Bold, Brash and Brave Page 11

  A soldier who looked rather nervous came towards them and aimed a bayoneted rifle, asking ‘White or blue?’

  ‘Red,’ replied George, and drew near.

  Lowering his rifle, the soldier smiled and gestured to the ditch, saying, ‘Welcome to our holiday home. Don’t piss about, follow me quick.

  ‘Right lads, you heard,’ said George, and gestured for them to follow him. They were now in a ditch deeper than a man’s height, and their progress was getting slower because the sludge in the ditch was deeper and stickier.

  They heard the occasional zipping of bullets flying overhead, and grimaced at the rumble of cannon fire. They passed other soldiers leaning in cut-outs in the trench side. At the end of the trench, one soldier quickly turned and eyed them, lying on his back. Smiling at George, he asked, ‘Will you instruct your men to crouch down behind mine? This will give them time to have a smoke and have a chat about what they are doing, and believe you me, this will save you a lot of time.’

  After telling Henry to pass on what they had been told to do, George said, ‘I have my orders, but is there anything else I should know?’ He suddenly had to clap his hands over his ears when there was a massive explosion nearby.

  They were splattered with foul-smelling, burned soil. ‘Yes,’ came the reply. ‘Out here, don’t trust anyone, mate. In front of you is the enemy. Hear a voice in that direction, shoot at it. They mainly open fire after dusk, for about an hour, so we keep our heads low and let them waste their ammo. There are some periscopes, but I’ll tell you this, lad, stick your head up over that muck and you’ll get a bullet in it. Shit-hot they are, know what I mean?’ he asked, and winked.

  Forty minutes later, the old platoon had withdrawn for a well-earned rest, and George purposefully went down his line of men and individually stressed to each how important it was to keep their heads low. If they wanted to look up the hill, always use the periscope provided, and never chance a quick look above the trench. Edward was lying back on a piece of canvas set into his little cut-out in the soil, as left by his predecessor. His rifle was ready, and he was also ready for a smoke, and not really conscious of the dangers. Light-heartedly, he asked, ‘Where do we sleep?’

  Suddenly, bullets started zipping overhead. ‘Fucking hell,’ gasped Mick, then farted out loud. George noted that a few hit the top of the trenches, but when most continued over, he knew their accuracy wasn’t the best.

  Taffy began to laugh, however, when a shell exploded in front of them showering everyone with soil. ‘The dirty bastards,’ he shouted, and using his periscope to line up the sights on his rifle, began to return fire.

  ‘Don’t waste your bloody ammo,’ bawled George, but smiled at his gusto before he carried on towards Henry. He really wished the conditions underfoot were better when he felt water entering his boots. ‘Alright pal?’ he asked, then slapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘So so,’ Henry sighed, deliberately keeping his head low. Turning to face him with a pained expression on his face, Henry asked, ‘Where do we eat or sleep? When are we being relieved? How long are we here for? And more to the point, is this all we are going to do?’

  ‘I’ve to meet that soldier who was guarding the ditch entrance in fifteen minutes. Hopefully he will bring our orders and food for today with him. As that Lieutenant explained when we first arrived, this is one of the cushier jobs—we could have been detailed an assignment a lot worse,’ replied George. He smiled and slapped Henry on the shoulder, before he turned and set off back down the line, crouching as he went.

  George met with the soldier, who was Lieutenant. The soldier stood guard as they conferred; the Lieutenant explained that later in the week, George’s men would charge the enemy. George was dumbfounded. ‘Lieutenant, we have no experience, they will be just cut down. Some haven’t even fired their rifles yet.’

  ‘Well get back and make them. This is war, not a firing range,’ shouted the Lieutenant, and then regimentally spun around before he marched down the lane.

  With that gut-wrenching feeling of disappointment, and completely ignoring the trench guard, George began to amble back up the ditch. When he got to Mick, the first man, he stopped and sat behind him. For a few moments there was an uncanny silence, and then an almighty blast came, spewing burned soil into the air. For a good three minutes, it was as if it was raining earth as the area was peppered. Mick spluttered, ‘Fuck me, that was a big ‘un.’

