Casca 21: The Trench Soldier (5 page)

Casca found a quiet angle of the trench and lay down and closed his eyes.
"This is some army I've gotten myself into," he cursed to himself. "They're more concerned about their bloody bookkeeping than they are with the fighting. What the hell do they think we're here for?"

A moment later he heard the new RSM shouting at him.
Casca opened his eyes and glanced toward the man and lifted his rifle with one hand so that it pointed as if unintentionally at the RSM's gut. For a long moment the two men stared at each other. Casca's glance was quizzical as if he were awaiting an order to fire. The RSM's eyes were at first furious, then surprised, and finally cautious. He turned away and sought somebody else to harass while Casca again relaxed and closed his eyes.

But there was to be no rest. The whistles sounded again, the machine guns opened up, and Casca got to his feet to see yet another wave of gray-clad Germans racing toward the trench. They were easy enough to shoot. Casca downed a man with every shot, and the Germans were so closely packed as they ran that even the most ill-aimed shot was sure to hit somebody somewhere.

But there were simply too many of them.
Thousands of them. Bagpipes and bayonets would not turn this horde.

Neither would the Vickers machine guns. Each British battalion had only two of the cumbersome, water-cooled, belt-fed weapons, and these were prone to jam if pressed to fire rapidly for any length of time. They were also apt to "hang fire," the cartridge exploding as the breech opened, generally destroying both gun and crew.

Casca had soon used his ammunition issue of twenty-five rounds, and was fast using up the fifty rounds he had stolen. All along the trench men were cursing as they ran out of ammunition. Then one of the machine guns stopped, and a moment later the other fell silent.

Casca looked out into the onrushing swarm of Germans, their
Mausers flashing fire. And behind them as far as he could see was wave upon wave of field-gray uniforms and rifles.

"Well," Casca muttered, "Sir John French said this would be a short, brisk campaign. I guess he's right."

He heard and obeyed the order to fix bayonets. Why not? A useless tactic for a hopeless situation.

The Germans were now cutting their way through the wire, and the
Tommies had no choice but to wait for them.

Then he was thrusting his bayonet into a German's calf, then into another one's gut; hot, sticky blood sprayed over him as he withdrew the steel. As they got down into the trenches, the Germans were handicapped by their own numbers. They could not fire for fear of hitting each other, and the defenders' lack of ammunition now mattered much less. The desperate
Tommies stabbed and clubbed with their empty rifles. Here and there men lost hold of their weapons and grappled with their bare hands. British officers were using their revolvers to good effect at close range, and the Germans were forced back.

"Fall back!"

Casca sighed when he heard the order and hurried to comply, pausing only long enough to grab the ammunition pouches and magazines of some Tommies who had died before they had used all of their miserly issue.

They raced about five hundred yards to the reserve trench. Casca was relieved to see machine guns being set up and realized that they had not jammed or run out of ammunition but had stopped firing to be readied for this withdrawal.

Behind them in the abandoned trenches sappers were at work frantically placing explosives and detonators and stringing wires. Dead men were being propped up, their empty rifles pointing threateningly toward where the next wave of Germans would come. Medics with red cross armbands were loading shot men onto mules or stretchers, but most of the wounded were left to add their groans and screams to the chorus from no-man's-land.

From behind the trenches Casca heard horses and the squeal of wagon wheels, and shortly cases of ammunition were being passed along the trench. There was a quartermaster sergeant with the inevitable clipboard, and a corporal stood over each crate, but in the rush Casca found it easy to grab over a hundred rounds, and he quickly loaded the spare magazines that he had
souvenired from the dead.

The Germans had regrouped and were already leaping into the abandoned trenches. The British sappers set off their charges, and great eruptions of dirt and bits of bodies were blown skyward. The five-inch guns joined in the action and wreaked havoc amongst the confused Germans. But the delay was brief, and in a matter of minutes Casca was again standing to at the lip of the trench squeezing off shots into the advancing mass of Germans.

