"A barrageof shrapnel put up by the retreating enemy urged upon Setley the necessity for taking cover. There was now no need for further offensive work. The British infantry had occupied sufficient front for them to consolidate. To proceed further before the howitzers and heavy guns could be moved up to cover the advance was injudicious. It could be done. The Tommies, in their enthusiasm, would have pressed on miles ahead, but prudence on the part of the cool and calculating staff officers forbade such a step.
"All aboard," ordered Ralph, and with a double crew, the captured Hun colonel and the shell-shocked dispatch rider in addition, his landship ambled sedately to the rear, making light of the showers of shrapnel bullets that rattled ineffectually upon her metal hide.
Beyond the barrage she passed columns of fresh troops hurrying forward to hold the ground gained, the men cheering the shell-splayed Tank with the greatest enthusiasm. Other columns were overtaken, going in the opposite direction—immense droves of muddy, dejected, hungry Huns and a constant stream of British wounded, some lying motionless upon stretchers, others being supported by their less wounded comrades or else hobbling along unaided save for the assistance of a rifle used as a crutch. Even in their pain the gallant Tommies cheered the returning landship, and exchanged jests with those of the crew who in their exuberance had climbed upon her curved roof.
Guns, too, were going in both directions, the British heavies as fast as gangs of skilled men laid sections of railway lines—the work proceeding at a rate that would astonish even the most hustling Yankee. British horses, too, were making for the rear, dragging captured German artillery, floundering gallantly through the mud as if conscious of sharing in the glory of the day.
Ralph's task was not complete with the "housing" of his Tank under its canvas cover. His report had to be written up and sent in, he had to attend a supplementary tactical conference in order to be acquainted with the general scheme of operations for the morrow. Prisoners had to be interrogated, maps studied—in short, sheer hard mental work following upon a task of hard and arduous activity, until utterly fagged he was glad to snatch a few hours' rest before renewing a close acquaintance with the Huns.
He fell into a deep dreamless slumber, that even the ceaseless thunder of the guns, that hurled their terrible missiles upon the German positions, failed to disturb.
Just after midnight Setley was roused by a hand shaking his shoulder. Sitting up, yet sufficiently cautious to avoid bumping his head against the beams of the dug-out, he found Danvers by the side of the bundle of straw that formed his bed.
"A plane has been strafing us," announced his brother-officer. "'Fraid some of the plums dropped precious close to our buses. Come along and see if there's any damage."
Setley went out, shivering in the cold night air. It was a starless night. The lurid flash of the guns lighted the horizon and threw vague shadows across the crater-pitted ground that a few days previously had been the No Man's Land of the contending forces. It was now three miles to the rear of the advancing British line.
A crowd of officers and men wearing steel helmets and great-coats poured across the ground, all making towards the spot where the Tanks were "parked."
"All right, sir," Setley heard one of the sentries report to the senior major. "They did fall a bit close, sir, but not near enough to do any damage."
"Thank goodness!" ejaculated Ralph, but to satisfy himself he approached the landship under his command. Not even the canvas covering was injured, although two Tanks in the vicinity had had their wrappings torn off by the blast of the exploding bomb.
"The fellow evidently knows where the Tanks are," observed Danvers. "Deucedly funny how these Huns find out things behind our lines, and yet not a single enemy airman has ventured over in daylight for the last week. Eh, what's that?"
A Tommy, hurrying past, had shouted some information to a pal. Halting, he repeated the news to the subaltern, speaking with a grim relish.
"'E dropped two bombs, sir, smack into No. 9 Advance Cage, sir. Never seen such a blessed mess in all me life. I'll allow there are a couple o' hundred prisoners snuffed out. Anyway, they've got something to be thankful for. Their carcases won't be used for pigs' food."
"That knocks your information theory on the head," observed Ralph. "The airman evidently trusted to luck and it played a shabby trick on the prisoners."
"Not at all," said Danvers stoutly. "He was trying for the Tanks. The fact that a cage was within five hundred yards of them didn't trouble him at all. Cannon fodder, you see; once these Huns are prisoners they cease to count in the estimation of the German High Command. That's why it is not advisable to commit reprisals upon prisoners. Such a step wouldn't affect the Huns in the slightest. It's a safe card to bombard their 'open' towns by way of reprisals. That makes them squeal."
"Let's be getting back," suggested Ralph, stifling a yawn.
"Wish I could," rejoined his companion, consulting the luminous dial of his watch. "Unfortunately I'm down for duty at one-thirty."
"What's up, then?" enquired Setley.
"Over there," replied Danvers, pointing towards the front trenches. "They've had a squad from a Labour Battalion hard at it, digging a path for my bus. I was warned to be there at the time I mentioned. Wanted to hang on all the while, but there was that strafed official enquiry."
"I'll go with you," suggested Ralph.
"You're dog tired," objected his chum.
"Not at all," protested Setley. "I'll go. It'll give me an appetite for breakfast, don't you see. I heard that there was to be a variation from the almost everlasting bully beef. There's bacon, Danvers, actually bacon."
"Good!" exclaimed the subaltern. "Let's hope it won't be like the last I tasted. The stuff must have chummed up with the dead end of a poison gas shell. Ugh! It put me off entirely."
"Know the way?" asked Ralph.
"Rather," was the confident reply. "And I guess we won't be lonely. There's plenty of life along the path—and death, too," he added gravely. "We'll follow the track of the Tank."
The well-defined path flattened out by the tractors of Setley's Tank on its return journey afforded a sure guide, although the compressed mud was covered with two or three inches of water. Nevertheless the two officers proceeded with caution; there was no knowing whether a hostile shell or two had pitched after the landship's return, in which case there was a possibility of tumbling into five or six feet of icy-cold water that had drained into the recently formed crater.
