1918 We will remember them (17 page)

I opened fire at a hundred yards and, as I swept in from their flank, kept firing.  Hopefully I would hit something. I felt the wind from the Fokker, which had to pull its nose up to avoid a collision with me. I was so close I could see where the painter had missed a bit. The pilot then had to swerve to avoid a head on collision with a colleague.

I heard the sound of multiple Spandaus. Looking to my right I saw Johnny swerving from side to side as he tried to throw off the aim of the two triplanes which were on his tail.  I banked to starboard and fired as I did so.  I hit one in the tail and it banked to port.  As my nose came around the tail of the Fokker appeared just feet before me.  I pulled the trigger and braced myself for the impact of the crash. I was so close that I severed the tail and the nose heavy Fokker fell.  Johnny waved and banked to port.

The sense of relief I had was short lived as I felt the judder of parabellums in my tail.  I tried to bank to starboard but the controls were sluggish. From my left came a double judder and bullets poured into my engine. I dipped the nose.  I had to get down as quickly as possible.  As I looked in my mirror I saw five Fokkers lining up to hit me. I tried to jink from side to side and up and down but I was so sluggish that I was hit more than missed. As the propeller stopped smoke began to pour from my engine. I fought to keep her level but it was hard.  The ground was racing towards me and still my Camel took the punishment from the Fokkers.  I was paying the price for spoiling their party.

As I raced towards the British lines I found that the Camel wanted to turn right. Ahead of me I saw a burnt out farmhouse and a half shredded barn with the remnants of a hedgerow between.  I was so close to the ground that the Germans were forced to pull up and the deadly punishment ceased. I had almost no control but I knew that if I let go of the stick then I was dead and I had to hang on as long as possible. I saw the barn looming up and knew that I was going to hit it. I braced myself.  Perhaps the Camel tried to save me for, at the last minute it veered to port a little and I hit what had been the door.  The wings were torn off and then the undercarriage hit something and I was flung into the air.  My seat belt had given way. I thudded into the far wall of the barn and then all went black.

When I came to I could smell burning.  I saw that the Camel was smouldering. I tried to struggle to my feet but my left leg would not bear the weight.  Suddenly a sheet of flame leapt up as something inflammable caught fire.  I dived and rolled out of the opening my bus had made.  The ground fell away sharply and that saved my life as my Camel and the barn erupted in a huge sheet of fire.  The concussion of the explosion made it hard to breathe. I rolled further down the bank and found myself nestling in a ditch close to some shredded bushes. The pall of smoke from the fire rose high in the sky.  I daresay pilots on both sides would be reporting my death- again!

I forced myself into an upright position and took stock. I always kept certain items in the flying coat: whisky flask, compass, three bandages, spare ammunition for the Luger and the Webley, a spare pipe and some tobacco. Thanks to Bates I also had a flask of soup.  Miraculously it had survived. My first task was to ascertain my wound. I rolled my left trouser leg up.  It was easy as it was split along its length. I saw blood oozing from the wound which was there. The fact that it was oozing and not spurting told me it was not an artery. There was some rain water in the bottom of the ditch.  I fished some out in my goggles and then soaked my scarf.  I sponged away the blood.  I was intrigued as to what I would find beneath the blood. A long, thick splinter of wood from the barn wall had been forced into my shin, calf muscle and, from the pain, into my knee. As I sponged away the blood I felt shivers of pain in my left knee each time I touched it.  It did not fill me with confidence.

I started to pull the splinter out. I nearly passed out with the pain. That was no good.  I took out my jack knife and poured a little whisky on the blade to sterilise it.  I also took a mouthful of the whisky; I felt I had earned it. The warming malt made me feel better. I took the knife, which Bates kept sharp for me, and I slowly cut up the skin which covered the splinter. Luckily it was not in too deep and I did not have to cut very far. When I reached the top of the calf I stopped.  There was little point in hamstringing myself. I tried to pull the splinter out again. It was less painful but the offending piece of wood was reluctant to come out. I was about to give up when one last tug brought it free. The blood began to flow freely and I jammed the soaked scarf next to it to stem the flow.

I put the splinter to one side and had another sip of whisky. I wiped the wound with the scarf and then dripped the whisky over the wound.  The pain was excruciating but I gritted my teeth.  I had to clean the wound. Holding the flask in my teeth I bandaged myself. I had three such dressings and I knew that I would have to replace it some time.

