The Red Horizon Part 15

"I want two volunteers," he said.

"For what?" I asked him.

"I don't know," was the answer, "they've got to report immediately to Headquarters."

Stoner and I volunteered. The Headquarters, a large dug-out roofed with many sandbags piled high over heavy wooden beams, was situated on the fringe of the communication trench five hundred yards away from the Keep. We took up our post in an adjacent dug-out and waited for orders. Over our roof the German sh.e.l.ls whizzed incessantly and tore up the brick path. Suddenly we heard a crash, an ear-splitting explosion from the fire line.

"What's that?" asked Stoner. "Will it be a mine blown up?"

"Perhaps it is," I ventured. "I wish they'd stop the sh.e.l.ling, suppose one of these sh.e.l.ls. .h.i.t our dug-out."

"It would be all U.P. with us," said Stoner, trying to roll a (p. 161) cigarette and failing hopelessly. "Confound it," he said, "I'm all a bunch of nerves, I didn't sleep last night and very little the night before."

His eyebrows were drawn tight together and wrinkles were forming between his eyes; the old sparkle was almost entirely gone from them.

"Mervin," he said, "and the other two, the bloke with his side blown away. It's terrible."

"Try and have a sleep," I said, "n.o.body seems to need us yet."

He lay down on the empty sandbags which littered the floor, and presently he was asleep. I tried to read Montaigne, but could not, the words seemed to be running up and down over the page; the firing seemed to have doubled in intensity, and the sh.e.l.ls swept low almost touching the roof of the dug-out.

"Orderly!"

I stumbled out into the open, and a sharp penetrating rain, and made my way to the Headquarters. The adjutant was inside at the telephone speaking to the firing line.

"h.e.l.lo! that the Irish?" he said. "Anything to report? The mine has done no damage? No, fifteen yards back, lucky! Only three casualties (p. 162) so far."

The adjutant turned to an orderly officer: "The mine exploded fifteen yards in front, three wounded. Are you the orderly?" he asked, turning to me.

"Yes, sir."

"Find out where the sergeant-major is and ask him if to-morrow's rations have come in yet."

"Where is the sergeant-major?" I asked.

"I'm not sure where he stays," said the adjutant. "Enquire at the Keep."

The trench was wet and s...o...b..ry, every hole was a pitfall to trap the unwary; boulders and sandbags which had fallen in waited to trip the careless foot. I met a party of soldiers, a corporal at their head.

"This the way to the firing line?" he asked.

"You're coming from it!" I told him.

"That's done it!" he muttered. "We've gone astray, there's some fun up there!"

"A mine blown up?" I asked.

"'Twas a blow up," was the answer. "It almost deafened us, someone must have copped it. What's the way back?"

"Go past Gunner Siding and Marie Redoubt, then touch left and (p. 163) you'll get through."

"G.o.d! it's some rain," he said. "Ta, ta."

"Ta, ta, old man."

I turned into the trench leading to the Keep. The rain was pelting with a merciless vigour, and loose earth was falling from the sides to the floor of the trench. A star-light flared up and threw a brilliant light on the entrance of the Keep as I came up. The place bristled with brilliant steel, half a dozen men stood there with fixed bayonets, the water dripping from their caps on to their equipment.

"Halt! who goes there!" Pryor yelled out, raising his bayonet to the "on guard" position.

"A friend," I replied. "What's wrong here?"

"Oh, it's Pat," Pryor answered. "Did you not hear it?" he continued, "the Germans have broken through and there'll be fun. The whole Keep is manned ready."

"Is the pantomime parapet manned?" I asked. I alluded to the flat roof of the stable in which our Section slept. It had been damaged by sh.e.l.l fire, and was holed in several places, a sandbag parapet with (p. 164) loop-holes opened out on the enemy's front.

"Kore, Bill, Goliath, they're all up there," said Pryor, "and the place is getting sh.e.l.led too, in the last five minutes twenty sh.e.l.ls have missed the place, just missed it."

"Where does the sergeant-major stick?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know, not here I think."

The courtyard was tense with excitement. Half a dozen new soldiers were called to take up posts on the parapet, and they were rus.h.i.+ng to the crazy stairs which led to the roof. On their way they overturned a brazier and showers of fine sparks rioted into the air. By the flare it was possible to see the rain falling slanting to the ground in fine lines that glistened in the flickering light. Sh.e.l.ls were bursting overhead, flas.h.i.+ng out into spiteful red and white stars of flame, and hurling their bullets to the ground beneath. Sh.e.l.l splinters flew over the courtyard humming like bees and seeming to fall everywhere. What a miracle that anybody could escape them!

I met our platoon sergeant at the foot of the stairs.

"Where does the sergeant-major hold out?"

"Down at Givenchy somewhere," he told me. "The Germans have broken (p. 165) through," he said. "It looks as if we're in for a rough night."

"It will be interesting," I replied, "I haven't seen a German yet."

Over the parapet a round head, black amidst a line of bayonets appeared, and a voice called down, "Sergeant!"

"Right oh!" said the sergeant, and rushed upstairs. At that moment a sh.e.l.l struck a wall at the back somewhere, and pieces of brick whizzed into the courtyard and clattered down the stair. When the row subsided Kore was helped down, his face bleeding and an ugly gash showing above his left eye.

"Much hurt, old man?" I asked.

"Not a blighty, I'm afraid," he answered.

A "blighty" is a much desired wound; one that sends a soldier back to England. A man with a "blighty" is a much envied person. Kore was followed by another fellow struck in the leg, and drawing himself wearily along. He a.s.sured us that he wasn't hurt much, but now and again he groaned with pain.

"Get into the dug-outs," the sergeant told them. "In the morning you can go to the village, to-night it's too dangerous."

About midnight I went out on the brick pathway, the way we had (p. 166) come up a few nights earlier. I should have taken Stoner with me, but he slept and I did not like to waken him. The enemy's sh.e.l.ls were flying overhead, one following fast on another, all bursting in the brick path and the village. I could see the bright hard light of shrapnel sh.e.l.ls exploding in the air, and the signal-red flash of concussion sh.e.l.ls bursting ahead. Splinters flew back buzzing like angry bees about my ears. I would have given a lot to be back with Stoner in the dug-out; it was a good strong structure, shrapnel and bullet proof, only a concussion sh.e.l.l falling on top would work him any harm.

The rain still fell and the moon--there was a bit of it somewhere--never showed itself through the close-packed clouds. For a while I struggled bravely to keep to the tight-rope path, but it was useless, I fell over first one side, then the other. Eventually I kept clear of it, and walked in the slush of the field. Half way along a newly dug trench, some three feet in depth, ran across my road; an attack was feared at dawn, and a first line of reserves were in occupation. I stumbled upon the men. They were sitting well down, their heads lower than the parapet, and all seemed to be smoking if I could form (p. 167) judgment by the line of little glow-worm fires, the lighted cigarette ends that extended out on either hand. Somebody was humming a music-hall song, while two or three of his mates helped him with the chorus.

"Halt! who goes there?"