Part 38 (1/2)

Captain Blaikie, directing operations with a walking-stick as if the whole affair were an Aldershot field-day, signalled to the Company to lie down, and began to unb.u.t.ton a leather pouch in his belt.

”You too, Bobby,” he said; ”and don't dare to move a muscle until you get the order!”

He strolled forward, pliers in hand, and began methodically to cut a pa.s.sage, strand by strand, through the forest of wire.

Then it was that invisible machine-guns opened, and a very gallant officer and Scotsman fell dead upon the field of honour.

Half an hour later, ”A” Company, having expended all their ammunition and gained never a yard, fell back upon the rest of the Battalion.

Including Bobby Little (who seemed to bear a charmed life), they did not represent the strength of a platoon.

”I wonder what they will do with us next,” remarked Mr. Waddell, who had finished his bully.

”If they have any sense of decency,” said Major Kemp, ”they will send us back to rest a bit, and put another Division in. We have opened the ball and done a lot of dirty work for them, and have lost a lot of men and officers. Bed for me, please!”

”I should be more inclined to agree with you, Major,” said Wagstaffe, ”if only we had a bit more to show for our losses.”

”We haven't done so badly,” replied Kemp, who was growing more cheerful under the influence of hot cocoa. ”We have got the Hohenzollern, and the Bosche first line at least, and probably Fosse Eight. On the right I hear we have taken Loos. That's not so dusty for a start. I have not the slightest doubt that there will be a heavy counter-attack, which we shall repel. After that we shall attack again, and gain more ground, or at least keep the Bosche exceedingly busy holding on. That is our allotted task in this entertainment--to go on hammering the Hun, occupying his attention and using up his reserves, regardless of whether we gain ground or lose it, while our French pals on the right are pus.h.i.+ng him off the map. At least, that is my theory: I don't pretend to be in touch with the official mind.

This battle will probably go on for a week or more, over practically the same ground. It will be dreadful for the wounded, but even if we only hold on to what we have gained already, we are the winners.

Still, I wish we could have consolidated Fosse Alley before going to bed.”

At this moment the Colonel, stooping low in the tiny doorway, entered the dug-out, followed by the Adjutant. He bade his supporters good-morning.

”I am glad to find that you fellows have been able to give your men a meal,” he said. ”It was capital work getting the ration-carts up so far last night.”

”Any news, Colonel?” asked Major Kemp.

”Most decidedly. It seems that the enemy have evacuated Fosse Alley again. n.o.body quite knows why: a sudden attack of cold feet, probably.

Our people command their position from Fosse Eight, on their left rear, so I don't altogether blame them. Whoever holds Fosse Eight holds Fosse Alley. However, the long and short of it all is that the Brigade are to go forward again this evening, and reoccupy Fosse Alley. Meanwhile, we consolidate things here.”

Major Kemp sighed.

”Bed indefinitely postponed!” he remarked resignedly.

III

By midnight on the same Sunday the Battalion, now far under its original strength, had re-entered the scene of yesterday's long struggle, filing thither under the stars, by a deserted and ghostly German _boyau_ nearly ten feet deep. Fosse Alley erred in the opposite direction. It was not much more than four feet in depth; the chalky parapet could by no stretch of imagination be described as bullet-proof; dug-outs and communication-trenches were non-existent.

On our left the trench-line was continued by the troops of another Division: on our right lay another battalion of our own brigade.

”If the line has been made really continuous this time,” observed the Colonel, ”we should be as safe as houses. Wonderful fellows, these sappers! They have wired almost our whole front already. I wish they had had time to do it on our left as well.”

Within the next few hours all defensive preparations possible in the time had been completed; and our attendant angels, most effectively disguised as Royal Engineers, had flitted away, leaving us to wait for Monday morning--and Brother Bosche.

With the dawn, our eyes, which had known no sleep since Friday night, peered rheumily out over the whitening landscape.

To our front the ground stretched smooth and level for two hundred yards, then fell gently away, leaving a clearly denned skyline. Beyond the skyline rose houses, of which we could descry only the roofs and upper windows.

”That must be either Haisnes or Douvrin,” said Major Kemp. ”We are much farther to the left than we were yesterday. By the way, _was_ it yesterday?”

”The day before yesterday, sir,” the ever-ready Waddell informed him.

”Never mind; to-day's the day, anyhow. And it's going to be a busy day, too. The fact is, we are in a tight place, and all through doing too well. We have again penetrated so much farther forward than any one else in our neighbourhood that we _may_ have to fall back a bit.