To the Fore with the Tanks!
CHAPTER XIV
THE COMMAND OF A TANK
SECOND-LIEUTENANT SETLEY'S attention had been directed to amachine-gun emplacement that, notwithstanding the terrific poundingof the Hun lines, had somehow escaped the general demolition. Itstood in a slight hollow, the dip in the ground enabling themachine-guns to fire diagonally across the line of advancing troopsand, incidentally, into the crowd of demoralized Hun prisoners.Although the arc of fire was limited, the result was hardly lessefficacious on that account.
The harmless splaying of bullets upon the Tank's armoured side haddrawn Ralph's attention to the source of the hail of small missiles.He could discern the domed tops of the three portable steel cupolasin which the machine-guns were housed. Evidently these metal defenceworks had been kept in a deep dug-out during the bombardment, andwhen the British guns lifted had been raised from the bowels of theearth--giving trouble and asking for it.
Round swung the Tank, slowly, ponderously. Her "tail"--the pair ofwheels used for steering purposes when on fairly level ground--wastilted clear of the crater-pitted earth. Grimly and remorselessly sheset out to squash the viper's nest out of existence.
The Huns held on doggedly. They must have realized that they werealready cut off by swarms of British infantry, and that sooner orlater they would be "rushed" from all sides. Under the impressionthat no quarter is accorded to machine-gunners the Boches determinedto fight to the last. Even the approach of the Tank, even if it speltdoom, did not make them desert their guns and with uplifted handsshout "Kamerad."
Right and left of the emplacement were lines of barbed wire, many ofthe posts still standing; but directly in front the entanglement hadbeen flattened, scorched posts and short fragments of twisted wirealone remaining to mark the position. The path for the Tank wasinvitingly open, but that fact, combined with the determined stand ofthe Hun machine-gunners, struck Setley as being suspicious. Eitherthe ground in front of the three cupolas was mined, or else a deeppit, with vertical sides, had been dug, and concealed by means of acovering of boards strong enough to bear the weight of a few men butunable to withstand the 200 tons dead weight of a Tank.
With one tractor band grinding ahead and the other reversed the Tankmade a half turn in its own length and commenced to cross the frontof its objective. Then climbing the rising ground with consummateease the mammoth charger drew up to the flank of the machine-gunners'lair.
The Huns in the nearest cupola promptly bolted and surrendered to thenearest Tommies they met. Those in the second one, firing to thelast, were neatly "done in," for the Tank, charging the metal-boxobliquely, toppled it into the nearest mud and finished off bypulverizing the light steel plating and the crew within.
The men belonging to the third machine-gun, seeing that their mobilefortress was powerless against the immensely superior weight of theTank, fled for the nearest dug-out. Three were shot down by theTank's machine-gun, while two managed to reach the doubtful shelter.Too late they discovered that the dug-out had caved in under theimpact of a huge shell, and only the entrance and a few steps wereleft.
Ralph ordered his command to be brought to a standstill. His work forthe present was accomplished. The rounding-up of the two survivingHuns must be left to the infantry, numbers of whom were swarming overthe captured lines, securing prisoners and exploring dug-outs lestthe gentle Boches had left explosives with time-fuses in thosecavernous depths.
Setley gave a whoop of surprise and delight as a dozen Tommiesapproached. They were the Wheatshires--his late regiment--and, to bemore exact, men of his former platoon. But in vain he looked forSergeant Alderhame. Penfold--well, he could hardly be expected to beout at the Front so soon. But there was Sidney, the lad with Polishblood in his veins. George Anderson, too.
Ralph felt tempted to shout as the little Cockney dashed past thestationary Tank. With his rifle slung across his back, and a bombheld ready to hurl, Ginger was the personification of activity andalertness. He had spotted the two Huns in the mouth of the dug-out.It would be obviously unwise for Ralph to attract the bomber'sattention.
"Up with yer dooks!" shouted Ginger, swinging the bomb.
One of the men obeyed promptly, begging the while for quarter.