"Fritz is still getting badly strafed." observed Danvers, for the guns were thundering unceasingly. The horizon facing the two subalterns was one series of lurid flashes as the British shells pounded the German lines. Haig was taking no unnecessary risks. He was not a leader to needlessly sacrifice his men in costly frontal attacks in close formation. That was a German method of military warfare that had not been accepted by other nations as an essential to success.
There was a certain mistiness in the air. The stars were obscured. The faint breeze hardly disturbed the huge clouds of orange-tinted smoke that stood out clearly against the darkness. Away in the distance a huge conflagration showed that the British shells had set fire to a German "dump," or else the Huns were up to their latest display ofkultur—setting fire to a village before "voluntarily retiring to fresh positions."
Contrary to Danvers' expectations their journey was not overburdened with company. The reliefs had gone; the wounded had been carried off. A few "sanitary squads," searching in the darkness, were the only men they met during the first mile of the way.
An aeroplane droned overhead. Neither of the subalterns paid much heed to it. Aviators [unreadable text] night and day were as common as [unreadable text] in the early autumn. Ralph [unreadable text]ver, that it was flying low, its [unreadable text] silhouetted against the glare on the sky-line.
"Beastly cold job," remarked Danvers. "All[unreadable text] in summer, but on a night like this——"
"He's planing down," said Setley. "He's shut off his motor."
"So he is," agreed Ralph's companion. "Wonder why? I shouldn't think a fellow would make a landing here for choice."
They plodded on for another two hundred yards. Suddenly a guttural voice shouted, "Wer da?"
"Huns!" whispered Ralph. Both officers drew their revolvers.
"Are you in need of assistance?" asked Setley in German.
"No, but repairs will take two hours," was the reply. Then, after a pause, "How far am I from Douai?"
Setley thought fit to enlighten the Hun, who had evidently lost his bearings in addition to sustaining damage to his machine. By enquiring for Douai, where the Germans had an aviation ground, the Boche had given himself away.
"Quite an impossible distance, Herr Aviatiker," responded Ralph. "Meanwhile, you are our prisoner. Surrender instantly."
Even then the German failed to grasp the significance of the position.
"Surrender yourselves," he retorted, and placing a whistle to his lips he blew three short blasts. "Our patrols will be up at once, Englishmen," he added, "so do not give increasing trouble."
Another airman joined the first—the observer most likely. Dark forms were approaching. These gave the Huns mistaken confidence, for both began blazing away with their revolvers at Setley and his companion, who, dropping on one knee, promptly returned the compliment.
"Hullo!" bawled an unmistakably English voice. "What's the rumpus?"
"German airmen," shouted Ralph in reply.
"Then they're booked," rejoined the speaker.
The disconcerting nature of their blunder completely astounded the lost airmen. Without attempting to set fire to their machine they turned and bolted. Neither of the opposing parties had been hit in the exchange of pistol shots. Revolver firing at sixty yards on a misty night is not conducive to accurate aim, but with a rifle matters are placed on a different footing.
The foremost of the approaching squad let rip. Three flashes and three reports as one stabbed the darkness. One of the fugitives pitched forward on his face; the other stumbled for a dozen yards and then rolled sideways to the ground.
"Well done, Alderhame!" exclaimed Ralph.
"Dash my stars!" ejaculated the ex-actor. "I hardly expected to run across you—'upon the vasty fields of France.'"
"What are you doing here?" asked Setley.
"Ration party, sir," replied Sergeant Alderhame. "We were hurrying along because we were taking a cheese ration up to our chaps. The cheese was lively when we started, so we wanted to get the stuff up before it walked off. There's Ginger Anderson sitting on top of one lot."
The men were all from the Wheatshires. The supplies they were bringing up were conveyed in specially constructed wheelbarrows with broad flanges to enable them to traverse soft ground. Until a narrow gauge tramway was laid down this was the best means of getting rations up to the firing line.
"I'll have a look at our birds, sir," continued Alderhame. "I'm curious to know where they were winged."
"Be careful," cautioned Ralph. "They may be lying doggo."
"Trust me for that, sir," was the rejoinder, then telling his squad to temporarily abandon their highly scented cargo he ordered hem to extend and surround the place where the two airmen had fallen.
The pilot was stone dead, with a bullet-wound through the centre of his back. The observer, hit in the thigh and shoulder, had fainted through loss of blood. "Ripping shot that one of mine!" exclaimed Alderhame enthusiastically. "Jolly rummy, though, I can't help feeling like a sportsman on the moors and it's a human being I've brought down."
"But a bloomin' Boche," added Ginger the materialist. "One the less an' no cause to feed 'im."
By the aid of his electric torch Ralph examined the pockets of the dead pilot, who under his leather coat wore an Iron Cross. Papers found in his possession showed that the two men were crack Hun fliers and had set out purposely with the intention of bombing the Tanks. In addition the disconcerting information was forthcoming that the enemy had learnt the precise spot in which the landships were parked, and since no hostile machines had been over during daylight it was reasonable to conclude a spy had given the news.
"By Jupiter! I'd like to nip the fellow," remarked Danvers, as the two officers resumed their way. "Smart chap that, sergeant."
"One of my old chums in the Wheatshires," said Ralph. "A decent chap, only he has the bad habit of flinging Shakespeare at your head every half minute. I'm rather keen on getting him transferred to the Tank Section, but haven't had the chance to work it yet."
"A handy man behind a machine-gun, I should fancy. Hullo! That was a beauty."
