CHAPTER XXVIII
In the Firing-line Again
Ten days later Peter and Malcolm Carr found themselves told off to adraft that was about to leave Sling Camp for the Front. During thattime Malcolm had been notified that the sum of one hundred poundshad been awarded him in recognition of his services in discoveringthe infernal machine in the coal-bunker of the transport _PomfretCastle_. Other awards had been made to Sergeant Fortescue andRifleman Selwyn.
"A jolly useful sum!" remarked Peter. "What are you going to do withit?"
"Cable it to New Zealand," replied Malcolm. "I don't want to touchit here if it can be avoided."
"Think twice, old man," said his brother. "Bank it in a Britishbank, and then if you do want to draw it in a hurry it's there. Younever know your luck. If anything should happen to you outthere--one has to consider such a thing--the money can then becabled to the governor."
The draft from Sling was a large one. Report had it that another big"stunt" was imminent, and that New Zealand was to have the honour ofbeing well represented in the impending operations.
Almost without incident the draft crossed the Channel, and once moreMalcolm found himself on the soil of France. It was now lateSeptember. Normandy looked its best, the leaves displaying theirautumn tints, and the apple trees bending under the weight of fruit.
And yet, only a few miles away, was the war-tortured belt ofterrain, a mass of ruined buildings, even now being rebuilt, whereBriton and Gaul were slowly yet surely wresting French soil from theHun.
Most of the New Zealanders around Etaples were now under canvas, theweather being fine, but with a sharp fall in temperature during thenight. Upon the arrival of the new draft the men were told off tovarious companies, and once more the two Carrs were separated.
Malcolm took the matter philosophically, knowing that in war-time asoldier cannot pick and choose his mates; but to his astonishmentand delight he found that Fortescue and Selwyn were in the samelines.
"Yes, I'm back again," remarked the former, after Malcolm hadrelated his adventures. "I had a good time in Blighty, and when Iwas passed out by the medical board I was offered a staff job atHornchurch."
"And like a jay he turned it down," added Selwyn. "He might have hada soft time in Blighty; instead, he puts in for France--and just aswinter's coming on, too."
"One would imagine that you were a lead-swinger, Selwyn," exclaimedFortescue.
"Not so much of that, Digger," protested the latter. "Of course Icouldn't hang behind when I've to look after big helpless SergeantFortescue."
"What happened after you got your buckshie at Messines?" askedMalcolm.
"A regular holiday--it was _bonsor_," replied Selwyn. "Nine hoursafter I got hit I was at Tin Town, Brockenhurst. Three weeks thereand they pushed me on to Home Mead. Take my tip, Malcolm; if you geta buckshie try and work it to be sent there. Had the time of mylife. The other boys will tell you the same. It is some hospital.Then back to Codford, where I had my leave."
"Where did you go?" asked Malcolm.
"The usual round; Edinburgh and Glasgow. Gorgeous time there, too;people were awfully kind."
When the young rifleman described his Scottish journey as the usualround, he was referring to the somewhat curious fact that a largepercentage of New Zealanders go to Edinburgh when granted leaveafter being discharged from hospital. It is a sort of solemn rite,and few men from "down under" go back to New Zealand without seizingthe opportunity of paying a flying visit to the "Land of Burns".
"So you saw a bit of Blighty, then?" remarked Malcolm.
"Yes, rather!" was the reply; "and now I'm going to see a bit ofFrance, or is it Belgium this time?"
"Ask me another," replied Sergeant Fortescue. "All I know is thatthe division moves up to the front on the 3rd of next month, so itlooks as if we're going to shake Fritz by the scruff of his neck."
"Hallo, there's Mike Dowit!" exclaimed Malcolm, as thestretcher-bearer passed by. "How goes it, chum?"
Stretcher-bearer Dowit stopped, crossed the road, and grasped therifleman's hand. Being a man of very few words, he excelled himselfby saying nothing.
"Ask him," prompted Fortescue, "when he's going to have another bathat the Estaminet Moulin Gris."
