<h3>THE FIRST BATTLE<span class="totoc"><SPAN href="#toc">ToC</SPAN></span></h3>
<br/>
<p>At dawn the next morning, the tanks were already lined up, sullen and
menacing in the cold half-light. The men shivered in the biting air.
One by one the crews entered the machines, and one by one the little
steel doors closed behind them. The engines throbbed, and they moved
off sluggishly.</p>
<p>Darwin and Talbot, with their orderlies, waited impatiently. The
moments just before an attack are always the hardest. A few batteries
were keeping up a desultory fire. They glanced at their watches.</p>
<p>"Only a minute to go," said Darwin. "I bet the show's put off or
something. Isn't this snow damnably cold, though!"</p>
<p>Suddenly a sixty-pounder in our rear crashed out. Then from all sides
a deafening roar burst forth and the barrage began. As we became
accustomed to the intensity and <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</SPAN></span>ear-splittingness of the sound, the
bark of the eighteen-pounders could be faintly distinguished above the
dull roar of the eight-inches. The sky-line was lit up with thousands
of flashes, large and small, each one showing, for a second, trenches
or trees or houses, and during this tornado we knew that the "Willies"
must have started forward on their errand.</p>
<p>As the barrage lifted and the noise died down a little, the first
streaks of light began to show in the sky, although we could
distinguish nothing. No sign of the infantry or of the tanks could be
seen. But the ominous sound of machine guns and heavy rifle-fire told
us that the Boche was prepared.</p>
<p>We could stand this inactivity no longer. We trudged forward through
the snow, taking the broad bands left by the tracks of the busses as
our guide, the officers leading the way and the orderlies behind in
single file.</p>
<p>"The blighter's starting, himself, now," said Talbot, as a four-two
landed a hundred yards away, and pieces of earth came showering down
on our heads. Then another and another fell, <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</SPAN></span>each closer than the one
before, and instinctively we quickened our steps, for it is difficult
to walk slowly through shell-fire.</p>
<p>The embankment loomed before us, and big splotches of black and yellow
leaped from its surface. The deafening crashes gave us that peculiar
feeling in the stomach which danger alone can produce. We scrambled up
the crumbling, slaggy sides, and found when we reached the top that
the sound of the machine guns had died away, excepting on the extreme
left in front of B——, where the ordinary tap of ones and twos had
developed into a sharp crackle of tens and twenties. By listening
carefully one could feel, rather than hear, the more intermittent
bursts from the rifles.</p>
<p>"There's one, sir," shouted one of the orderlies.</p>
<p>"Where?"</p>
<p>"Half-right and about five hundred yards ahead."</p>
<p>By dint of straining, we discovered a little animal—or so it
looked—crawling forward on the far side of the Hindenburg Line.
Already <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</SPAN></span>it was doing a left incline in accordance with its
instructions, so as to enfilade a communication trench which ran back
to N——. The German observer had spotted her. Here and there, on each
side of her, a column of dirt and snow rose into the air. But the
little animal seemed to bear a charmed life. No harm came to her, and
she went calmly on her way, for all the world like a giant tortoise at
which one vainly throws clods of earth.</p>
<p>As it grows lighter, we can now see others in the distance. One is not
moving—is it out of action? The only motion on the whole landscape is
that of the bursting shells, and the tanks. Over the white snow in
front of the German wire, are dotted little black lumps. Some crawl,
some move a leg or an arm, and some lie quite still. One who has never
seen a modern battle doubtless forms a picture of masses of troops
moving forward in splendid formation, with cheering voices and
gleaming bayonets. This is quite erroneous. To an observer in a post
or in a balloon, no concerted action is visible at all. Here and there
a line or <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</SPAN></span>two of men dash forward and disappear. A single man or a
small group of men wriggle across the ground. That is all.</p>
<p>"Well, they haven't got it in the neck as I supposed," said Darwin.
"Remarkably few lying about. Let's push on."</p>
<p>"All right," Talbot assented. "If you like."</p>
<p>We crawled over the top of the embankment and continued down the side.
