Читать книгу Watching - Jeff Edwards - Страница 6

The order came down the line to ‘fix bayonets’. In response, there was the sound of metal grinding on metal, as sharp blades were pulled from scabbards, followed by a snick as they were affixed. The time was rapidly approaching for the men crouched in the bottom of the trench.

Sergeant Richard Brown looked up to where his young cousin, fresh out of Staff College, was about to order his men into battle for the first time. He turned to where the troops beside him were awaiting the call, and wondered if they would get close enough to use bayonets on the Germans. Probably not, he thought.

Richard had been to the front before, and knew what sort of bloody hell lay in store for them. He was determined to keep close to his cousin during the young man’s baptism of fire. Even in the dark, he could see him licking his lips in nervous anticipation, as he stared at his watch, counting down to zero hour.

The artillery barrage had finished, and silence had descended over the front ...

Seconds ticked away, as Lieutenant Robert Brown reached for the whistle hanging from a lanyard around his neck, placing it to his lips, before he climbed the last few rungs to the top of the trench. He took his Webley pistol from its holster in anticipation. At last, his watch read zero hour and Robert blew on the whistle with all his might, as he climbed out into the moonscape that was no-man’s land.

At the sound of the whistle, the troops swarmed up the ladders, and over the top, running as hard as they could toward the enemy lines.

His legs like jelly, Lieutenant Robert Brown stumbled as he broke into a run, and would have fallen on his face if a hand had not steadied him. Looking around, he found Richard beside him, and the two smiled at one another as a flare fired high into the night sky. Suddenly, the enemy’s machine guns began their deadly work.

Richard pushed his cousin into a shell hole, and dived in behind him, as the guns raked their position, sending mud and debris showering over them. Screams from wounded and dying soldiers on either side of the pair attested to how close they had come to death. ‘ Crawl!’ ordered Richard to his cousin, and led him beneath the barbed wire toward the enemy’s trenches.

A German soldier popped up in front of them, taking aim at one of their comrades. Richard and Robert fired simultaneously, and the German’s arms were flung high as their shots thudded home.

The cousins continued to crawl forward, along with what was left of their company. Finally, they were within reach of the enemy. The English lobbed grenades toward the trenches, and were answered by rifle and machine-gun fire that buzzed around the heads of the attackers, killing many.

‘Get ready! We’re just about there!’ Robert called to the men around him. ‘On my signal — we charge!’

Just then whistles sounded, calling for a general withdrawal.

‘Shit!’ yelled Robert. ‘We could have made it to their trenches!’

‘Get down! Let’s get out of here!’ called Richard above the din of gunfire. ‘We won’t be going any further today.’

Gathering as many of their men as they could, and dragging the wounded they could find, they crawled back toward their lines, avoiding sticking their heads up high enough for the enemy to make them a target.

They had crossed most of no-man’s land and thought they were safe, when German artillery opened fire. The mud erupted around them, and razor-sharp shrapnel sliced into exposed bodies.

‘Come on!’ urged Richard, ‘We can’t stay out here. Run for it!’ He picked up one of the injured men, and hefted him onto his shoulders. Those fit enough to do so, did the same, running the last few yards to safety, and sliding down the face of their trench, to relative safety, as the barrage continued.

Slumped in the stinking mud at the bottom of the trench, Richard looked around, and found his cousin, ashen-faced and holding the hand of the wounded man that he had helped back to safety. Unfortunately, the man had not survived, blood spattered over the front of Robert’s tunic.

Richard moved over to him. ‘Let him go, Robert ... there’s nothing more we can do for him.’

His cousin looked up at him with tears in his eyes, trying to speak, but words would not come. Richard nodded at him. ‘Yes. I know, but we can’t just sit here. We have to get the men ready — the Germans will be counterattacking as soon as their barrage is over. It’s our turn to pay them back.’

Robert released the dead man’s hand, and stood up. He nodded thanks to his cousin. ‘Alright, let’s get ready.’

An uninterrupted line of British troops moved up to the front, keeping to the sides of what had once been a main road, toiling through the thick mud. Their clothes were relatively clean, and their faces shaven, with eyes bright and alive.

The road itself was choked with trucks laden with the supplies of war, moving slowly forward, while ambulances, overburdened with the maimed, moved toward the aid stations at the rear. Artillery shells whistled overhead, their explosions distant reminders of the death that waited up the road.

