CHAPTER V

  THE EXPEDITION TO NO MAN'S LAND

  "TURN out, you chaps! You're warned for duty in the first-linetrench."

  With the sergeant's words ringing in his ears Ralph Setley arose fromhis uncomfortable bed. A candle was still guttering. It was not yetdawn. The Huns' protracted shelling had ceased until the time fortheir customary morning "hate."

  The rest of the occupants of his dug-out were engaged upon theirmorning "toilet"--the rite consisting of cleaning and oiling theirrifles. Washing was out of the question, and as they had turned infully dressed, including great-coats and boots, there was nothingfurther to be done beyond cooking breakfast.

  Thanks to the blunder of the rationing party the men regaledthemselves with slices of bacon, bread not more than three days old,and tea of exceptionally strong brew. The bacon was gritty, which wasnot to be wondered at, seeing that the men had been under shell-firealmost the whole way to the trenches.

  Alderhame was in high spirits notwithstanding he had had but a fewhours' sleep. There was a touch of the far-off "green-room" days, ashe laid his hand on Setley's shoulder.

  "Come on, laddie," he said. "Let's survey the radiant morn:--

  "This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with glowing light; What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day nor night."

  Viewed in the pale grey dawn, the dreary stretch of No Man's Land wasrobbed of most of its ghastly details. Here and there, often inheaps, huddled corpses dressed in mud-stained field-grey testified tothe accuracy of the British rifle and machine-gun fire. Further awaylay the trenches that the Wheatshires had visited so effectively.Already Hun wiring parties had been out, and the shattered stakes andsnake-like coils of severed barbed wire had been replaced by new.Almost in the front row of wire a black, white, and red stripedflag--the emblem of Germany--fluttered in the faint breeze.

  Setley could now understand why the order for recall had been givenwhen the regiment was in possession of this section of the Huntrenches, for dominating the advance works was a strong redoubt,known to the Wheatshires by the somewhat ominous name of Pumpnickel.For the last three weeks the Engineers--the same company whoserations had been appropriated by the Wheatshires--had been engaged indriving a mine-gallery in the direction of this earthwork-fortress.Great things were promised when the time came to spring the mine andsend Pumpnickel Redoubt flying in the air.

  "I mean to get that flag," declared Bartlett. "I'll go out to-nightand bring it in."

  "Wouldn't if I were you," said Penfold. "It's a sort of booby-trap, Iwouldn't mind betting. Something that, when moved, explodes agrenade."

  "I'll risk that," declared the lad grimly. "The Boches mustn't flaunttheir colours in our faces. I was----"

  Something "pinged" on the rounded surface of his steel helmet. Awatchful sniper had seized his chance. Only by an inch had Sidneyescaped death, for had the bullet struck the steel squarely insteadof glancing off the convex surface the head-gear would not havewithstood the impact.

  "Are you young fools looking for trouble?" growled Sergeant Ferris,the N.C.O. who had routed them from the dug-out. "Keep under cover,and use a trench periscope if you want to enjoy the scenery."

  "Thanks for the tip, sergeant," said George Anderson. "Sorry I can'toffer yer a seegar, sergeant; I left me case on the grand pianner at'ome; but 'ave a fag--a genuine Day's March Nearer 'Ome' brand."

  The N.C.O. took the proffered cigarette and lit it slowly anddeliberately.

  "Are we on Wiring Party to-night, sergeant?" asked Ginger.

  "Not as I know of," was the reply. "Why?"

  "'Cause my pal 'ere is goin' to get 'old of that stripedbed-cover"--jerking his thumb in the direction of the Germanflag--"an' I'm a-goin' with 'im; ain't I, Sid, ole sport?"

  "Then you'll have to be sharp about it," remarked Sergeant Ferris."The mine is to be sprung at 3.30 a.m. We're over the top again; thistime there'll be no going back, if all goes well. We ought to advancefour hundred yards and consolidate the position. So now you know. Gofor the flag at your own risk, chums; but don't forget. Be backbefore three, or you'll stand a sure and certain chance of going toKingdom Come with a couple o' hundred perishing Boches for company."

  During the rest of the day nothing happened beyond the customaryroutine of trench life, combined with the monotonous occurrence ofcasualties.

  "Are you still of the same mind, Bartlett?" enquired Alderhame, asdarkness set in.

  "Rather," was the firm reply.

  "Then I'm going with you."

  "And I," added Setley.

  "No, you don't," objected Anderson. "Two's quite enough for thisblessed job. Look 'ere: if I don't come back, there's a letter in mypack wot I wants sent 'ome. Anythink else you can 'ave, fags an' all.I'm going to 'ave a doss. Turn me out at twelve."

  "Rum chap," commented Alderhame, indicating the soundly sleepingGinger. "A regular rough diamond, always ready to do a pal a goodturn."

  "By the by," said Setley. "You did me a good turn when my bayonet gothung up, although you nearly split the drum of my ear when you firedand brought down the fellow who was about to club me."

  "Every little helps," said Alderhame. "Lucky for you the Hun wasn'ton my left side."

  "Why?" enquired Ralph curiously.

  "Simply because I'm stone-blind in my left eye," replied the ex-actorcomposedly. "I was passed for Class A just the same. When I told thedoctor he merely remarked: 'Oh, left eye, eh? Well, a man almostinvariably shoots with his right eye!' 'I'd sooner shoot with arifle, sir!' I said. 'And so you shall, my man!' he rejoined,laughing at my repartee; so he marked me down for general service,and here I am. I'm not at all sorry. If I come through this businessit will be something to be proud of, you know."

