No Man's Land (6 page)

‘It would be strange if the lion's offspring hasn't any claws,' said Lalu. ‘It seems to me that all of us will be in the mire if you become a Jemadar, not only Lok Nath!'

‘You know that my father has been invited to the officers' mess tonight where the French officers, English Sahibs, Rajahs, Maharajas and some chosen Indian officers have been invited,' Subah informed him, puffed up with pride. ‘And, it is said, that Sir James Willcocks, the Commander-in-Chief of the Indian Corps is to arrive here soon, accompanied by Risaldar Khwaja Muhammad Khan, who is aide-decamp to this general, and a friend of my father. He is a Pathan from the Yussuf Zai: he was aide-de-camp to Lord Kitchener at one time… I should like to become aide-de-camp one day…'

‘You wait, son, you will become that, and more,' said Lalu with a faint mockery in his voice.

‘Really, do you think?' Subah said unconscious of his friend's irony. ‘Then I shall make you a Jemadar.'

‘The dog eats a bellyful of food if he can get it, otherwise he just licks the saucer,' said Lalu to cut short his friend.

‘Oh come, why are you always stricken even when happy?' said Subah. And, catching Lalu's hand he began to caper like a horse.

Some Sikh sepoys dressed in shorts were washing their clothes while a group of French children stood around them. One of the Sikhs brought out a flute, and began to play it to amuse them. At this some French soldiers gathered round, imagining that the flute player was going to bring out a cobra. The sepoy pretended there was a snake on the ground before him, and played around its imaginary head, deliberately swelling his cheeks with his breath till they were like two rounded balls. At this the children scattered out of fear, but came back reassured when the sepoy smiled.

One of them offered the mimicking juggler a sweet which the sepoy gulped down, rolling his eyes, and twisting his face as if he were swallowing some poison. And then there was an attempt at an exchange in the language of gesture. And, what was strange, the mime worked. And soon there was complete understanding between East and West.

Lalu, who had stood to watch this scene, responded to the hilarity by accepting a cigarette from a French soldier, which the Sikhs, whose religion taboos smoking, refused. He only wished his regiment had been transferred here as from one cantonment to another, for a sojourn during peace time. But in a war?… Now that he was in France, he felt a curious dread of the Unknown, of the things that happened in a war, even as he felt the thrill of being there.

‘I am the son of Subedar Major Arbel Singh, 69th Rifles, and he has sent me to buy some cigarettes from that stall,' Subah announced to the sentry without a blush.

The sentry, a tall Baluchi, with a long crested turban, looked at him hard. ‘Who is that man with you?' he asked.

‘Sepoy Lai Singh, orderly to the Subedar Major Sahib Bahadur,' lied Subah.

‘Go, but don't be long,' said the sentry.

The two boys passed the barrier, and made straight for the stall which stood at the crossroads.

A few French soldiers and some Tommies were standing around drinking beer. Lalu felt embarrassed, afraid, and inferior to be going to a stall where there were only white men. With the assurance cultivated through his three years at the Bishop Cotton School, Simla, Subah dragged him to the bar.

The Frenchman who owned the stall turned to them, wiping his hands on the white skirt of his apron and said,
Mussia
!. Subah pointed to some bottles which stood on the trolley. The Tommies at first stared at the two sepoys as if surprised that the Indians should have developed a predilection for drink. Then, contrary to their customary reticence in India, one of them said: ‘Good eh, Blighty!'

‘What, Blighty?' said Subah.

‘He means
Vilayat
,' Lalu said laughing.

The French Sahib struck the knuckles of his finger against a bottle of white wine, and gesticulated. But before Subah could say anything, an English Sergeant-Major stalked up to the stall and snapped at the Tommies as well as the sepoys:

‘Where the bloody hell do you reckon you are? Is this a cantonment or a bloody war?'

The soldiers stood with their heads hanging down.

‘This is out of bounds,' the Sergeant Major rapped. And he leaned over to the Tommies and hissed at them angrily, snarling at the sepoys the while.

During the next few days the Indian corps began to be moved to Orleans, where, it was said, they were to be properly equipped with new machine guns, howitzers, mechanical transport, medical equipment and all the necessities that an army, trained to fight on the frontier and for policing the outposts of the Empire overseas, needed in operations in the West. They had handed over the rifles and ammunition which they had brought from India at Marseilles and fresh arms were issued to them. The sepoys adapted themselves to the new rifles, but they hoped that they would not be forced to have new machine guns, as that would entail more strenuous practice, when they were kept busy enough with packing and unpacking, and clothes drill, and they had also been given new warm clothes. It was said that this war to which they were going was unlike any other, fought with things called ‘grenads' and ‘mortas', and a rumour ran that the Germans had invented a gun which could shoot at range of seventy miles. But why hadn't the Sahibs thought of all these things in India? Of course, they had had to leave the cantonments in a hurry, and the Army Headquarters at Simla hadn't had enough time. But the arrangements were being pushed too fast. The officers were kind, however, patting the Gurkhas on their backs and asking them to sharpen their kukhries, telling the horsemen to value their steeds more than their lives, and encouraging the others to keep fit by wrestling exercises, as they would have to face up to the ‘Huns', who were ‘twice as big as the Indians in size.'… And the sepoys felt that now that they were here, they were here, and it didn't matter if they had big guns or small guns or whether they lay on mats like the beggars or slept in feather beds like the princes. Travel was good for the heart, since, contrary to the prognostications and evil forebodings of the priests, they hadn't died in crossing the black waters.