A terrific burst of light, followed by half a dozen minor explosions, occasioned Danver's exclamation. Something, far behind the German lines, had "gone up." The British artillery were doing good work that night.
Floundering past gaping shell-holes, for as they approached the support trenches the craters were more numerous, the two officers arrived at the scene of the Tank's misadventure.
"Getting along famously, sir," announced Danvers' sergeant. "These labour chaps have been slogging in like greased lightning. Another quarter of an hour, sir, and we'll be ready to start."
A great change had taken place in the land topography since the morning. The pitfall lay exposed in all its nakedness—a wide yawning cavity of which three sides were as steep and smooth as a concrete-faced wall. The third had been attacked by the labour troops—picked navvies of magnificent physique and thoroughly skilled in the art of digging.
Earth had been cut away until a slope of thirty degrees formed an inclined plane from the normal surface to the floor of the pit. The finishing touches were being made, thick planks being put down to form a corduroy road up the newly made path.
Members of the Tank's crew had also been hard at work fitting new treads to parts of the tractor bands. Considering the fall the heavy mass had come off lightly, for the injury to the wheels was the only material damage.
Danvers surveyed his command with great satisfaction.
"I'm quite attached to the old bus," he confided to Ralph. "Of course they would have given me another if this one had been properly strafed, but it's simply great to get her into working order again."
"All ready, sir," reported the sergeant. The two officers entered the steel box. The motors were purring gently and rhythmically. Amid the cheers of the excavating squad the Tank moved slowly yet surely up the incline, and, gaining the shell-pitted ground, waddled sedately for her base.
"Now for a few hours' sleep," said Danvers.
Ralph stifled a yarn.
"Yes," he admitted, glancing at his wristwatch. "It's now ten minutes past three—we've done pretty well. At five we start our day's work, and from all accounts it's going to be a hot time."
"Contraryto Setley's surmise the following day passed quietly—if the term can be applied to operations on the Western Front.
"Nothing of consequence to report," was the officialcommuniqué, but throughout the day the British guns thundered upon the Hun defences. The Germans, expecting a renewed assault, were on thorns; they were so badly hustled that they could not be urged to make a counter-attack. Their reserves were not forthcoming owing to the efficient barrage behind the lines.
Meanwhile the British infantry rested, consolidating their ground and relying upon the artillery to pave the way for the assault when the latter did take place. There are limits even to the endurance of a Tommy, and although the men had the spirit to advance their leaders realized that to attain the best results the operations must be thefestina lenteorder.
So with the infantry inactive the Tanks likewise had to "stand off," and Ralph was fortunate in making up arrears of sleep. At three in the afternoon Second-Lieutenant Setley was summoned to the presence of his commanding officer.
"We're having a shuffle round," began the latter without needless preamble. "Six additional Tanks are being sent up from the Base, and some of the men who have had practical experience in action are to be distributed amongst the crews of the new arrivals. That, naturally, causes vacancies in the complements of the Tanks here already. You sent in an application, I see, for two N.C.O.'s of the Wheatshires. The C.O. of the Wheatshires raises no objections, Headquarters approves, and the men are warned to join as soon as possible. I presume you would like to have them with you?"
"Yes, sir," replied Ralph. "At the same time I should be sorry to lose Sergeant Archer. He's a smart, hard-working, conscientious N.C.O.——"
"I know," interrupted the C.O. "You need not have any qualms concerning Sergeant Archer. He is to be sent on promotion to the Ancre. Very well, then; that's settled. Good afternoon."
Ralph saluted, and withdrew, mentally declaring that the brusque C.O. was a thorough sport. Before he had gone a hundred yards he encountered Sergeant Alderhame and Corporal Anderson, who had just reported themselves at Divisional Headquarters.
"You haven't lost much time," was Setley's greeting.
"Rather not," replied Alderhame.
"He was off like greased lightning, sir," added Ginger, "in case they changed their blessed minds. I'm fair bustin' for a joy-ride in one of them Tanks."
"You'll have your wish, then," said Ralph. "We are shifting to-night. That airman you shot, Alderhame, tried to bomb us last night, and the inference is that the Huns had been told of the locality of the Tanks by a spy. So to avoid further risks we were going some four miles away—somewhere between Givenchy and Souchez."
"That means business," said Alderhame. "We heard that our next thrust is to be directed against Lens. My word! I can see us climbing Hill 70 in a Tank."
"Let's 'ope we don't drop down a bloomin' coal-pit," said Ginger. "I've 'eard as 'ow some of 'em are 'arf a mile deep."
As soon as darkness set in the Tank Division, comprising twelve landships and the travelling workshops and store lorries, proceeded to its new destination, making a wide detour well behind the lines. The new site had been carefully selected; piquets were posted to prevent unauthorized persons approaching within four hundred yards and every possible precaution taken to safeguard the mobile fortresses.
"Quite a fine evening for a stroll," remarked Danvers, just as the hour of midnight was approaching.
"Eh? What's the game?" enquired Ralph curiously.
His chum had recently returned from visiting the outlying posts. In ordinary circumstances Danvers would be able to "stand off" until five.
"Merely a whim of mine, I suppose," he replied. "At any rate, I'm going, but, of course, if you——"
"I'm on," agreed Setley, buckling on his belt, to which was attached his revolver-holster. "Where do you propose making for?"
"Along the Givenchy road," announced Danvers. "It's quite quiet. I've a wish to explore a certain spot a little way off the high road. Ready?"