  ‘Any casualties?’ shouted a voice.

  ‘Clear here,’ shouted Henry, which brought a smile to George’s face.

  ‘Casualty!’ someone shouted, and George set off up the line.

  He found someone lying motionless in the ditch, face down, and when he rolled him over, blood spewed from the top of his head. ‘Oh shit,’ mumbled Henry.

  ‘Good God, its Edward, and look where he bought it,’ shouted Taffy, who was seemingly unconcerned at the amount of blood over his face, now forming a puddle in the soil.

  ‘Right, all back to your stations,’ ordered George. When they returned, he turned to Henry, and seeing him shaking with fright, snapped, ‘Get back to your station, and take note what has happened here. He stupidly looked over the top and got one in the head, so let this be a lesson to you all.’

  He pulled the canvas out from where Edward used to lie, and covered him with it. Unsure how to proceed, he suddenly turned when the soldier from the ditch approached asking, ‘Anyone hurt?’

  ‘Yes, him,’ replied George, and pointed.

  The soldier raised the canvas, and when he saw where the wound was, he realised that it was fatal. ‘Right then, just leave him there. Later, when I report down the line, I’ll make the necessary arrangements.’

  They had eaten a decent breakfast, and although it was now well into the afternoon, no one was hungry when George asked if anyone wanted to eat. The jokes and jibes about the war had ceased, but bullets still kept zipping overhead.

  Just after dark, two soldiers struggled up the ditch and reported to George. After signing a form, they rolled Edward’s body onto a stretcher, then slowly, and with difficulty, began to drag him down the trench. ‘Poor bugger,’ moaned Taffy, and made the sign of the cross when they passed him.

  George followed them, and when they loaded him onto a hand cart and covered him with canvas, he suddenly realised what he had observed on the hill the previous night. He returned to his men, and reminded them each in turn that they must keep low at all times. George reached Henry, and without saying a word, he sat down. Even though the odd bullet zipped above them, and the odd bit of cannon-fire exploded nearby, he wasn’t deterred from trying to work out a solution for not losing any more men. Suddenly, he stood up but kept his head low as he said, ‘We’ll alternate rest for every other man, starting from here.’

  He didn’t receive a reply, so he carefully crawled down the line, and informed every other man to rest. When he reached the end, he used a periscope to survey the enemy. He thought he could hear them singing, but kept alert when the odd bullet flew overhead, knowing that their position was being watched. He turned around and lay on his back. When George glanced up at the sky, he realised that with the moon behind them, the enemy had the advantage with a night assault, which would be lethal. ‘The only way up there is around the back,’ he thought, and began to wonder about prior war experiences and judgements of the Lieutenant. He resolved to make enquiries as soon as possible. At first light the next morning, after detailing Henry to issue rations, George let him rest on some boxes before he took his place. He recalled his dad’s instructions when they had been trying to trap the foxes that attacked their chickens. Joseph had always insisted that if you have a full moon shining from behind you, then they couldn’t see you. ‘I wonder if the Lieutenant knows this area well,’ he thought, and smiled when Henry shuffled to get comfortable, pulling some canvas over him to keep warm.

  George was right; he could hear the enemy singing, but he thought it forced, as there didn’t seem to be a tempo to it. He deci
ded it was right to argue against an order from the Lieutenant, but knew that he couldn’t disobey him—but could he defend his strategy? The only thing was to try, and then see what would happen.

  George had begun to doze, when suddenly all hell broke loose with shells exploding everywhere. An occasional one came very near to their trench. They were being showered with clumps of soil, and George shouted, ‘To your posts men, and for God’s sake keep your heads down!’

  After what had happened to Edward, nobody needed reminding. The shelling continued for half an hour or so, and Taffy lay on his back, gazing up through smoke, mist and clumps of soil at a hazy sun while heartily singing old McDonald’s farm. As soon as the shelling stopped, George joined in, but when bullets began zipping overhead again, George pondered that there was not as many bullets fired as usual.