On the opposite side of the road, a sad trickle of men stumbled toward the rear. When they had arrived at the front, just three days before, they had looked like their comrades on the far side of the road. Now, there were just twenty remaining of the original one hundred. Covered in mud and gore, their eyes seemingly on the far distant horizon, they paid little attention to what was happening around them.

Greetings from their replacements were ignored, and the lucky few that still had a cigarette, sucked hard on them. Several had lost their packs, and one had even lost his rifle in the madness they were leaving behind.

They were the fortunate ones. Of the original one-hundred-strong force, thirty had not made it past the first attack on the enemy’s trenches; trenches that were no more than the width of a football field from their own. They had been mercilessly cut down by the German’s machine guns, amidst the barbed wire of no-man’s land.

Staggering into the rest area, the survivors were directed to a line of tents, where en masse they cast themselves down on straw-filled palliasses. Some fell instantly into a deep sleep, while others lay like zombies, fearing what nightmares would come to them, if they dared to close their eyes. Eventually, exhaustion overtook even them.

They slept fitfully, and finally awoke, with their bladders demanding relief. After relieving themselves, they stripped their filthy uniforms from their muddied bodies, and attempted to wash away the stink of death that clung to them, but from the front lines, the breeze carried to them the cloying stench of war.

The desire for sleep was now replaced by hunger pains. Most, faced with imminent death, had been too wound-up to eat, and hadn’t been able to face the cans of cold meat they had been given in the trenches. Now, for the first time in days, they lined up at the mess tent for a hot meal and mugs of strong tea, which they carried back to their tents. There they sat, soaking up the meagre sunlight, savouring each mouthful.

Sergeant Richard Brown, and his younger cousin and neighbour, Lieutenant Robert Brown, sat side by side.

For young Robert, his first taste of combat since completing his officer training at Staff College had been nothing like he had anticipated, while Richard, ten years older, had been on the front line for nearly a year. Robert thought the fact that Richard had survived this long without any serious injuries, was nothing short of miraculous.

‘How do you stay sane amongst all this carnage?’ asked Robert.

‘You don’t. None of us are sane. The only ones that were, died a long time ago.’

‘You know what I mean. How are you able to keep going back up there?’

‘I have to; it’s orders. If you refuse to obey orders, they’ll shoot you as a coward. You’re an officer; you know that as well as I do.’

‘But how do you keep doing it? Right now I’d be prepared to shoot myself in the foot, or worse, just so I can go home ...’

Richard nodded, knowing exactly what his cousin was talking about. ‘It helps to have something to cling to. I think of what I’m going to do when this is all over.’

‘Like what?’

‘I think about my wife, my son, and what I’m going to do with the farm.’

‘What’s that?’

‘My wife comes from a family of orchardists. She’s been after me for years to give up on the carrots and potatoes, and plant rows of apple trees instead. She loves her apples; makes a very fine cider out of the couple of trees we have at the moment.’

Robert leaned back, smoking a cigarette, considering what he had been told, while Richard drifted off into his own world, far from the stench of death that surrounded them.

‘I’d like to fish,’ said Robert, breaking into his cousin’s daydream of lazy summer days down on his farm.

‘What?’

‘You know that when I inherited the estate, my younger brother decided to emigrate. Well, I visited him in Canada just before the war. He took me fly-fishing, and I caught the biggest trout I have ever seen. It was wonderful. That’s what I’d like to do. In fact, I’d like to have my very own lake.’ Robert’s face lost its haggard look as he became immersed in his dream. ‘I’ll show you. Give me your bayonet.’

Taking his bayonet out of its scabbard, Richard handed it to him. Robert took it, and began to draw in the dirt, explaining as he did so. ‘We have the spring that starts in the hills at the top of my property, and runs down through the top fields, then past my house, to where it divides, and one branch becomes the boundary between our two properties.’ He drew that branch in, and then the second branch. ‘The other branch travels down that depression past the ruin of Walton Abbey, with Walton Village below the abbey, and between the two branches.’ He then roughly marked in the ruined abbey, and the village with its two ancient stone bridges at either end of its main street.’

Robert now pointed to a spot just above the point where the river divided. ‘If I were to build an embankment across this spot, then the natural shape of the area above would create a perfect lake.’ He smiled up at his cousin, excited by his plan.

Richard studied the map. ‘I hate to spoil your dream, but if you did that, then the river between our properties would cease to exist. How could I water my crops?’

