Andrew Wareham - The Death of Hope

Vokes came at the run, alerted by the edge in Richard’s voice.

“Take your two companies and A and B and set up a perimeter to the left. The flank is wide open at the moment. Use communications trenches for a starter. Bring wire up. We are under orders to take the bunkers to our front. I will not move until our flank is secure.”

Vokes nodded and ran.

“Runner!”

A boy appeared, carrying his Lee Enfield.

“Leave the rifle here. I need you to run hard.” Richard scrawled a message to Braithwaite. “If you lose the message, the verbal is that we need artillery on the bunkers. They cannot be taken without support.”

“Yes, sir.”

The boy ran, skipping across the old no man’s land. Richard wondered just how old he was. His voice was broken; if he thought he was eighteen there could be no argument.

He was called across to C Company, Captain Holmes at the lip of the trench, peering out.

“In front of the third bunker, sir. There is a wiring party just visible to us. A dip in the ground uncovering them, do you see?”

Possibly four hundred yards distant. Difficult for accuracy.

“All of your men up, Holmes. Ten rounds aimed fire.”

A minute and there were thirty rifles at the aim and Holmes called the command.

Richard watched through his glasses, saw tiny figures dropping, being spun around by bullet strikes.

“Take cover!”

C Company slipped to the bottom of the trench as machine guns opened up, crossing the lip, making it untenable.

“No losses, sir.”

“Good. I saw the whole party going down, a dozen hit at least.”

There was a loud explosion from the front.

“Artillery?”

“Not ours, sir.”

Holmes risked raising his head, saw a cloud of smoke at the location of one of the small guns.

“Ready use going up, sir. Might be Michaels again.”

Half an hour and Richard heard yelling from along the line, could not pick out the words. A few minutes and Michaels appeared with two of his riflemen.

“Lost Brown Two and Carmody, sir. Destroyed two bunkers, some ammunition and one gun, two pounder pompom, thereabouts, sir.”

“Well done, Mr Michaels. Get some tea and write a report before you rejoin your company, sir.”

The youth saluted and marched off to the rear.

“That is worth something, Hawkeswill. A brave lad.”

“He has too much to prove, sir. He knows what Draper was as well as we do.”

“So he does. I shall write him up for the MC at least. Can you ask Caton to send me the names of the two surviving riflemen as well?”

“Will do, sir.”

The runner returned with Braithwaite’s reply.

“No artillery to hand. Cavalry brigade will not release RHA in case of breakthrough elsewhere. Is night attack possible?”

Richard wrote his answer – heavy wire in front of the bunkers made attack impossible without artillery.

An hour and there was sudden activity to the left, the battalion there mounting a push to close the open flank. Richard ran across to Major Vokes.

“Can we support them? Who is it, do you know?”

“One of the London battalions. Dozens of them, it seems, volunteers from August ’14 with officers from the various TA and Volunteer companies. Most of them are good. One or two are badly led, according to the whisper.”

Vokes was old Army, could talk with his compeers, was part of the network of pre-war officers. The word did not reach Richard, always came to Vokes, knowing as he did the bulk of established officers of his rank.

“What do you know of that lot?”

“Not a word, sir. Indicative in itself. Wouldn’t mind betting that their brigadier has been on the scene this morning, has superseded the colonel, sent him back, replaced him with a man with some fire in his belly.”

“Support them as we can, Vokes.”

They were able to fire across the face of the advancing battalion, did some good in suppressing the machine guns.

“They have found gaps in the wire, sir. The ones that were said not to exist this morning. Into the first line.”

“Good. Bring your companies up to our front, Vokes. The flank should be secure now. See if you can get men into the second line from our side.”

An hour and the line was secured, the dogleg gone and a gain of almost a quarter of mile in places.

Captain Hawkeswill was less than enthused.

“How far is Berlin from here, sir?”

“No idea! Five hundred miles?”

“Two thousand more advances like this and we will get there, sir.”

“Don’t count how many casualties that will be, Hawkeswill. I doubt I could stand it. Have we been able to get an idea of the wire around the bunkers?”

“A full thirty yard apron, sir, where we can see it clearly. The new German lines are a little higher than ours, so we can’t see too much.”

“Pass the word to dig in. We do not expect to move from here.”

There was an engine noise, an aeroplane coming towards them, low.

“Don’t shoot! It’s one of ours!”

It was a two-seater, a figure in the front cockpit standing up and throwing something over the side, a long streamer dangling from it.

“Bring that in!”

A cleaned out bully beef can with a lid tied on and a brick underneath to weight it, disclosed a written message. Hawkeswill pored over the handwriting, penned in a bouncing cockpit.

“’Mass of infantry to your northeast. Estimate six battalions. Field guns. Aligning for attack.’ That could be dodgy, sir.”

“Issue all Mills Bombs. Bring up our contingency stocks of three-o-three and issue them all. Parties to the rear to grab any of our wire they can move and throw it out to our front. German wire as well. Just in rough entanglements, don’t worry about setting it properly. All walking wounded who can use a rifle to take post. Lewis Gunners to ensure that all expended pans are filled. ‘Major O’Grady!”

The Sergeant Major came at the run, glanced at the message Richard held out to him.

“Sure, and it’s busy chaps we shall be, sir.”

“So we shall, ‘Major. Make a rum issue, if you would be so good.”

In theory, the battalion did not carry stocks of rum. Spirits were brought up from the rear immediately before issue.

“Some will have to have gin, sir. Schnapps, to be more precise.”

“Just as long as they all have something, ‘Major.”

An unexpected, generous-handed issue would do morale a lot of good.

“I shall order them to eat as well, sir. No more than bully and biscuit with tea, being all that we have to hand. It will make them feel the better.”

Something would need to.

Richard sent his runner across to the left, to inform the battalion there that a push was advancing towards the Bedfordshires, would inevitably spill out onto their flank.

A single eighteen pounder battery began to fire probing shells out ahead, presumably guided by a spotter of some sort, possibly the aeroplane that had given them the warning. They suddenly fell into rapid fire, five guns pumping out two shells each a minute, the maximum allowed because of the shortage of ammunition.

“Could use the bloody RHA now, sir.”

“Cavalry won’t release them, Hawkeswill. Say they are to remain in reserve in case of a breakthrough.”

“There will never be a breakthrough, sir. Not that can be exploited by horse.”

“I know that. You know that. Tell it to the generals.”

“Hopeless, sir. Will we ever get generals appointed by ability?”

Blasphemous words from an old salt like Hawkeswill, a man who had spent twenty years training his brain not to think.

“Dear me, Mr Hawkeswill! They are appointed by ability! Their ability to sit on a horse is unmatched and they can parade better than any soldiers ever known. Add to that French is a true expert at fawning to Royalty while Haig knows all about bribing politicians. What more can we demand of our leaders?”