The stretcher-bearer flushed and shuffled his feet awkwardly.
"Mike's as shy as a _wahine_," continued the Sergeant. "I'll tellyou the yarn. We were billeted at an estaminet that had copped itpretty thick. Roof practically off, and the outbuildings nothing buta pile of bricks; you know the sort of thing. Well, Mike discovereda tub full of water, as he thought, and early one morning he slippedout to have a bath. He had only just started his ablutions whenMadame's face appeared at the only window left in the inn.'Arretez!' she shouted; 'arretez! You no use soap. Soap na poo. Youspoil ze beer--compree?'"
"I've only got her word that it was beer," declared Dowit stolidly.
"It's a great joke with the boys," continued Fortescue, after thestretcher-bearer had gone. "They chip him frightfully about it; askif that's why he's got the D.C. M. I suppose you didn't know that itwas awarded him, for gallantry at Messines--rescuing wounded underheavy fire? My word! Mike was hot stuff that day. It was athundering good job when he slung that dud bomb at FeatherstoneCamp, or I mightn't be here now."
In the dead of night of the 3rd of October the New Zealand Division,in heavy marching order, silently relieved a Tommy division on theFlanders Front.
"Where are we, Sergeant?" enquired Rifleman M'Kane. "This spotdoesn't seem familiar."
"It will be before morning," replied Fortescue grimly. "We'reopposite Gravenstafel, and those are the Heights of Abraham. If weare not firmly planted upon them by to-morrow afternoon I'm aDutchman."
The new position was certainly a novel one as far as Malcolm wasconcerned. The seemingly endless lines of zigzag trenches were nolonger in evidence. Shelter was provided by the simple expedient oflinking up suitable shell-craters, with which the soft ground wasliberally besprinkled.
Hardly were the New Zealanders settled when the Huns began a furiousbombardment. It was not a spasmodic burst of shell-fire, but aconcentrated and deliberate fire upon the series of field-worksfronting the village of Gravenstafel. Every man knew what it meant;the Germans were about to attack in force, while a similar operationwas impending on the part of the British. The question was, whichside would get away quickest? Would the serried wave of infantrymeet in the open?
Gamely the New Zealanders endured their gruelling; until the gunslifted and put up a barrage behind them.
Sheltering in a dug-out were Sergeant Fortescue, Corporal BillyPreston, Riflemen Carr, Dick Selwyn, M'Kane, M'Turk, and twoothers--youngsters for the first time under shell-fire, who were theobjects of undisguised solicitude on the part of the non-coms. Up tothe present their attention was thrown away; neither Henderson norStewart showed the faintest indication of "jumpiness".
The dug-out trembled under the terrific impact of shells burstingwithin an unpleasant distance. Even the more seasoned men wereinwardly perturbed. Save for a few disjointedsentences--conversation was far from being a success--the occupantsof the shelter remained silent.
"They're lifting, thank goodness!" exclaimed Fortescue. "Wonder ifFritz will attempt a raid on a big scale? If so, he'll have theshock of his life."
"What time do we assemble, Sergeant?" asked Henderson, who washesitating over the opening sentences of a letter he was about tocommence. "At five, my festive," replied Fortescue. "It will----"
The sound of heavy footsteps descending the steps leading to thedug-out interrupted his words. Then a voice enquired: "All right,down there?"
"All seats taken; house full," replied M'Turk. "Sorry; but try yourluck somewhere else."
The ground-sheet hung up over the entrance was pulled aside, and thevoice continued:
"That's all right, boys; hope you'll have a full house after thestunt."
The men sprang to their feet and stood at attention. It was wellthat the roof of the dug-out was a fa
irly lofty one. SergeantFortescue saluted.
"Beg pardon, sir!" he exclaimed, for standing in the doorway,cloaked and wearing his shrapnel-helmet, was the Brigadier.
"Glad to see you so chirpy, boys," remarked the Brigadier. "Goodnight, and good luck!"