The 69th was one of the first regiments to be dispatched to Orleans.

ERNST JÜNGER

RAJPUTS

from
Kriegstagebuch 1914–1918
(
War Diary 1914–1918
)
translated by Martin Chalmers

13. VI.17

This morning I had probably the most interesting war experience that I've had so far.

Last night our company came forward from the Siegfried-Position. My platoon was assigned to Outpost 3, I had to go with them. In the forefield I came upon Sergeant Hackmann with some men who wanted to carry out a patrol. I tagged along as a battlefield hanger-on. We crossed two wire entanglements and got through between the English posts. To the left of us there were English digging trenches, to the right of us was an occupied piece of trench, from which came the sound of voices. We wanted to take some prisoners, but we didn't manage it.

I returned to my outpost in a bad mood, settled down on my coat on the steep slope and dozed. Suddenly there was rustling in the bushes of the little wood, sentries ran away, the sound of muted whispering could be heard. At the same time a man ran up to me: ‘Lieutenant, 70 English are supposed to have appeared at the edge of the wood.' I had four men immediately to hand, whom I positioned on the slope. Immediately after that a group of men ran across the meadow. ‘Halt, who goes there?' It was Sergeant Teilengertes trying to collect his men. I quickly gathered everyone together, drew them up in a firing line and crossed the meadow between slope and wood with the men. At the corner of the wood I ordered the line to wheel right. Meanwhile furious shell and machine gun fire had begun from the English side. We ran at a march pace as far as the hill where the English trenches were, in order to gain the dead angle. Then figures appeared on the right wing. I pulled the cord on a hand grenade and threw it at the head of one of them. Unfortunately it was Sergeant Teilengertes who saved himself, thank God, by a hasty sideways leap. At the same time English hand grenades were thrown from above, while the shrapnel fire became unpleasantly intense. The men scattered and disappeared towards the slope under heavy fire, while I maintained my position with three faithful followers. Suddenly one of them nudged me: ‘Lieutenant, the English!'And truly to the right a line of figures was kneeling shoulder to shoulder in two sections. As they rose, we ran away. I ran up against barbed wire treacherously stretched through the tall grass, went head over heels three times and tore my good trousers to shreds. During these events there was a tremendous noise in the wood, the rustling steps and the voices of at least 60 men were audible.

So I ran away, fell over the wire, reached the slope and I managed to collect my men and to form a line into order. However, I really had to yell at the men, I grabbed some, threw them onto their place and ordered them to remain lying where they were. The commotion in the wood grew ever louder. I roared over to the wood for what must have been five minutes, and got only strange shouts in reply. Finally I took the responsibility and ordered fire to be opened, even though my men maintained they heard German accents. The shouting in the wood increased, as my 20 rifles rattled into it. There, too, there were yellow flashes from time to time. One man was shot in the shoulder and was bound where he was. I ordered cease fire. Everyone stopped shooting and I shouted once again ‘Password!' and then: ‘
come here
,
you are prisoners
,
hands up
!' At that a great deal of shouting over there, my men maintained it sounded like Rache! Rache! [i.e. revenge]. Suddenly a figure detached itself from the edge of the wood and came towards us. Unfortunately I shouted at him, the fellow turned round and went back. ‘Shoot him down!' A salvo followed. The fellow seemed dealt with. Some time passed, then the jabbering over there rose again. ‘Just let them approach!' Cries came from the edge of the wood, which sounded as if good comrades were encouraging each other to go forward together. Then a line of grey shadows appeared, advancing towards us. ‘Steady fire!'The rifles banged beside me and above me, making my eardrums ring. In the middle of the field a small yellow flame still lit up from time to time, but was soon extinguished. Finally their whole left section advanced. I had one group wheel to the right and also sent these people my best wishes. Now it seemed to me that the moment for their withdrawal had come. I ordered: ‘On your feet, up, march, march!'We ran towards the edge of the wood, I with some good lads far ahead of the others, and broke into the wood with a loud hurrah. Unfortunately the other fellows had not held their ground but had run away. Consequently I moved to the right along the edge of the wood into the cornfield. There I sent all of the men except 8 back to company.