Disappointed, Robert looked back down at the lines he had drawn in the dirt. Suddenly he smiled. ‘Look at this,’ he said, pointing to the map. ‘If you let me build the lake, I’ll compensate you. You can have the land of mine below the lake. That part that now lies between the western and eastern branches. You can grow your vegetables over next to the river that will still be running, and your wife can have her apple trees where you’re growing your vegetables now.’

Pleased with his solution, Robert looked up at his cousin with a broad grin. ‘We can both have what we want.’

‘Very well thought out, cousin, but are you sure that you want to just give me those fields?’

‘It’s my dream. Are you going to deny me my dream?’

Richard actually laughed for the first time in weeks. ‘If we both get out of this shitty war, I’ll hold you to it.’

* * *

Two days later, and much refreshed, the cousins had the unenviable task of welcoming their latest batch of replacements.

‘They look younger every day,’ sighed Richard as he watched the new men file into the encampment. ‘I doubt if half of them even shave yet.’

‘Poor bastards! They don’t look like they’ve had a rifle in their hands for more than a week,’ Robert replied, and wondered to himself how many of them would be alive in a weeks’ time. He patted his sergeant on the arm. ‘I’ll leave you to settle them in. When that’s done, come and see me in my tent; I’ll get their paperwork in order. Now that they’ve arrived, I expect we’ll soon be ordered up to the front.’

‘Heaven help us.’

It was growing dark by the time that Richard had assigned the new men to their sections and settled them in. With luck, the new section leaders might have a couple of days to get to know their new replacements, but they wouldn’t be able to gauge the men’s mettle until they had been ordered to go over the top, and by that time it would be too late for many of them.

Making his way down the picket line, Richard came to the last tent in line, and stuck his head inside.

‘Ah good! You’re here!’ said Robert looking up from the small table he was using as a desk. It was littered with papers and in the middle; a kerosene lantern cast its feeble yellow glow. A pile of filled envelopes stood at the far end of the table. Robert pointed to them. ‘I’m only about half done with them; there’s only a couple of lines in each, but I still can’t catch up.’

‘I doubt you ever will. Maybe I can help.’

‘I’d appreciate that. It’s hard to write to a grieving relation, particularly when I barely had time to meet the poor sods themselves before they were killed.’

‘I don’t think the words mean as much to them as being reassured that their loved ones didn’t die in vain.’

‘Didn’t they? I sometimes wonder myself.’

Richard could see that his cousin was depressed. The letter writing was extracting just as much of a toll on him as the fighting had. He watched as Robert shuffled among the papers before him. Extracting the one he was looking for, Robert placed it before his cousin, and handed him his pen. ‘Sign that,’ he said.

Richard read the short document. It was a handwritten agreement between the two of them, with Richard agreeing to forgo his rights to the water in the stream beside his farm. In exchange, he would receive the property rights to the land stretching from one arm of the stream to the other.

‘You’re sure you want to do this?’ asked Richard. ‘It’s a sizable amount of land.’

‘We haven’t used it for more than grazing for years. I want the lake; it’s become my whole focus.’

Richard nodded, taking up the pen and signing. Robert did as well, and a pair of passing soldiers were brought in to act as witnesses to the document.

‘I’ll post this off to our solicitor in Walton Village immediately, and I have another letter already prepared for groundsmen at home. I’ve given them instructions to start work as soon as they can. Hopefully, we’ll be out of the army before it’s completed, but I doubt it. Still, it will be something for us both to look forward to.’

One week later, in the hour before dawn, Robert was standing on a parapet, raised above the muddy bottom of the trench where his men waited, arms at the ready. He was high enough to be able to look over the top of the helmeted ranks of his men. Their bayonets attached, each man awaited the sound of Robert’s whistle in utter silence.

He risked a quick look over the lip of the trench and through a gap in the sandbags placed there. Just yards away, the earth was erupting as British artillery pounded the German lines, hoping to open up a gap in the defences that the infantry could capitalise on.

This time will be different, thought Robert, over the deafening roar of the exploding shells. This time we’ll have help ...

A half hour before dawn, the firing ceased, and Robert knew that the Germans, hiding in their deep bunkers to protect themselves from the barrage, were now returning to their firing positions, speedily setting up their machine guns. He could almost hear them.

Just then, he became aware of a new sound from behind the British trenches. It was a noise that he had only heard once before, from an object that had only ever seen from a distance. Turning around, he watched as the ugliest contraption imaginable trundled toward him.