The way was rough in spite of the urgent and ceaseless attentions of the pioneers. Constant motor traffic had cut deep ruts into the soft ground bordering the strip ofpavé. Of the avenue that formerly fringed the road only a few trees were standing. Of the others isolated shell-scarred stumps remained, but for the most part the trees had been bodily uprooted by the titanic blows of bursting explosives. Here and there a dead horse, its stiffened legs sticking up in the air at various angles, showed up in the pale starlight. The Huns had been shelling the wood during the day, and the transport had paid toll. Shattered waggons and limbers, dragged to one side, also bore silent testimony to the work of carnage.
"'Alt!" hissed a voice, and from the shadow of a tottering wall a khaki-clad sentry appeared. The dully glinting tip of his bayonet hovering within an inch or so of Setley's chest brought both officers up with the utmost alacrity. They realized that it was unhealthy to ignore a peremptory order of that description when on active service.
Danvers gave the countersign. The sentry, who belonged to the Tank Section, recovered his rifle.
"All right, sir," he said. "You may pass."
"Everything correct?" enquired Danvers.
"Quite, sir," replied the man.
A quarter of a mile further on the two subalterns struck the main road, along which a constant stream of troops and vehicles were passing.
"Only a few yards of this," remarked Danvers. "We turn off to the left again. See that building—or the remains of one?"
He indicated the gaunt gables of a farmhouse. The roof had entirely disappeared. Not even a rafter remained. The front wall had been blown out, leaving a far-flung mass of debris; the back wall was still standing, although pierced through and through in a dozen places.
"Carefully, now," whispered Danvers. "While I was visiting rounds I spotted someone making for this house. Kept him under observation with my night-glasses. I waited nearly twenty minutes and he didn't show up again. That is in itself suspicious. I would have sent out a piquet, only there was too much risk of the men giving themselves away. It's a task best tackled by us, I imagine. You work round by the right; I'll go to the left. If the fellow is still there, well and good. We'll soon find out his business. If he isn't, we'll wait and see if he returns."
The two officers separated. Keeping close to the ground and taking advantage of a slight natural dip in the untilled field, Ralph approached his objective. Presently he stopped and listened. He could hear a voice either muttering or else expostulating in a sort of jibberish unintelligible jumble.
"Not English, nor French—nor German," declared Setley. "Flemish perhaps, but hardly likely. There's only one man, I should imagine; but why does he carry on in this excited fashion?"
Drawing his revolver, Ralph continued his approach. Cover there was now none. He had to cross twenty yards of open ground before he gained the shadow of one of the gabled walls. In spite of his caution, his boots squelched loudly in the tenacious mud. It seemed impossible that anyone on the alert could help hearing him.
The muttering ceased. Ralph stopped dead. Had the mysterious individual an inkling of danger? For a long-drawn half-minute Setley waited, his feet sinking slowly and surely into the slime. Then the flow of incoherent words was resumed.
Gaining the shelter of a wall, Setley paused. There were no signs of Danvers. He decided to wait until his companion put in an appearance; not that he was unable to tackle the suspect single-handed—there was that predominating factor, his revolver. But, since he wished to take the man alive, he resolved to leave nothing to chance and await assistance.
Peering over the jagged edge of a hole in the brickwork Ralph saw the object of his quest. On the mound of stones that at one time comprised the farmhouse floor lay two scorched beams. On these a door had been placed so as to form a rough table, and spread out upon this was a coloured plan, illuminated by the shaded gleam of a military map-reading lamp.
Bending over the plan was a tall, burly man, dressed in the uniform of a British infantry officer. His face was in darkness, and whether young or middle-aged Ralph was unable to determine.
On the floor by the side of the suspect lay a folded garment—a cloak apparently—and a German army revolver; while to keep the edges of the plan from being disturbed by the wind the man had made use of four clips of cartridges as weights. By the brass material of the clips Ralph knew that they were not British but German.
"Cool cheek," thought Setley. "Quite enough evidence to place him in front of a firing party. He looks a tough customer, too." Presently Danvers crawled up and also took stock of the suspect. The two subalterns glanced at each other meaningly and nodded. Then, bounding swiftly and agilely through the gap in the wall, they threw themselves upon their quarry.
The improvised table flew one way; the spy, in the grip of his assailants, the other. The plan coiled up and rolled across the rough floor until it quivered against a projecting slab of stone. The lamp, still alight, slipped to the ground, its rays directed skywards like a miniature searchlight.
The fellow put up a tough fight. More than once he shook off his attackers, but was unable to regain his feet and follow up the advantage. He fought cleanly. He did not bite or kick—which was remarkable for a Hun—but used his fists with good effect, as Danvers had cause to know.
At length the two chums gained the mastery, although at the end of the struggle they were almost played out.
"Now what's to be done?" gasped Ralph, when the suspect was securely bound—wrists and ankles—by means of handkerchiefs and the man's own revolver lanyard. "If we've got to bring him out of this we'll have trouble. He's a lump of a chap."
"Get a man to mount guard over him until we can fetch the piquet," decided Danvers, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "By Jove! My nose feels as big as a turnip."
"It's certainly swelling some," remarked Setley, surveying his chum's features by the aid of the captured electric lamp. "All right; you stand by and I'll bring a Tommy back to look after the blighter."
In less than twenty minutes Ralph returned, accompanied by a corporal of the Tank section whom he had met on the road.
"I've been trying to question the chap," reported Danvers. "Tried him in German. Perhaps my rendering was so atrocious that he couldn't understand, or else he's sullen. He tried to wriggle while you were away, but he seems to be lashed up tight enough."
"Mount guard over him, corporal," ordered Ralph. "If he tries any of his capers prod him in the stomach with your bayonet. I don't think that would be bringing His Majesty's uniform into contempt. We'll take that revolver and the map with us as evidence."