  Using a periscope, he glanced up the hill and scanned the place where he thought the enemy was dug in. Assessing the distance at nearly half a mile, the first thing he noticed was that the land in between them was barren and badly cratered, so not fit for running on. He guessed that the width of their trenches about the same as theirs, and for the first time, he could see large cannons protruding through the trees behind the ditches.

  ‘Good morning,’ said the Lieutenant, now crouched behind him.

  George jumped up and spun around, moaning, ‘Bloody hell, you startled me.’

  ‘You were deep in thought there,’ said the Lieutenant, smiling.

  ‘Yes, and what I don’t understand is, why doesn’t their cannon blast us apart? They are near enough. Oh, let me say this first—Henry, break the rations out amongst the men, and keep your head down,’ said George, then lay back to allow him room to pass.

  When Henry set off, the Lieutenant explained, ‘The reason for their inaccurate cannon fire is simple; they can’t bow them low enough. If they try to, the barrels will just tip up, so they have to aim in the air, and obviously have to judge the wind, distance, and recoil, so it’s pretty damned hard to get it right.’ The Lieutenant realised that no one had ever asked him that before.

  George stuck his oar in to show that he cared about his men, asking, ‘What about an attack from behind? I’ve judged the distance between us, and there is no man on this earth that is going to make it up that hill to them alive.’

  ‘We think it’s possible. Using the bomb craters for cover, we think it can be done,’ replied the Lieutenant, and quickly added, ‘Anyway, orders are orders.’

  When bullets began zipping overhead, George instantly ducked down, growling, ‘It would take the fastest of my men with ammo and a rifle at least fifteen minutes to run up there, and as you can hear, it takes seconds for a bullet to come down.’ To make the point, he stared intently at the Lieutenant, adding, ‘Common sense must prevail here, because a life is a life.’

  The Lieutenant shuffled nearer to him, and above the noise of sporadic cannon fire, he shouted, ‘I quite agree with you, but when our superiors say that the hill must be taken their way, it must be done so.’

  ‘I’m not having the loss of other people’s lives on my hands,’ whispered George, and smiled faintly when Henry crawled up to them offering them a piece of bread and dried meat. Taking it, and then watching Henry follow the Lieutenant before he returned to his position, George pondered their role while he ate. He realised that all they were being used for was cannon fodder. The army was just using them as toys, and it didn’t matter how many of them were lost and destroyed, and he decided, if ordered to do something that seemed ridiculous, he would question it.

  Two hours later, making contact with individual soldiers, George went down his line of men to instruct them how to fire their rifle using a periscope, adding the order that they must not fire unless they could sight someone; otherwise they would just be wasting ammo. He also stressed the importance of keeping everything clean.

  At midday, he was waiting for Taffy to return from the toilet, which was a hole dug in the ground under the out-stretched branches of a leafless mountain ash tree. When Taffy came back, George noticed that he looked tired, and his face was pale. ‘I can’t help it; those dried rations are pissing awful. In fact, our cat would turn her nose up at them,’ moaned Taffy, slumping forward to take up his position.

  George said, trying not to smile, ‘I’ll do my best for later,’ but when he began to return up the line, cannon-fire began, and he noticed that the odd one was getting nearer.

  At his post, Mick moaned, ‘This is a fucking daft way to die, mate.’ He shuffled around to lie on his back, and then sighed while staring up at the sky.

  George scowled at him, and snapped, ‘If you don’t mind, we all have a job to do. So will you turn and regain your position please?’

  Without questioning him, and realising he meant it, Mick spun around and took hold of his rifle. When an explosion nearby splattered them both with soil, George shielded his face with his hand, but hearing Taffy moan out loud from the next cut-out, turned and could see that he had been hit with a large piece of stone that was still laid across his shoulder.

  Blood began pouring from a wound near his neck; George took out his bandage pack, and hearing Taffy moaning, he removed the stone and tore open his tunic top shouting, ‘Shut up man, you sound like a woman!’

  When three enormous explosions erupted very near their trench, it sent the men reeling in all directions. Furthest away from the impact, and in a daze, Henry staggered to his feet and gazed through the smoke and dust. Even though he was weak from the impact, he realised that they were in serious trouble, but he stumbled through the sludge down the line to check on each man. He got to Mick, and when he seemed lifeless, he carried on, but when he saw George sprawled out on his back, he stared in shock at his body.