  All was quiet between the opposing lines. The Huns, realizing thesuperior weight and volume of fire of the British guns, wiselyrefrained from inviting them; while the latter, massed until theywere practically wheel to wheel, were silent, concentrating theirenergies for a terrific tornado of shell as a prelude to the rush ofthe infantry "over the top."

  At midnight the two volunteers were roused from their slumbers.

  "Still of the same mind?" enquired Penfold.

  "Not 'arf," replied Ginger, while Bartlett nodded his head andshrugged his shoulders in the characteristic way that he hadinherited from his Polish ancestors.

  "We'll speed the parting guests," declared Alderhame, with a forcedattempt at joviality. "Me lud, your carriage waits."

  "Chuck it!" retorted Anderson. "'Ere, gimme me baynit. Look arter merifle till I comes back. Now, Sidney, old sport."

  Setley, Penfold, and the ex-actor accompanied them to the fronttrench. Like men about to dive into icy-cold water the two raiderspaused, with one foot on the fire-step; then without a word bothwriggled silently and cautiously over the parapet. Ten seconds laterthe intense darkness had swallowed them up.

  Braving the piercing cold the three men awaited their comrades'return, peering at intervals over the top of the parapet andstraining their ears to catch the faintest sound of their movements.Twenty minutes passed, but neither by sight nor sound did the twainbetray their presence in the forbidding No Man's Land.

  Suddenly the darkness was pierced by a short shriek of mingled painand rage, the thud of blows falling on some soft object, and theunmistakable squelching of many feet in the tenacious slime.

  "Good heavens!" ejaculated Penfold. "They've been done in. Who'sgoing out, lads?"

  "Not much use at present," objected Alderhame. "The Huns are on thealert. When things have quieted down a bit, I'll go."

  "That's the spirit, lad," said Sergeant Ferris, who had joined theparty of watchers. "Discretion is what's wanted now. We've chuckedaway two men over this business already, and all for the sake of adirty German flag."

  Another twenty minutes passed. The Huns could be heard talkingexcitedly in their trenches, but the distance was too great todistinguish the
ir words. Setley was of the opinion that Sidney was aprisoner. He fancied that he heard the lad's voice, but he could notbe certain.

  "If they'd got Ginger," declared Penfold, "there would be no doubt ofhearing his voice. Well, lads, are you fit?"

  The three men began to remove great-coats and everything likely toimpede their movements. Suddenly Setley snatched up his rifle.

  "What's up, now?" asked the sergeant.

  "Something moving," declared the lad.

  The sentries, too, held their arms in readiness to open fire.

  "Steady on, chums," whispered Ginger. "Don't let rip. It's only me."

  He wriggled over the parapet and dropped inertly upon the fire-step.For some moments he lay like one dead, his comrades forbearing toquestion him.

  Presently he raised his head, and extending his hand showed a closelyrolled bundle that was indistinguishable in the darkness.

  "I've got it, mates," he announced. "It's the flag we went out for.Got me baynit into one bloke's throat, an' didn't 'e scream."

  "Where's Sidney?" asked Penfold.

  "Ain't 'e back? I lost touch with 'im. 'Ere, I'm off out again!"

  "No, you don't," declared Sergeant Ferris firmly. "You'll be putunder arrest if you attempt it. You're done up. Now, you fellows, ifyou're going you'd best look sharp about it. Take a rope, in case youfind young Bartlett. Slip it round his heels, and drag him in if hecannot crawl."

  In spite of his resolution, Setley's heart was literally in his mouthwhen he found himself in contact with the slime of No Man's Land. Atten paces he had lost all idea of the whereabouts of his companions.Guided by the relative position of the Pole star, now shining feeblythrough the drifting smoke, he crawled slowly but steadily onwardstowards the spot where the coveted flag had been planted.

  At frequent intervals star-shells burst overhead, throwing ablinding, ghostly glare upon the crater-pitted ground. Theirappearance was the signal for Setley to throw himself flat upon theground. The slightest movement would have resulted in a machine-gunbeing trained upon him. With his face pillowed on his arm--it was theonly way of preventing a smothering acquaintance with theevil-smelling Somme mud--he was unable to take advantage of the lightto look for his companions. Whether they were ahead, behind, or hadrelinquished their efforts, he was totally in ignorance.

  Presently his hand came in contact with some hard cold substance. Itwas the face of a frozen corpse--that of a Hun, judging by thecloth-swathed helmet. The man was obviously a sniper, for he had onhim a stock of candles, food and drink, and a pair of binoculars.Evidently he was making, under cover of darkness, for a favouritelair when a chance bullet struck him on the forehead.

  A searchlight, unexpectedly unmasked, swept the ground. Fortunately,Setley had just crept into a shell-crater, and the raised lipeffectually intercepted the dazzling rays. From the corner of his eyehe made out the sinister lines of wire fronting the German trenches,the criss-cross of barbed entanglements standing out like silverfiligree work in the cold rays of the electric light. He was within afew feet of his objective.

  Voices were talking just over the sand-bagged parapet. He listened.There were Germans speaking in broken English, asking questions inmenacing tones. Someone was answering--and that someone was PrivateSidney Bartlett.

 
Percy F. Westerman's Novels