Grey steel like a battleship, with machine guns sprouting, and a pair of enormous caterpillar tracks propelling it forward, nothing could stand in its way. It crushed the rolls of barbed wire stretched in its path, and simply ignored the deep craters made by the enemy artillery, sliding effortlessly over the top of them.

The men in the trenches below scattered to the sides, as the monster rolled over the top of their hiding place, and proceeded across no-man’s land.

Robert looked at his watch. Zero hour! He placed his whistle to his lips.

Up and down the line of trenches, whistles sounded, and the dirty khaki army climbed the ladders to reach the lip of the trenches, and then advanced into the living hell beyond ...

Across the divide, a German sniper peered through the lens of his Zeiss telescopic sights. He had seen movement behind the sandbags, and was awaiting his opportunity. As the troops poured out of the trenches before him, the sniper’s finger tensed slightly then relaxed, ignoring the soldiers. He was after officers, not enlisted men.

He watched as his target climbed over the sandbags, pistol in his hand, whistle in his lips. These markers told the sniper that this was an officer, and he took aim.

Shifting his aim slightly to allow for the man’s movements, the sniper squeezed the trigger evenly, feeling the rifle buck slightly, as the shot was made.

The shot took Robert in the centre of his forehead, throwing him backward over the sandbags, where his body came to rest, head in the mud, legs resting above the rest of his body against the mud wall at the bottom of the trench.

Richard was unaware of his cousin’s fate, as he was marshalling his men behind him. They took up positions behind the lumbering tank as it made its way toward the German lines.

With the enemy’s bullets ricocheting off the tank’s metal skin, Richard found that if he kept his men close to its rear, the tank would protect them from much of the machine-gun and rifle fire, while it dealt death and destruction to those who stood in its way.

They reached the German trenches with few casualties, where they threw hand grenades into the midst of the German troops below, while the tank’s machine guns decimated the enemy.

Richard led his men into the trenches, where the fighting became hand-to-hand, with the bayonets now coming into their own in the tight conditions.

Finally, the German officers began ordering their men to fall back.

The British pursued the enemy as they retreated, while the tank, and its crew, continued cutting down the grey uniformed figures, as they ran before it.

For months the two front lines had faced one another, with neither side being able to gain the upper hand. Now there was a breach, and the British were through. Now was the opportunity to roll up the enemy.

Falling in behind the tank once again, Richard and his remaining men helped push the enemy further and further backward. However, they were now past the line of trenches, and out in open ground. Now they were exposed, and the German artillery was ready. Instead of a wide line of deeply entrenched troops to attack, they now had exposed targets in the shape of the tank, and the men advancing behind it.

As the first shells landed around them, Richard realised that he had made a mistake. ‘ Get back to the trenches! ‘ he screamed at his men, as a second volley landed even closer to the tank.

The crew aboard the tank, realising that they were being targeted, ceased their chase, putting the tank into reverse and returned the way they had come as a third volley tore up the ground where they would have been. As the tank retreated, it kept pace with Richard and his men.

‘Get as far away from the tank as you can! That’s what the Germans are aiming at!’ screamed Richard.

Just then, a fourth salvo straddled the tank, and one shot scored a direct hit. The tank exploded in a mushroom of heat and energy, its metal plating turned to shrapnel that was cast far and wide.

Richard and his men were cut down like wheat before a scythe.

Seeing the tank destroyed, the German retreat was brought to a halt, and the officers rallied the men for a counterattack.

Not having had time to set up defensive positions, the British were forced out of their new positions, retreating once more to where they had begun the day, with nothing to show for their efforts, but a huge loss of life.

* * *

News of the deaths of Richard and Robert Brown reached Walton Village a week later.

Their solicitor reflected sadly on their untimely deaths; particularly as he had just completed the transaction of transferring title of the land below the proposed dam to Richard. The solicitor was however, much relieved that Robert had enclosed enough money to cover his fees for the transfer. He now began the process of handling the deceased estates of the cousins, with the additional fees that that would bring.

Robert, being a bachelor, had no relatives at home, but he was sadly missed by the loyal workers on his estate. They wondered if they should continue with the work on the dam, but as his brother was in Canada, and as they had had no instructions to the contrary, they continued with the project, dedicating their work to their dead employer.

Richard’s wife and son took the loss of their husband and father hard. He had been the backbone of the farm, and both were at loss as to how they could continue. Still, they were sturdy country folk, and struggled on, unaware of the deal made between the cousins.

Their struggle was made all the more difficult when their stream ceased to flow ...