  Henry shouted his name, and leaned his rifle against the soil bank before he fell on his knees by his side. Suddenly, George groaned out loud. With tears in his eyes, Henry was unsure what to do, but instantly thought that he must get him down the trench, and then if he could only reach the soldier on duty, perhaps he could send him for help.

  When he noticed blood oozing from the end of George’s right trouser-leg, Henry took hold of George’s left arm, pulled him up to sit up, and with great difficulty eased him up over his right shoulder. Using his rifle, he finally managed to stand upright in the sludge, but he didn’t see George’s right ankle, still with boot on, slide out of his trousers.

  With George slumped over his shoulder, and now using his rifle as a walking stick, Henry began to stumble down the line towards their safe entrance. Suddenly, he heard people speaking in a different language, and struggling to see over the top of the trench, glared, seeing a group of soldiers wearing a uniform different to theirs.

  In anger, he dropped George in the sludge, raised his rifle and quickly fired at all he saw. In what seemed like seconds, Henry shot dead six of the enemy and didn’t even realise it. Making sure the area was safe, he struggled to get George back over his shoulder. He finally managed it, and continued twenty yards when a voice said, ‘This way, keep your head down, and well done, mate.’

  Relieved that it was the soldier that guarded the entrance to the trench, but suddenly hearing piercing screams, Henry lowered George then turned, shouting, ‘Look after him.’ Quickly assessing his ammunition before setting off back up the trench, Henry began to check each man. If they were alive, he began to make them safe. Again, he heard voices, but this time he was ready, and when the enemy approached, he instantly opened fire, using a periscope to aim. When there was nothing left in view, Henry slumped back to regain his breath, and after a shout up the line asking if everyone was alright, he suddenly realised where George was, and he didn’t wait for replies. He counted his ammunition quickly, and then he set off to return to the guard.

  George was unconscious but breathing regularly. Henry stared at him, seeing a huge amount of blood on his trouser leg. When he checked inside, and realised there was nothing left there, he gasped with absolute disbelief but ca
me to his senses and realised that he couldn’t be left lying on the bare soil. Henry undid his belt and pulled it from around his waist, then began to slip it around his thigh to use as a tourniquet. This instantly stemmed the loss of blood. Seeing bone sticking out from where George’s leg had been severed, Henry knew that he needed immediate attention or would die. From nowhere, the Lieutenant appeared on the scene; he instantly grasped the situation and instructed the guard to return to the compound. At the double, he was to return with medical supplies and reinforcements.

  The Lieutenant watched him as he set off, and then glanced up the trench then back to Henry. Suddenly, as if in a daze, he ordered, ‘Go and check the rest of your men.’ After a quick look at George, Henry left, and as soon as he did so, the shelling continued, but this time it didn’t seem to matter to him. After checking the four men that were left of their platoon, crouching down, he issued instructions to them to space out, and was amazed when they obeyed despite his lack of rank.

  On his way to his post, Henry checked the enemy bodies lying haphazardly in the mud using his periscope. He stared at their faces and began to feel sick when he realised that most of them seemed to be exceptionally young. When he eventually reached his post, he began to feel even worse as it sank in that it was he who had taken their lives. With his rifle ready, Henry lay in his cut-out, ready for more action, as the adrenaline pumped through his veins. But the enemy had decided to cease shelling, and the only thing audible in the uncanny silence was the breeze blowing through the leafless trees. Edward, Taffy, Mick, John Thomas and Billy were gone, and Henry didn’t know if there was anyone to replace them. He blinked as their bodies were taken down the trench, and then heard the cannon-fire begin again, moaning, ‘Here we go again,’

  Chapter 18

  After a fairly quiet night, heavy shelling erupted again early the next morning. Henry thought that once the enemy had made a direct hit, it should have been easy to blow them out of the trenches. He remembered how young they were, however, and decided that their poor aim was due to their inexperience. Occasionally, he fired up towards their dugout, smiling when the rest began to do the same.