Andrew Wareham: End to Illusion

They looked thoughtful.

“Do we take the Lewises out on raids, sir?”

“Provided you bring them back again, you may. Treat them with care – they are the most valuable of weapons. A full pan from a Lewis will do much to clear a trench to your front – I like the gun!”

They laughed dutifully, presuming that Richard had made a joke.

“Finally, gentlemen, do remember that trench raids are made for the purpose of gaining intelligence. Bring back prisoners. Strip badges from the dead, for identification. Grab maps and papers from officers’ dugouts. If you can, get hold of a rifle or two or other light weapon so that our Ordnance people can examine them for the latest improvements. If you can lay hands on their automatic pistols, do so – they are handy little beasts to tuck away in your own pockets, if you are any shot with a pistol. I am not, so I have never bothered with them. If it can be arranged, there will be demolition charges to hand. Stuff them into every bunker and dugout and machinegun pit and you will leave them with days of digging to make all correct again. Last of all – our men are green as grass! Encourage them to kill the Hun. They will find it hard first time and the sooner they are habituated to bloodshed, the better soldiers they will become. Take surrenders if they are offered; try to kill the Hun before he can put his hands up. If our men hesitate to pull the trigger, they may be killed themselves. They must be made into unblinking killers, melodramatic as that may sound!”

Richard hoped the repetition of the word ‘kill’ might have a positive effect – he was none too sure that some of the officers might not think about what they were doing in a fight when they should simply react.

The officers filed out of Richard’s dugout in the second line, leaving him in company with Vokes.

“Will they do it, Major? You have been at the sharp end on the Frontier, know what I am talking about.”

“You are right, sir. I have seen three young subalterns in my time to die unnecessarily because they could not bring themselves to kill the man in front of them. It is not easy for most soldiers, simply and casually to kill an unknown for being in the wrong place with a rifle in his hand. They have to habituate themselves to bloodletting. You have your own knowledge of that, I must imagine, sir.”

Richard shook his head.

“I was fortunate with the first Hun I killed, Major. He was running at me with a bayonet and I had only a revolver. I knew damned well that if I did not kill him before he had covered the twenty paces separating us, I was going to get a belly full of sharp steel. It took me six rounds – I am not a good shot with a pistol – but I had no doubts about what I was doing!”

“Same here, sir. I was a captain and had never seen a bullet fired in anger and then there was a bloody great hairy Pathan coming at me with a knife a foot long. I am a good shot with a service revolver and I put a cluster of three centrally in his chest, and was more than happy to have done so. Broke the ice most effectively! After that, I had no problems with pulling a trigger.”

“Nor me. I fear sometimes that I find it only too easy.”

“And me, sir! It becomes tempting to resort to the gun first, argument later. Keeping peace in the cities in India I sometimes had to restrain myself from opening fire unnecessarily simply because it would have been easier than arguing. I have talked with men who had duty in Ireland and they have said the same. Teach a soldier that it is his job to kill people and then put him on the streets and tell him he is to keep the peace? Daft if you ask me, sir!”

“Not a problem facing us just now. Who should I go out with first? Which of them needs to be more worried about the fire-breathing Colonel than the fearsome Hun?”

“Draper, I do not doubt. He talked a little too much, showed just a fraction twitchy, to my mind. Too much imagination, I suspect. Get his hands bloody – dip his toe in the water, one might say – and he will have no problems. He might just need a little stimulus, in the form of that notorious shedder of blood, Colonel Baker, VC, standing at his shoulder.”

“‘Notorious’?”

“Don’t be indignant, sir – the men have heard no end of tales of you. I have been told how excited they were when you appeared as their colonel. More than one has said he read of you in the papers last year and downed tools and walked into the recruiting office to follow your example. We censor the letters home, as you know, sir. We have all read the men telling their families of how you have come to lead them to glory. You have a deal to live up to, sir, and eight hundred men who will fight better for hoping you might notice them and praise their efforts.”

“Yet it all came about by accident, you know, Vokes.”

The Major laughed.

“When does it not, sir? They say that Nelson actively sought glory – he was a rarity. Most of us go out to do our duty and then find ourselves having to do more simply to finish the day’s work. These raids will turn the battalion into a fighting unit. At the moment they are a well trained bunch of amateurs. Now, you are to apply the finishing touches that will make them professionals. No doubt you will be seen at their head, simply to get the job done. So will I.”

Richard joined his laughter.

“So I shall, Vokes. Let us get about winning this war single-handed, shall we?”

Copyright © 2020 Andrew Wareham

KINDLE Edition

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