Leaving the corporal furtively eyeing his charge, like a terrier watching a rat, the two subalterns hurried back to the camp.
Having made their report an armed piquet was sent out, together with a couple of stretcher-bearers, in case the prisoner refused to walk.
"I feel rather 'bucked' over this business," remarked Danvers. "Despite a bang on the proboscis, I am inclined to assert that this night's work hasn't been thrown away. I was——"
A rifle-shot rang out, clearly audible above the rumble of distant guns.
"By Jove!" ejaculated Ralph. "Corporal Rogers has plugged the chap."
"Rather a wide interpretation of your orders, old boy," replied Danvers. "Why didn't he use cold steel?"
With the piquet hurrying at their heels the two officers ran across the intervening stretch of mud and reached the ruins. The spy was still there, very much alive. Over him stood the corporal. An empty cartridge case on the floor and the reek of cordite fumes were silent evidence to the identity of the man who fired the shot.
"All correct here, sir," reported Corporal Rogers. "I heard footsteps, went to the broken window, and saw a bloke sneaking up towards the building. I challenged, and he turned tail. Then I let rip, and he dropped. I'll swear I plugged him, but he made no noise when he fell."
Proceeding in the direction indicated by the corporal, Setley and Danvers found the lifeless body of a man dressed as a French peasant. There was nothing on him to prove his identity. Close by, and evidently dropped as he fell, was a small bag of corn. A couple of yards further away was found a little bottle containing water.
"Jolly fishy," declared Danvers. "Corn and water—too small to be of much use for human consumption. What does it mean?"
Nothing more could be done as far as the slain peasant was concerned. The officers returned to the ruins while the captive was being strapped to the stretcher—a task that took the united efforts of four of the piquet.
"This chap's a spy, that's a dead cert.," continued Danvers. "The other fellow is an accomplice and brings him grub."
"But you said that the quantity was insufficient," protested Ralph. "Your theory doesn't hold good."
"Hanged if it does," admitted Danvers, "It's a regular mystery. No doubt——"
A gentle cooing above their heads caused the men to look up. Flashing the light they discovered that nesting in a niche in the end wall was a birdcage. It must have been placed there since the building was partly demolished by shell-fire.
Standing on another man's shoulder one of the piquet handed down the cage. Within were four carrier pigeons.
"The chain of evidence is complete," declared Danvers. "Bring those birds along—and this one, too," he added, indicating the still struggling prisoner.
"A very good night's work," commented the C.O., when the two subalterns had made their report. "Two birds with one stone, by Jove! All right, carry on; we'll have this gentleman tried by court-martial in the morning."
""Thankyour lucky stars that you fellows aren't in Blighty," was the greeting Setley and Danvers received on the following morning, when they put in an appearance in the building pretentiously styled the Mess.
"What's wrong now?" asked Danvers. "Rotten news in the papers?"
"We were referring to your escapade last night," continued the speaker. "Your efforts are like the padre's egg: good in parts. We don't deny that the fellow who was shot by the sentry was a spy, but the other——"
"What about him?" enquired Ralph impatiently.
"Don't jump down my throat, old chap," was the feigned indignant protest. "That's the secret of the whole business. You simply leap at erroneous conclusions like a bull at a gate. Sometimes the gate goes, sometimes it doesn't, and then the animal is sorry for itself. Do you remember what Gladstone said in 'sixty-eight?"
"Nothing to do with this spy business, I'll swear," interrupted Danvers, seizing his tormentor by the scruff of the neck. "Now, you prevaricating blighter, out with it! What are you hinting at?"
"I was testing your knowledge of political history before enlightening you——"
The young officer had no further opportunity in that direction, for Setley gripped him by the heels and Danvers by the shoulders. Between them they bumped their victim till he yelled for mercy.
"Then straight to the point," declared Danvers, "or we'll strafe you again."
"I was recalling the Prime Minister's immortal quotation in the year of grace eighteen hundred and sixty-eight," gurgled the captive, whereat the bumping process proceeded, until the entry of the senior major restored things to their normal state.
"Yes," he remarked, when Danvers had informed him of the reason for the impromptu "rag." "You fellows have made a mess of part of the business. The man in British uniform is a major of the Coalshires. He is suffering from shell-shock, and is now under the doctor's care. Memory gone, and all that sort of thing. Got out of touch with his battalion and wandered into the ruined farmhouse for shelter. The plan he apparently took from a German prisoner, and although in the major's present mental state it conveys nothing to him it means a lot of precious information to us. It appears to be an accurate and official plan of the system of trenches surrounding the Von der Golz Redoubt and the fortress village of Néancourt."
"That's good, sir," remarked Danvers.
"I agree, and so does the C.O. In any case, the plan will enable the C.O. to communicate accurate information to the Brigade Headquarters, in which event be prepared for the fall of the hitherto impregnable Von der Golz Redoubt."
Outside Ralph encountered Sergeant Alderhame, who was busily engaged in dismantling a machine-gun.
"You might have got me to chip in last night's affair, sir," he said reproachfully.
"Couldn't be helped," replied Setley. "I would have done so, if possible. How do you like your new job?"
"Absolutely top-hole," declared the ex-actor enthusiastically. "I am just pining to have another slap at the Boches, this time inside one of these beauties."
And he indicated the array of landships, now quiescent, like Behemoths resting after a fray.
"You are getting quite vindictive," declared Ralph.
"I came out here with the idea that a German was a human being like ourselves," said Alderhame. "I have altered my opinion since then. Why, only this morning I met one of the Wheatshires back from out there. The wanton damage those brutes did before evacuating some of the villages shows that he is a beast. What puzzles me is that the German Staff isn't afraid of the consequences. They must know they're being beaten. I suppose it's a case of:
"Before the curing of a strange disease,Even in the instant of repair and health,The fit is strongest; evils that take leave,On their departure most of all show evil."