The next instant he was gone, to continue his flying visits to themen. It had been an anxious time, especially to the commandingofficers, and, in order to satisfy themselves that the boys werestill in a position to carry out the attack, the brigadiers madepersonal tours along the firing-line.
"He's some sport," declared Selwyn. "What's it like outside, Iwonder? I'll go and have a look round."
Malcolm accompanied his chum. In the open air the cold, contrastedwith the warmth of the dug-out, was intense. The wind blew chillyupon their faces. Overhead the sky was darkened with driftingclouds, between the rifts of which the light of the full moon shoneupon the ghostly expanse of shell-craters.
The German guns were still firing hotly, directing their missiles agood four hundred yards behind the New Zealand lines. The Britishartillery was replying, but lacking the intensity of the enemy'sfire.
"Hanged if I'd like to be with the ration-parties to-night,"remarked Selwyn. "There'll be a few of the boys knocked out behindour lines, I fancy."
"Let's get back out of it," suggested Malcolm. "It's too jolly coldto stand here. What's the time?"
He consulted the luminous dial of his wristlet watch.
"By gum--a quarter to five!" he exclaimed. "The boys will startassembling in another fifteen minutes."
"What's it doing?" enquired Fortescue when the chums returned to thedug-out.
"Fine so far, but threatening," replied Selwyn. "It'll be our usualluck--raining in torrents, I'm afraid."
"Anyone know our objectives?" enquired M'Kane as he slowly adjustedthe straps of two empty canvas bags that later on were to be crammedfull with Mills's bombs.
"Eighteen hundred yards on a two-thousand-yards front, and not aninch beyond," replied Fortescue. "That'll bring us on to the hill,which is what we want. Dry ground during the winter, you know."
At last Fortescue gave the word. The men, grasping their rifles,filed out, to find the fortified craters filling up with silentkhaki-clad Diggers.
"Keep together," whispered Malcolm to Selwyn.
"Rather!" replied his chum. "Dash it all, I wish we were off. Ialways loathe this hanging-about business."
Just then the German barrage redoubled in violence. As it did so thelong-threatening rain began to fall--a cold drizzle.
The New Zealanders could not understand why the Huns were putting upsuch a persistent barrage. They could only put it down to the factthat Fritz had a good inkling of the impending stunt and was getting"jumpy". As a matter of fact, it was owing to another reason.
For an hour a handful of New Zealanders clung to the crater defencesin the front line. These men had orders not to go forward in theadvance, the attacking infantry being in the second and third lineof trenches. Quite under the impression that the nearmost Germanpill-boxes were lightly held, the New Zealanders in the advanceposts were afterwards surprised to learn that they had been within afew yards of hundreds of picked German troops. The Huns intendedattacking at about the same time as the New Zealanders, and thehitherto deserted block-houses had been reoccupied during the nightby swarms of German infantry.
At six o'clock the British guns opened a barrage, compared withwhich the German fire paled into insignificance. Eighteen-poundersand 4.5-inch howitzers, supported by the giant 12- and 14-inchlong-range guns farther back, threw tons of metal upon the enemylines, the heavier projectiles hurtling overhead with a roar likethat of an express train. The earth trembled, and the sky was luridwith the flashes of bursting shells, as rapidly the stronglyconstructed pill-boxes were beaten into fragments of riven concrete.
So intense was the fire that the German artillery now replied butfeebly and inaccurately, while, a sure sign that Fritz was "done"red and green rockets sent their distress signals from the enemyposition for aid that was not forthcoming.
"Fix bayonets!"
The order passed along the line. So deafening was the roar of theguns that the click of the bayonets as they were fixed wasinaudible. Here and there men gave a final adjustment to their steelhelmets or fumbled with their equipment, but for the most part theNew Zealanders stood motionless, with firm, set faces, awaiting thecommand to unleash.
The British barrage lifted, the whistles blew, and out of theirlines the khaki-clad troops surged.
A Lively Bit of the Front: A Tale of the New Zealand Rifles on the Western Front Page 28