About two hundred yards to the left, we saw one of the tanks, with her
nose in the air. A little group of three or four men were digging
around her, frantically. We rushed over to them, and found that the
Old Bird's 'bus had failed to get over a large pit which lay in the
middle of No Man's Land, and was stuck with her tail in the bottom of
the ditch. Here occurred one of those extraordinary instances of luck
which one notices everywhere in a modern battle. The tank had been
there about ten minutes when the German gunners had bracketed on her,
and were dropping five-nines, all of them within a radius of seventy
yards of the tank, and yet no one was hurt. Finally, by dint of
strenuous digging, she <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</SPAN></span>started up and pulled herself wearily out of
the pit.</p>
<div class="fig">><SPAN name="imagep080" id="imagep080"></SPAN> <SPAN href="images/imagep080.jpg"> <ANTIMG border="0" src="images/imagep080.jpg" width-obs="85%" alt="A Tank Halfway over the Top" /></SPAN><br/> <p class="right" style="margin-top: .2em; font-size: 90%;"><i>Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y.</i></p> <p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">A TANK HALFWAY OVER THE TOP AND AWAITING THE ORDER TO ADVANCE IN THE
BATTLE OF MENIN ROAD<span class="totoi"><SPAN href="#toi">ToList</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<p>Suddenly, Darwin shouted:—</p>
<p>"Look here, you fellows! What are these Boches doing?"</p>
<p>Looking up, we saw about forty or fifty Germans stumbling over their
own wire, and running toward us as hard as they could go. For a moment
we thought it was the preliminary step of a counter-attack, but
suddenly we discovered that they carried no arms and were attempting
to run with their hands above their heads. At the same time something
occurred which is always one of the saddest sights in war. One hears a
great deal about the "horrors of war" and the "horrors" of seeing men
killed on either side of one, but at the time there is very little
"horror" to it. One simply doesn't have time to pay any attention to
it all. But the sad part was that the German machine gunners, seeing
their men surrendering, opened a furious fire on them. There they
were, caught from behind, and many of them dropped from the bullets of
their own comrades.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</SPAN></span>Twenty or thirty of them came straight on, rushed up to the pit where
the tank had come to grief, and tumbled down into this refuge.
Evidently, they knew of the British passion for souvenirs, for when
our men surrounded them, the Germans plucked wildly at their own
shoulder straps as if to entreat their captors to take the shoulder
straps instead of anything else!</p>
<p>We gave two or three of the wounded Germans some cigarettes and a
drink of water. They were then told to find their quickest way to the
rear. Like other German prisoners we had seen, they went willingly
enough. German discipline obtains even after a man has been made a
prisoner. He obeys his captors with the same docility with which he
had previously obeyed his own officers. Left to themselves, and
started on the right road, the prisoner will plod along, their
N.C.O.'s saluting the English officers, and inquiring the way to the
concentration camp. When they find it, they usually appear well
pleased.</p>
<p>The Old Bird's tank moved on.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</SPAN></span>"I suppose everything's going all right," said Talbot. "Suppose we
move on and see if we can get some information."</p>
<p>"Yes, or some souvenirs," Darwin replied with a laugh.</p>
<p>We pushed on slowly. Three tanks which had completed their job were
coming back and passed us. A little later we met some fellows who were
slightly wounded and asked them how the battle was going. Every story
was different. The wounded are rarely able to give a correct version
of any engagement, and we saw that no accurate information was to be
gleaned from these men.</p>
<p>We had been out now for an hour and a half and still had no news to
send back to Headquarters. We knew how hard it was for the officers
behind the lines, who had planned the whole show, to sit hour after
hour waiting for news of their troops. The minutes are like hours.</p>
<p>"My God, Darwin, look!" Talbot cried. "Something's happened to her.
She's on fire!"</p>
<p>In the distance we saw one of our tanks stuck in the German wire,
which at that point <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</SPAN></span>was about a hundred yards thick. Smoke was
belching from every porthole. A shell had registered a direct hit,
exploding the petrol, and the tank was on fire. We dashed forward
toward her.</p>
<p>A German machine gun rattled viciously. They had seen us. An instant
later, the bullets were spattering around us, and we dropped flat. One
man slumped heavily and lay quite still. By inches we crawled forward,
nearer and nearer to the blazing monster. Another machine gun snarled
at us, and we slid into a shell-hole for protection. Then, after a
moment's breathing space, we popped out and tried to rush again.