"And I hope you're right," said Ralph. "There seems no doubt that the Huns are getting properly whacked. It'll be a tough job for some time, but they're on the down grade."
"To quote the bard again:
He that stands upon a slippery placeMakes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.
You know, Mr. Setley, since I've been out here I firmly believe that Will Shakespeare must have foreseen this business. How appropriate many of his quotations are! However, quoting Shakespeare won't get this blessed machine-gun re-assembled, so here goes.
Before the day was out persistent rumours passed from man to man that the Great Push was to attain its culminating point—or, at least, a terrific intensity—on the following Monday. The guns had allowed the enemy no rest. On a front of twenty miles tons and tons of shells were being pumped into the Hun lines. It was a bombardment that presaged an infantry advance on a large scale, and that meant that the Tanks were to play a conspicuous part.
On the evening prior to the longed-for day rumour gave place to certainty. The advance was definitely fixed. Come storm or sunshine, mud or dust, the khaki-clad infantry were to go over the top at the hour of five-thirty. Every available Tank was to cooperate; once the positions were won the Tank commanders were to exercise their discretion in pushing on, keeping within the limits and following up the British artillery barrage.
At the final conference, the officers of the Tank Division pored over their maps and listened to elaborate but simply explained instructions from the C.O. The principle objective during the first phase of the advance was the Von der Golz Redoubt. The most practicable means of approach was pointed out—a circuitous route that first meant the occupation of the nest of fortified ruins that at one time formed the village of Néancourt.
"Gain that, gentlemen," concluded the C.O., "and yourraison d'êtreis achieved. Afterwards you can rely upon your own judgment."
Setley, like many others, sat up late that night. There was much to be done on the eve of the battle. He had done it many times before, but there was always the same sort of ritual to be undertaken in case he "went West." The frequency with which he got his personal belongings together, and wrote a farewell letter home, to be forwarded in the event of anything happening, was becoming monotonous. He dreaded the preliminaries, although he knew that the moment the order for advance was received and the Tank set in motion all fears on that score would be flung to the winds and absorbed by the exhilaration of the battle.
The morning broke grey and misty. With the first signs of dawn the infantry stood to arms, clustered as closely as the narrow width of the trenches permitted. Overhead the British shells flew as thick as hail, dropping with admirable precision upon the expanse of tortured earth that recently had been the latest word in the system of German field fortifications. Néancourt village remained fairly intact, as far as observation from the British lines showed, while dominating it was the strongly held Von der Golz Redoubt, formidable in spite of the hammering it had received for the last forty-eight hours.
For good reasons, these two places had not been subjected to a bombardment from H.E. shells. So long as they remained free from the attentions of that sort of missile, the Germans kept their garrisons up to full strength. They held the positions tenaciously, and reckless of loss of life. Since every Hun put out of action meant an irreparable loss to their reserves, it was better for the British to leave a veritable death trap for their foes until the critical moment of the advance than to pulverize the place and thus release German troops for work in more extended positions.
"Those fellows will put up a stiff fight," remarked Danvers, as he walked with Setley towards the waiting Tanks. "Prussian Guard and Bavarian infantry: that's what we have in front of us. I hear that the Saxons and Badeners have been withdrawn. They surrender too freely to please old Hinder-beggar."
"Those blighters are obviously fed-up," agreed Ralph. "Sergeant Alderhame showed me a card he had picked up in a captured dug-out. I have it somewhere—yes, here it is."
He handed Danvers a piece of pasteboard, about four inches by three. On it in German characters was the following:—
"Yield yourself prisoner: any one can who wishes to do so. Clear out of your path those who lead you to the slaughter-house—they alone are your enemies. Think of your dear ones. Do not sacrifice yourselves for princes and the money bags of Prussia. Help yourselves and God will help you.—Hans von Rippach."
"That shows the way the wind blows in the South German principalities," commented Danvers. "Imagine our Tommies passing round a thing like that. Hullo, there's the signal! S'long, old chap, and the best of luck."
Five minutes later the array of Tanks ambled leisurely towards the first-line trenches. Hardly a hostile shell came near them; the few that did were "duds." Not only was the German fire diminished by the British artillery, but the few missiles they did send over were obviously deficient in quality.
Guided by the prearranged signals, the landships made for a part of the British trenches that had already been cleared in order to allow the mastodons to crawl over. As Ralph's Tank ground her way across the deep and narrow trench the subaltern had a momentary glimpse of a close line of steel-helmeted infantry, standing with one foot on the fire-step and with their bayonets fixed, awaiting the shrill blast of the whistles.
Fifty—a hundred yards ahead the Tanks went, greeted by a fierce yet ineffectual fire from scores of machine-guns. Despite the heavy bombardment, the Huns had again managed to keep a large proportion of these deadly weapons intact. Against infantry their scythe-like hail of bullets would be terribly effective. The Tanks, drawing the fire, made it possible for the men to charge without excessive losses.
Straight towards Néancourt village the squadron of landships advanced, but only to a certain point. Then, amid the yells of the exasperated Prussians, who had been hoping that the mammoth steel-clad machines would blunder into a series of pitfalls, the Tanks turned abruptly to the right and parallel to the hostile lines. Thanks to the plan that Danvers and Setley had taken from the supposed spy, the landships were able to attack effectively and without danger of being "bogged."
Within the confined space of the Tank the noise of the motors and rapid bark of the quickfirers and the metallic rattle of the maxims muffled all other sounds from without; yet Ralph caught the sudden roar of the inimitable British cheer as the Tommies swarmed over the top.