"Bloody hopeless," he heard an infantryman lament. "It's a simple game of numbers – and they've got 'em. The way it's going, the Jerries will be in Paris for supper."

Casca agreed. They had been rushed to Mons to reinforce the battered and outnumbered French Fifth Army, but their "contemptible little army" with its inadequate firepower was an insignificant contribution. It seemed clear that Casca had once again chosen the wrong side.

The enemy apparently had men to spare and plenty of ammunition that they carried in ten- and twenty-round magazines. It also appeared that they carried their spare ammunition in already loaded magazines so that reloading took only a second, whereas, at best, an adept Tommy needed eight seconds to remove his empty magazine, squeeze in five new rounds, and replace the clip. And Casca mused, Seven seconds is a long time to hold an empty rifle.

The empty trenches impeded the German advance and gave the five-inch guns attractive targets in the milling troops. The sappers had done a good job and were still detonating explosions that killed, confused, and demoralized the attackers. Those who survived pressed on toward the reserve trench but were whittled away by the machine guns and stubborn rifle fire. And where the Germans did succeed in making it into the British trenches, they were always at a disadvantage, unable to shoot because of their own numbers and forced to fight with their bayonets against defenders who outnumbered them in the trench.

The longtime professionals, who made up the greater part of the Territorials, were very proficient with the bayonet. The British Army, it seemed, still thought of its infantry as pikemen, and they were trained and equipped accordingly.

At sunset the
Tommies still held this line, and as darkness fell the Germans withdrew.

Another major appeared, somewhat different from the first. He said his name was Cartwright and congratulated the troops on their splendid resistance. Cartwright told them that he was aware of the ammunition supply problem and assured them that he was working on it. He gave the quite
unnecessary warning that there would be an enemy attack at dawn and exhorted them to fight as valiantly again on the morrow as they had during this day.

Best of all, Casca thought, he promoted a number of men to replace the decimated officers and NCOs, elevating the boy piper whose name was George
Brotherstone to sergeant. Casca congratulated the new sergeant, and the youth grinned shyly.

"
Me mum and the bairns will be glad of the extra pay. And I get to keep the pipes too – there aren't any more boy pipers here. I'm right proud of the old bag." He patted the tartan affectionately. "These pipes were played at Culloden."

Dinner was the usual disgusting mess – chunks of crudely butchered mutton cooked to the consistency of string in a mass of tasteless vegetables, all swimming in a greasy sort of watery soup.

None of the men had blankets – they had made up part of the clumsy packs abandoned early in the battle – so they crowded around the few fires and dozed and yawned through the night.

Casca met up again with Hugh Edwards and Cockney Dave, whom he had not seen since their arrival at Mons. The thinning of the ranks and their successive retreats from trench to trench now brought them together again.

Rumor had it that the German General Kluck had already entered the Belgian capital of Brussels after the Battle of Tirlement. Most of Lorraine was in German hands, and they were about to take Namur. The French government was preparing to abandon Paris and remove to the safety of Bordeaux. Austria was about to fall upon Poland. The only good news was that "the Russian steamroller" was underway from the east and would crush the armies of the Central Powers at Tannenberg and then join forces with the Romanians, who had somehow become allies, to save the outnumbered Poles.

Dave was cockily confident and contemptuous of their allies. "It's not as if the Krauts
has been up against any real opposition. The show's only just started. When we get some reinforcements, we'll show 'em."

"Some artillery would help," another soldier said. "Yeah, and some machine guns," said another. "Just some ammo would be an improvement."

Hugh sat quietly, and Casca, surprised that the big man was not involved in the discussion, joined him.

"What do you think of it, Hugh?"

"I don't rightly know what to think," the Welshman said looking up at him. "When I decided to get into this show, I set out to study a bit about warfare – did you ever hear of von Clausewitz?"

Casca suppressed a smile. "German philosopher, wasn't he?"

"Not quite a philosopher, more of a military thinker. The first thing I read was where he said that no one ever starts a war without first being clear what he wants to achieve and how to go about it."

