned up in India,joined a volunteer regiment under orders for Mesopotamia, andmysteriously vanished during the retreat from Ctesiphon. Proceedingto England, and posing as a mercantile marine officer, forgeddocuments and an engaging manner procured him an introduction toWhitehall, with the result that he was given a commission in theRoyal Naval Reserve and appointed to an armed merchant cruiser. Oneof his first exploits in that capacity was to board a supposedNorwegian tramp, whose decks were piled high with timber. The vesselwas allowed to proceed--a wolf in sheep's clothing, as a dozen ormore Allied ships learned to their cost. Three weeks aftercommissioning, the merchant-cruiser was torpedoed and sunk in broaddaylight by a U-boat. While the crew were taking to the boats, thesubmarine appeared on the surface. To the surprise of the Britishofficer and crew, the hitherto unsuspected spy swam across to thehostile craft. Having picked him up, the U-boat submerged anddisappeared from the scene. Too late it was discovered that therenegade was one and the same with the now notorious Konrad vonFeldoffer. For several months nothing was heard of the spy'sactivities. As a matter of fact, the cosmopolitan rogue wasparticularly busy in South Africa, drifting thence into GermanSouth-West Africa, where he played a conspicuous part in a daringgun-running expedition under the nose of a British cruiser.
On the principle that it is advisable to desert a sinking ship intime, von Feldoffer drifted via Johannesburg to Cape Town, where hisefforts to get into communication with German mine-layers operatingoff the Cape met with slight success. He was now anxious to returnto the Fatherland. Accordingly he joined an Afrikander regiment ofheavy artillery under the name of Pieter Waas, only to beapprehended on board the transport at Selwyn's instigation.
From the date of the paper--it was ten days old already--Malcolmgathered that the spy had been at liberty for nearly a month. Unlesshe were already recaptured
it was pretty certain to conclude thatvon Feldoffer was clear of the British Isles. Would his experiencesand narrow escape deter him from further enterprises or merely whethis appetite for other surprising adventures?
"One thing is pretty clear," declared Fortescue; "he won't riskshowing up with the New Zealand boys. But, by Jove, it's close ontwo o'clock. Our fellows have to assemble at that hour. S'long,chums; I'll look out for you when we fall in. We may as well keeptogether in this stunt."
Fortescue was barely gone when the Platoon Sergeant entered thedug-out.
"Turn out, boys," he ordered. "Don't forget your gas-masks. Fritzwill be letting loose a few gallons of stink, I reckon."
"What time do we go over, Sergeant?" enquired one of the riflemen.
"When the whistles go, sonny," replied the non-com., with aprodigious wink, "and not before."
"Can we go over after?" persisted the questioner.
The Sergeant eyed the man with mock severity.
"Take my tip and hop it sharp," he replied darkly. "The men whoremain in the trenches fifteen seconds after the order to advancewill be sorry for themselves. If there are any slight casualties,Corporal," he added, addressing Billy Preston, "turn 'em out. Itwon't be healthy for them to stop in the dug-out."
"Wonder why?" asked several of the men after the Sergeant haddeparted to give similar instructions to the occupants of theadjoining "desirable villas".
The question remained unanswered. In silence Malcolm and hiscomrades took their rifles and filed out into the already-crowdedcommunication-trench.
"Let's find Fortescue," said Malcolm, addressing Selwyn in a lowvoice that hardly sounded like his own. "He'll be in the next bay orthe one beyond."
"Lead on, then," prompted his chum.
Slinging their rifles, the twain made their way along the narrow,winding trench, stumbling over the recumbent forms of resting menand squeezing past the fully-accoutred troops packed into the narrowplace.
"He was here a minute ago," declared one, after several fruitlessenquiries had been made of the denizens of the two adjoiningsectors. "Guess he's in the firing-trench. They're fixing thestorming-ladders."
The firing-trench was comparatively clear. A dozen men were sittingon the fire-step, listlessly fumbling with their equipment in a vaineffort to kill time before the supreme moment arrived to go out intothe open. Others were placing in Position the rough wooden laddersby which the stormers would be able to scale the breast-highparapet, each ladder being carefully tested lest an insecurestructure should impede the operation of going over the top. A fewnon-coms., detailed to lay off the distance-tapes, were comparingnotes as coolly as if they were arranging for the regimental sports.
"Dashed if I can see him," whispered Malcolm. Although there was noneed for speaking in an undertone, the scene of preparationinstinctively Compelled him to lower his voice. "Seen anything ofSergeant Fortescue?" enquired Selwyn, addressing a rifleman who hadjust completed the fixing of one ladder and was thoroughly surveyinghis work.
The man turned sharply, gave a grunt of Surprise, and before the ladcould realize what had happened, he swarmed up the ladder, pausedirresolutely for a brief instant on the sandbagged parapet, andleapt into the darkness of No Man's Land. It was the spy, vonFeldoffer.
A Lively Bit of the Front: A Tale of the New Zealand Rifles on the Western Front Page 16