It was a case of concentrating all his attention on the enemy. Every hostile machine-gun put out of action meant greater security to the British infantry, and nobly Setley went about his task. Following the Tank next ahead he kept within fifty yards of the enemy lines, the nearest that the Tanks could approach without toppling over into cunningly concealed pitfalls. As hard as the gunners could open and snap to the metal breech-blocks, as rapidly as the maxims could use up their belts of ammunition, the Tank, like her consorts, poured shot and shell into every possible spot that might be a German machine-gun emplacement.
The Huns stood their ground. The terror that had seized them when first they had seen what they took to be supernatural monsters was no longer manifest. They knew what Tanks were, what damage they could do, and that, like other engines of war, they were vulnerable. The fact that a long, deep, covered pit lay between them and the oncoming landships gave them confidence—a confidence that was to be shattered when they realized that somehow the British had learned the secret of the hidden anti-Tank defences.
Again turning abruptly, this time to the left, the array of landships lurched and sidled over the partly flattened-out trench, almost simultaneously with the leading platoon of the charging infantry.
Although the foremost line was thinly held the Huns fought with a desperate and ferocious courage. They were Prussians, steeped in the belief that they are the finest troops in the world, and taught to despise the amateur army that had, Phoenix-like, arisen from the ashes of the "contemptible" little British expeditionary force that, outgunned and outnumbered, ought to have been wiped out by the German legions on the glorious retirement from Mons. Yet it had not. The Prussian military machine had not reckoned upon one thing—the dauntless bravery and stolid tenacity of the individual British soldier.
With bomb, rifle and bayonet, the Huns sought to defend themselves against the irresistible khaki-clad boys. Hardly once was the recreant cry of "Kamerad" raised. In five minutes the British troops were in indisputable possession of the first-line trenches. Here they paused for a well-needed "breather," while the Tanks cleared a path to the outskirts of Néancourt.
Three landships undertook this part of the operations. Others were executing a "turning movement" against the Von der Golz Redoubt. Two were already out of action—one receiving a direct hit from a 5-inch shell, the other toppling over into a concealed pit.
Fierce as had been the struggle for the Hun front trench the fight for Néancourt excelled it in savagery and tenacity. Setley soon had evidences of the desperate courage of the Prussian Guard, for on approaching the barricade at the outskirts of the village scores of Germans boldly quitted shelter and attacked the Tank with bombs. It was a futile, inane act, but characteristic of the temper of the Boches. In a trice the roof of the Tank was swarming with men who endeavoured to find a vulnerable joint in the massive armour. They even rained blows on the muzzles of the quickfirers and tried to jam the tractor-bands by means of crowbars and wedges, while in their mad excitement many were killed and injured by bombs hurled by their compatriots.
Ralph gave orders for the motors to be reversed. With the sudden change of motion the Huns on the roof rolled off like ninepins. Many were caught and crushed under the broad-flanged tractor-bands, others formed an easy mark for machine-guns; while the Tank, shaking herself clear, like a retriever emerging from the water, forged ahead again for the barrier thrown across the street.
It was a formidable obstacle. Trees had been felled so that their trunks—some of which were two feet in diameter—lay athwart the road. Before and behind these were piled sand-bags, stopped with a veritable forest of criss-crossed barbed wire. Between the tree-trunks were two studded-linked steel chains, which had been given plenty of "slack" so that they would "give," to a certain extent, under the initial impact of the assailing Tank. Machine-guns in plenty were behind the barricade; others were showing their snouts through the glazeless windows of the houses, while nearly a thousand picked German troops held the village.
With a dull thud the blunt nose of the Tank encountered the massive obstruction. Ralph had avoided making for the centre of the barricade, and had steered his command towards the right-hand side of the road. The tree-trunks were levered aside under the irresistible pressure of the ponderous mass of moving steel, sand-bags flew in all directions, while the chains, pinned down under the tractor-bands, failed utterly to justify the confidence that the Huns had placed upon them.
Thousands of machine-gun bullets splayed upon the Tank's sides, bombs burst all around her; yet scorning such trivialities the Tank bumped over the debris of the demolished barricade, her guns spitting lead with terrific effect upon the field-grey clad troops.
The first house in the street attracted Setley's attention. Save for a few shell-holes in the walls and that it was roofless the building was otherwise almost intact. From an upper window projected the nozzle of aFlammenwerferapparatus. Although the weapon was not brought into use against the Tank, Ralph guessed that it was being kept inactive for a purpose. Should the British troops force an entrance into the street, the diabolical contrivance would then be brought to bear upon the dense crowd of khaki-clad Tommies.
Setley's command held on as if with the intention of traversing the village street, until with a sharp turn it bore down upon the house in which the liquid-fire party waited to do their barbarous work.
Striking the front wall obliquely the Tank smashed her way into the building. Stones and bricks were flung asunder, beams began to crash from the upper floors. The Huns, uttering yells of terror, either tumbled headlong upon the roof of the Tank and thence rolled off and were crushed between her sides and the tottering brickwork, or else they clung desperately to the remaining walls and beams. The liquid-fire apparatus fell with the men, the cylinder bursting and discharging its contents all over the Tank and the surrounding debris. Had any of the Boches seized the opportunity and applied a light to the inflammable fluid it would have resulted in Ralph and his men being roasted alive in their steel cage; but, fortunately for them, the disaster did not take place.
It had been Ralph's intention to force his Tank completely through the building, but this task was beyond the powers of the motor-propelled fortress. Vainly the tractor-bands revolved, grinding to powder the brick rubble, yet without gaining another inch.