That done I put the top back in the flask and slipped it into my pocket. I drank half of the soup and felt better.  I also felt sleepy and knew that was the last thing I should do.  I was in No Man’s Land. My best chance of reaching the British lines was to do so in daylight.  At night twitchy sentries would be more likely to shoot first and ask questions later. The barn was still burning. I picked up the splinter.  It was a sizeable piece of wood but when I looked at it I saw that the end had broken off.  I still had a piece of wood in my leg.  I touched my knee and it was tender to the touch. I now knew where the broken splinter resided.

I fished out the compass and worked out where our lines were. That done, I checked that both my pistols were loaded and in working order. I jammed my goggles and my helmet in one of the pockets in my coat. Using the stumps of the trees I pulled myself up. I tried to put weight on my left leg and I nearly passed out with the pain. I rested against the broken hedge and looked around. The Camel had burnt and I could not see anything which I could use as a crutch or a stick. I saw that, not ten yards away was a brown uniform. It was a body. I hoped along the ditch until I reached it. I held on to the hedge with my right hand while I pulled up the body by the webbing. It came away really easily and I saw, to my horror that it was just the top half of a body. I laid it gently on the bank. It was a young soldier.  He only looked about eighteen although his body was decomposing and it was hard to tell. I saw that, in the water at the bottom of the ditch, there was his rifle.  I prayed that it was whole. I reached down to pull it out.  I caught my left knee and I was convulsed with paroxysms of pain.  I persevered and pulled out the rifle.  It was whole. I ejected the bullet that was in the spout.  I was in enough trouble without shooting my own foot off.

I put the rifle, barrel down and tried to take my weight on it. The muddy bank made it sink a little but it held.  I was about to start to move west when I stopped. I turned to the young dead soldier and removed his identity tags as carefully as I could.  If I made it home then here would be one soldier who would not be missing in action. I saw that he was Private John Lane of the 1
st
Battalion 6
th
Gordon Highlanders. I remembered that they had taken part in the Battle of Cambrai. He and Bert might have died on the same day. Pocketing the tags I began to limp west.

The ditch was too wet and I forced myself to climb the bank. It was not easy and I was bathed in sweat when I reached the top. The fierce fire had almost burned out but the smoke hid me from the Germans. They had not come to investigate.  The conflagration must have convinced them that I was dead.

I prayed that the soldiers ahead would not be trigger happy. I saw that there were lines of barbed wire before me but I also knew that they would not be continuous.  The men who laid them left gaps so that they could make forays at night.  It was another reason why I had to move in daylight. I needed to see where the gaps where. I began to move down one line of wire. After sixty yards I found a small gap and slipped through. It was now a lottery.  I chose left.  Thirty yards later I found another gap and so it went. I could see the British lines or at least sandbags which indicated a defended position. It was more than three hundred yards away.  I glanced at the sun.  I had less than two hours daylight left.  It had taken me an hour to move fifty yards to the west.  I had travelled more than two hundred yards but that was up and down the wire. I had travelled further north and south than west.

An hour later and I stopped.  I was exhausted and my leg was in agony. I took out my flask and drank some. I could feel blood dripping down my leg but I dare not stop to repair the dressing.  Darkness was falling and I dreaded being shot by my own men. I realised that I had walked over a hundred yards and found no gap. Perhaps there were no more gaps.  How would I get across?

Suddenly I heard, “Halt or I fire.  Put up your hands! Hands Hoch, Fritz!”

I held up my right arm.

“Both of them or I will shoot.”

“I am Major William Harsker of the Royal Flying Corps and I need my left hand to hold the rifle I am using as a crutch.”

There was silence. Then another voice said, “Stay there and don’t move.”

Four heads peered over the top of the trench and the four soldiers ran towards me. They halted just ten yards away and I saw then that there was a removable piece of barbed wire.

One of the soldiers said, “It is him sarge I recognise him.” The young soldier grinned at me. “You are Bert’s brother. I met you in Amiens.”

“Right Radcliffe let’s leave the pleasantries until we get the officer back.  Give him a hand.”

One took the rifle and the soldier called Radcliffe put his arm around my back and took the weight off my injured leg. Another soldier did the same on the right. It was such a relief when I did not have to move myself.

“How is Bert? I haven’t seen him since I transferred.”

“He was killed at Cambrai.”

“I am sorry.  He was a good bloke.”