Another man stopped a bullet.</p>
<p>It was suicide to go farther. Into another shell-hole we fell, and
thought things over. We decided to send a message, giving roughly the
news that the Hindenburg Line and N—— had been taken. An orderly was
given a message. He crawled out of the shell-hole, ran a few steps,
dropped flat, wriggled along across the snow, sprang to his feet, ran
another few steps, and so on until we lost sight of him.</p>
<p>A moment or two later we started across the <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</SPAN></span>snow in a direction
parallel with the lines. Behind an embankment we came across a little
group of Australians at an impromptu dressing-station. Some of them
were wounded and the others were binding up their wounds. We watched
them for a while and started on again. We had gone about fifty yards
when a shell screeched overhead. We turned and saw it land in the
middle of the group we had just left. Another shell burst close to us
and huge clods of earth struck us in the face and in the stomach,
knocking us flat and blinding us for the moment. A splinter struck
Talbot on his tin hat, grazing his skin. Behind us one of the
orderlies screamed and we rushed back to him. He had been hit below
the knee and his leg was nearly severed. We tied him up and managed to
get him back to the Australian aid-post. Two of the original four
stretcher-bearers had been blown up a few minutes before. But the
remaining two were carrying on with their work as though nothing had
happened. Here he was bandaged and started on his way for the
dressing-station.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</SPAN></span>Far across the snow, we saw three more tanks plodding back toward the
rear. Little by little, we gained ground until we reached a more
sheltered area where we could make greater speed. We were feverishly
anxious to know the fate of the crew of the burning tank. "Whose tank
was it?" was on every tongue. We met other wounded men being helped
back; those with leg wounds were being supported by others less
seriously wounded. They could tell us nothing. They had been with the
infantry and only knew that two tanks were right on the other side of
the village.</p>
<p>A moment or two later, Talbot started running toward two men, one of
whom was supporting the other. The wounded man proved to be the
Sergeant of the tank we had seen on fire. We hurried up to him. He was
hurt in the leg. So, instead of firing questions at him, we kept quiet
and accompanied him back to the dressing-station.</p>
<p>Later we heard the tragic news that it was Gould's tank that had
burned up. None of us talked much about it. It did not seem real.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</SPAN></span>They had got stuck in the German wire. A crump had hit them and fired
the petrol tank. That was the end. Two men, the Sergeant and another,
escaped from the tank. The others perished with it. We tried to
comfort each other by repeated assurances that they must all have lost
consciousness quickly from the fumes of the petrol before they
suffered from fire. But it was small consolation. Every one had liked
Gould and every one would miss him.</p>
<p>We waited at Brigade Headquarters for the others to return. A Tank
Commander from another Company was brought in, badly wounded and
looking ghastly, but joking with every one, as they carried him along
on a stretcher. His tank had been knocked out and they had saved their
guns and gone on with the infantry. He had been the last to leave the
tank, and as he had stepped out to the ground, a shell exploded
directly beneath him, taking off both of his legs below the knee.</p>
<p>The last of the tanks waddled wearily in and the work of checking-up
began. All were accounted for but two. Their fate still remains <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</SPAN></span>a
secret. Our theory was that they had gone too far ahead and had
entered the village in back of the German lines; that the infantry had
not been able to keep up with them, and that they had been captured.
Two or three days afterwards an airman told us that he had seen, on
the day of the battle, two tanks far ahead of the infantry and that
they appeared to be stranded. Weeks later we attacked at the point
where the tanks had been, and on some German prisoners whom we took,
we found several photographs of these identical tanks. Then one day,
when we had stopped wondering about them, a Sergeant in our Company
received a letter from one of the crew of the missing machines, saying
that he was a prisoner in Germany. But of the officers we have never
heard to this day.</p>
<p>We sat around wearily, waiting for the motor lorries which were to
take some of us back to B——. Years seemed to have been crowded into
the hours that had elapsed. Talbot glanced at his watch. It was still
only eight o'clock in the morning. Again he experienced the <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</SPAN></span>feeling
of incredulity that comes to one who has had much happen in the hours
between dawn and early morning and who discovers that the day has but
just begun. He had thought it must be three o'clock in the afternoon,
at least.</p>
<p>The lorries arrived eventually, and took those who had no tanks, back
to B——. The others brought the "Willies" in by the evening.</p>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<SPAN name="VII" id="VII"></SPAN><hr />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</SPAN></span><br/>
<h2>VII</h2>
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