Failing to forge ahead the Tank endeavoured to back out of the blind alley in which she found herself. With the reversing of her motors the landship jerked back a couple of feet or more and then sank perpendicularly for a distance of seven or eight feet, so that its roof projected only a couple of feet above the level of the street.
For a few seconds the sickening thud knocked the stuffing out of the Tank's crew. Used to bumps and jars though they were they had never before experienced the effect of falling with a hideous thud for a vertical distance of nearly three yards. They were in total darkness, for so dense were the clouds of dust and smoke that the daylight was completely obscured.
When the dust had subsided sufficiently to allow the murky light to penetrate, Ralph took stock of the position. Through the gap in the outer wall that the Tank had made he could see a considerable extent of the village street. Crowds of Germans were rushing up to reinforce the men at the partly demolished barricade, from which Ralph concluded that the British infantry had begun to make the attempt to rush the village.
"If only we had a gun able to bear upon that mob, sir," exclaimed Sergeant Alderhame, "we could enfilade the whole crowd."
It was a vain wish, for in falling the muzzles of the quickfirers had been held up by the brickwork, with the result that they had been wrenched from their mountings, while the mound of rubble was a few inches too high to enable the maxims to be depressed sufficiently to bear upon the Huns in the street.
None of the enemy paid any attention to the stranded Tank. Perhaps the imminent danger of the attacking infantry exercised the prior claim. At any rate, the crew of the landship were passive spectators of the combat, unable to bring a gun to bear upon their foes yet in a position to see most of what was taking place at the commencement of the village street.
Despite machine-gun fire and an incessant fusillade of bombs the storming party gained the gap in the barricade. Two companies of different regiments were the first to get to grips with the enemy. One was a Highland battalion, the other was comprised of men of Ralph's old regiment—the redoubtable Wheatshires.
Both the Jocks and the Tommies were yelling furiously. Amid the babel of voices could be heard the ominous shout of "No Quarter!" The men were up against the Prussian Guard, and there were old scores to pay off. Both the Wheatshires and the Highlanders had cause to remember a certain incident earlier in the war, when under pressure of overwhelming numbers the men had to give ground. Every wounded Briton left on the field was mercilessly bombed or bayoneted, and the perpetrators of this cruel and unnecessary act were Huns of the Prussian Guard. No wonder, then, that it was now a case ofte quoque.
Magnificently the khaki-clad men came on. Numbers fell, but still the forward movement was maintained. Up and over they swarmed. Bombs met bombs, bayonet crossed bayonet, rifle-butts descended with sickening thuds on heads. Men badly wounded grappled madly on the ground, regardless of those who trampled on them, their one object being to "do in" their immediate antagonists. Shells from German light field guns were dropping into the pack of friend and foe, till the air rained blood.
In the fury of the fight the combatants were scornful of the dangers. To Ralph, temporarily a mere onlooker, the ghastliness of the whole business was apparent. The hollow mockery of modern civilization stood unmasked. Was it merely to satisfy the insensate craving for glory on the part of that megalomaniac Emperor that millions of Huns and their vassals poured out their blood like water, and more equal numbers of Britons and their Allies freely risked their lives to thwart the sanguinary ambitions of militant Prussianism?
The Kaiser had sown the wind and was now reaping the whirlwind. Whether the present war would be the last, and the sword finally beaten into a ploughshare, still remained to be proved. In calmer moments would the Great Powers grasp the full significance of the devastating and murderous effect of modern war, or is the primeval instinct so deeply rooted in mankind that as long as the world exists international disputes must be settled by the arbitrament of the sword?
The sight of the frenzied mob of hale, active men, most of whom had until a few months before been engaged in eminently peaceful commercial and agricultural pursuits and had been almost entirely ignorant of the use of the rifle, seemed to prove otherwise. Beneath the veneer of civilization the fighting instinct, controlled by centuries of law-governed authority, there still remained the pugnacious instinct. And now, to quote a well-known critic, "the lid of hell was off," with a vengeance.
For a futile ten minutes pandemonium reigned. Mingled with the rattle of machine-guns, the sharp reports of rifle-shots, and the crash of steel, were shouts of vengeful triumph and the cries of the wounded. Through the eddying clouds of dust and smoke tiles and bricks from the shelled houses flew in showers. Occasionally whole buildings would collapse like a pack of cards, burying the German machine gunners in the ruins. Fires, too, were breaking out to add to the horrors of the scene, while with typical indifference the German artillery were dropping shrapnel and gas-shells in the midst of the pack of swaying and struggling combatants.
Beyond the barricade the advance came to a standstill. For a few moments the tide swayed erratically, until the opposing troops were hampered by the dead and wounded. Masses of Germans were hurriedly rushed up through a gap in the otherwise faultless British artillery barrage, and hurled themselves into the fray.
The situation looked critical until a brawny Highlander sprang upon the captured barricade and, holding unsupported a ponderous Lewis gun, pumped in a tray of ammunition over the heads of his comrades. Then, with renewed shouts of "Scotland for Ever!" on the part of the Jocks, and the dogged "Stick it, the Wheatshires!" the British swept forward with an irresistible rush. The majority of the Prussians threw down their arms and fled, to find their retreat cut off by other British battalions, who, assisted by the Tanks, had completed the turning movement. Some of the Huns dashed precipitately to their underground retreats, with parties of British bombers hard at their heels to rout them out of their deep dug-outs.
The fortress village of Néancourt had fallen, but it was a mere incident in the vast field of operations in connection with the Greater Push. Until the Von der Golz Redoubt was in British hands the day's objective could not be considered as achieved.