"Makes sense," Casca nodded.

"Yeah – so what are we doing? Say we beat the Jerries tomorrow – say we win the whole blamed show and push 'em all the way back to Berlin. What then?"

Dave chipped in, "Ah, leave those problems to the generals and the politicians."

"They don't seem to have any more idea of what's going on than we do," Hugh answered. "Look at it this way: suppose the Jerries get their way and subdue France. Then what? And what's Russia in it for? And now Romania?"

Dave laughed. "Don't forget Poland, and they say Italy will be in it soon too. She's treaty partners with Germany and Austria. And maybe Japan is going to fight too."

"Japan? Japan go to war over an Austrian archduke? Why not China?" Hugh exploded. "Why not America? Sweden? Why not bloody Borneo?"

"New Guinea's in it," Dave answered laughing.

"Wha-a-at?"

"It's true." Casca felt sorry for the earnest miner, striving to understand the inexplicable. "Australian troops have seized the German colonies, and New Zealanders have taken Samoa."

"Samoa? Where in the name of God is Samoa?"

"It's a little island somewhere in the South Pacific Ocean. It was a German colony."

"Where will it end?" Hugh shook his snowy head. "What's it all about?"

The expected German artillery bombardment began well before the dawn of August twenty-fourth, but most of the shells fell around the abandoned line of trenches where presumably the guns had been previously aimed. With the approach of daylight the guns started to reach for the reserve trench. There were no direct hits in Casca's sector, but shells fell all around the area so that the troops cowered in the trenches, hands over their ears, praying that the attack would start soon so that the shelling would stop.

They were not kept waiting long. A huge force of Germans skirted the old trenches and mounted a fierce attack on the British position, while an even bigger force moved into the abandoned lines and worked purposefully to turn them to their own use.

Major Cartwright had been as good as his word; he had somehow procured several wagons of ammunition and more machine guns, Maxims, similar to the German guns. The
Tommies repulsed the first German attack and left their trenches to chase the retreating Germans. But the Germans retired around their newly prepared trench leaving the British facing fresh troops, well dug in, and with numerous machine guns in place.

The British counter-attack was a disastrous failure and ended with the
Tommies being chased back to their trench. Then a new barrage commenced, this time far more accurate, and there were a number of direct hits in the trenches and numerous casualties. When the German infantry attacked again, they overran the trenches, and the British were forced to withdraw to yet another reserve line.

The new trenches had been hastily prepared by French
laborers and German prisoners of war. They were untimbered and in places the sides were already crumbling. The barbed wire was scanty and ill placed; there were no latrines or cookhouses, and the machine gunners were forced to set up their weapons in unprepared and exposed positions. And the sappers didn't have time to do more than plant a few charges in the old trenches, so the Germans were able to occupy them almost in comfort.

All day long the Germans pressed their attack. Only the additional machine guns enabled the hard-pressed
Tommies to hold their line.

At nightfall Major Cartwright appeared again, as solicitous and courteous as ever, but clearly worried. He concluded his address with the news that reinforcements and more ammunition were on the way. Casca felt sorry for him as he turned away toward the Highlanders to no doubt repeat his performance word for word.

The food was the same as the previous night, but Cartwright had managed to procure a fresh supply of blankets and a small mountain of firewood. Casca passed the night comfortably enough, but every time he woke he observed the labor crews working by lamplight half a mile to their rear preparing yet another line of trenches for their next inevitable retreat.

August twenty-fifth started the same way as the twenty-fourth, and ended similarly with the sorely battered British troops occupying the new trenches which were scarcely usable, while the Germans had made yet another advance.

Major Cartwright put on a bold front and told them that there was a relief force at nearby Le Cateau under General Horace Smith-Dorrien and that his expected attack the next day would take the pressure off the Territorials. But the extent of their losses was made clear when the Welsh troops were merged with the Highlanders. More than half of the force were casualties. The merger brought Casca under the young piper sergeant whom he much admired.