"Course you'll save your hide, Fritz," said his conquerorencouragingly. "Mike, take that blighter out of it, will yer?"
Remained one Hun, a tall, broad-shouldered lout, with a face that hadanimal cunning and ferocity written on every line of it. He stoodwith his rifle and bayonet at the "ready." His last cartridge hadbeen spent. He was determined to fight to the last.
"Up with 'em!" yelled Ginger, brandishing the Mills bomb, while othermen of the platoon gradually closed in upon the solitary Prussian.
The Hun made no attempt to comply. Snarling, he lunged ineffectuallyat a Wheatshire who had come almost within reach of the glitteringsteel.
"Hanged if I can do the bloomer in with this," exclaimed Ginger,placing his supply of bombs on the ground and grasping his rifle.
"Form a ring, chums, an' see fair play. Now, Fritz, it's either youor me."
"I haf no chance," replied the Prussian. "If out I come der oddersvill shoot in my back."
"Don't talk rot, Dutchy," protested Anderson. "We ain't 'Uns. Either'ands up or fight me!"
The Prussian had more faith in a British Tommy's word than he had inhis own. Still snarling, he emerged cautiously from his retreat;then, finding that no attempt was made on the part of the other mento molest him, he crouched behind his bayonet and stealthilyapproached the imperturbable Cockney.
With a longer reach and armed with a rifle and bayonet of greaterlength than the British service weapon the Hun had a certainadvantage; but lack of initiative and the slowness of his mental andphysical powers neutralized his ascendancy over the short, sturdilybuilt Wheatshire corporal.
Thrice the steel crossed. Once the Prussian's bayonet rasped againstthe wood casing of Ginger's rifle--a foiled effort to cripple hisantagonist's fingers. By a brilliant parry Anderson knocked the pointaside, and the next instant his bayonet was thrust deeply into theHun's body.
"Well done, Ginger!" shouted his comrades.
"Too bloomin' well done," rejoined the victor. "'Ere, you chaps,who's gotter fust-aid dressin'? Mine's been kippered. Thanks, mate."
And almost before the heat of the combat had had time to coolAnderson was on his knees by the side of his late adversary, workingdiligently to staunch the flow of blood from the wound that he hadmade.
"Yer asked for it properly, Fritz," he exclaimed. "Why didn't yer putyer bloomin' 'ands up when I told yer?"
In answer, the wounded Hun turned his head and bit the hand of theman who was tending him.
"Yer rotten cannibal!" ejaculated Ginger, and disregarding the adviceof his comrades to knock the fellow over the head, Anderson gatheredup his bombs, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and vanished fromSetley's view.
By this time the battle had rolled onwards. Away on the right Germanshells were pounding the slopes of Vimy Ridge. That was a good sign.It proved that the British troops had secured a footing in what wasunquestionably a key to this section of the hostile line.
Hindenburg had had his wish gratified--to meet the British in theopen. He had failed to gain anything by it. In trench warfare the NewArmy had proved itself superior to the product of the German HighCommand, and now, with their trenches left miles in the rear, theTommies were "mopping up" the Huns as neatly as the most exactingcommander could wish.
And yet an admirable restraint was noticeable in the movements of theattacking troops. In the heat of the battle and joy of victory it waspardonable for the men to wish to push on beyond the protection oftheir artillery. With a very few exceptions the various units keptwell under control. Never was the maxim "Hasten slowly" betterapplied.
A motor-cyclist, riding furiously and yet avoiding the yawning shellcraters with a dexterity acquired by long practice, pulled up by theside of the stationary Tank. With the engine still running andkeeping the machine balance
d by placing one foot on the ground, thegrimy mud-caked dispatch rider delivered his message.
"There's a Tank bogged fifty yards south-east of Henricourt Farm,sir," he reported. "The CO. sends orders for you to proceed to herassistance."
"Very good," replied Setley, and closing and locking the door, hegave instructions for full speed ahead to the aid of his crippledconsort.