They lowered me into the trench and the sergeant shouted, “Stretcher bearer!” He offered me a cigarette but I shook my head. “Were you in that aeroplane that crashed?” I nodded, “We thought you were a goner.  You were bloody lucky, sir.”

“I know. Believe me, sergeant, I know.”

I filled my pipe as we waited for the stretcher bearers. Two cheerful young men arrived.  They looked at me in surprise.  “Blooming heck! A flier!” He looked to the heavens.  “Did you just drop from the skies sir?”

The sergeant shook his head, “This is what we are down to sir.  Dozy buggers like this. Get this wounded officer to the first aid station and be bloody quick about it.  He is wounded.” He nodded to me, “And in case you hadn’t noticed he has a VC so this a hero.” The sergeant saluted, “Proud to have been able to help sir.”

I nodded, “Thank your lads for me eh, Sarn’t.” As they began to lift me I remembered the identity tags. “I found these on a soldier out there.  His family should know.”

“Thank you, sir.  You can leave them safely with me.”

The two young men were strong and they jogged down the trenches.  I saw why it had taken them so long. They twisted and turned every few yards. Finally we reached a dugout where a white coated doctor waited for me.

“Now then Major, what have we done?”

I pointed to my knee which now hurt far worse than when I had been hobbling. I could see that it was swelling, almost while I watched. “I had a splinter in my leg.  I got it out and bandaged it but...”

He frowned and rolled up my trouser leg. He cut away the bandage and sniffed.  He chuckled, “Good use of antiseptic Major.  I take it you took some internally too?”

I nodded, “It seemed to help.”

He quickly swabbed my leg and then applied a bandage far tighter than I had done I winced with the pain. “You need a major hospital for this.  I do not intend to go poking around in the trenches.  I could do more harm than good. Orderlies.”The two soldiers reappeared.  “Get this officer to the base hospital at Amiens and be quick about it.” He looked at me as they loaded me on the stretcher. “I have a feeling, major, that your war is over now.”

My heart sank.  I had to be there at the end.  Who would lead my boys if I were not there?

The doctor had given me a draught to drink. As the ambulance headed west I slowly drifted off into sleep. When I awoke I was in a bed with clean sheets and a smiling nurse peering over me. “Ah you are awake, Major Harsker.”

“Where am I?”

“Well at the moment you are in Amiens but within the hour we shall whisk you off to Blighty.” She smiled. “I think your war is over.”

“My leg?”

“Oh it is still there,” I noticed she had a Scottish burr, “but the doctors here are a wee bit concerned about a possible infection.  They got out the wee piece of nasty wood that was causing you trouble but the kneecap is giving them some concern.  Don’t you worry Major, for an officer with a VC and an MC you have no need to worry. You have done your duty already

I was not certain I liked that. My medals should not grant me any special treatment. “Thank you Nurse…?”

“Nurse Stewart. And you are welcome.  It is lovely to treat a hero.”

I closed my eyes. I was no hero.  Charlie, Bert, they were the heroes. I was a sham. I slowly drifted off to sleep.  I was awoken by the motion of a train.  I looked up and saw a medical orderly smoking a cigarette.  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. By but you can sleep.  We will be in London in the hour and then we will have you in a hospital bed before you know.”

“Could I have some water?”

“Of course you can sunshine, sorry, Major.” He poured me some water and then lifted my head so that I could drink.  It felt so cooling as it went down. I emptied the mug. “Thirsty eh?  I’ll get you another.” After the second I felt better.  The orderly knew his business and he took my pulse before nodding. “I’d get your head down for a bit longer sir. The hospital is a couple of hours away.”

I closed my eyes again and began to imagine life away from the squadron.  I couldn’t. All of the faces from the past flashed before my eyes. It was like a slide show and there were so many faces.  Some faces I couldn’t put name to, and that frightened me. Bert and Charlie kept looming up before me.

“Major Harsker.” I opened my eyes.  A smiling bespectacled face greeted me. “Ah good, you are awake.  I am Doctor Bentine and I am going to try to solve your problem.  Now I know that you are hungry but if we operate now we might save your leg. You have an infection.  No one’s fault but I have to get in quickly and clean out the wound.”

I tried to speak and the words came out in slow motion. “Save the leg.  Need to get back.” I did not like the way people kept saying that my war was over. I would decide when my war was over.

He smiled and it was a sad smile, “We’ll do our best Major but I think this country has had all that it can expect from you. Your war is over. Now close your eyes and count back from ten.” I felt the slightest of pricks and I tried to count. I got to nine.