Heart of War (24 page)

A wild exhilaration filled Fagioletti. He'd bayonetted two Germans … he'd shot half a dozen … he was alive … He screamed in his native Venetian,
‘Ligàvemo fermai – gàvemo copà quei porsei! ‘

Colonel Rowland shouted, ‘Back to the trench … hurry!'

They jumped back and down, just in time, as the German artillery observers, having seen the defeat of the counterattack, reopened fire on the captured trench.

Fagioletti was back on his ammunition box, facing out over the new No Man's Land. A group of officers was just below and behind him, and he listened to them with a professional competence, just as he used to listen to diners' conversation at two or three tables at once, separating out the voices from his post several yards away.

‘Another wave should have passed here long since,' Colonel Rowland said. ‘If one doesn't come soon, we ought
to attack. Maintain the momentum of the attack, at all costs … that's what the training memoranda all stressed.'

Boy Rowland said, ‘The pillboxes in their second and third lines don't seem to have been damaged by our bombardment, sir. Nor the wire …'

‘They're disorganized … just had their counter-attack beaten back,' the colonel said. ‘But we'll have to wait till dark … Meanwhile, we've got to let Brigade know what's happening up here. No one's seen any brigade runners or staff, have they?'

‘Not likely, sir.' That was Lieutenant Fred Stratton, Fagioletti knew, his brother-in-law … or had been, until he divorced Ethel. He was glad he had not been put in Fred's platoon. The Strattons were all angry with him.

The colonel said, ‘Then we'll have to send someone … to make them understand we must have reinforcements here if we are to hold what we have, let alone continue the attack tonight … Mr Campbell, you'll go.'

After a pause the officer answered, ‘Yes, sir.'

‘Get back to Brigade any way you can. Take one man as escort. Tell them that I have about a hundred and fifty men and seven officers …'

‘Six, sir,' the adjutant cut in. ‘Major Dodson was killed in that last German attack.'

‘Take over his company, Boy. And when you come back, you'll act as adjutant, Campbell. … Tell them we're holding the old German front line trench from the edge of Mametz Wood to a point about three hundred yards east of it. The German wire is uncut in front of us, and their concrete pillboxes are undamaged. I need information about the position on our flanks … and reinforcements – quickly.'

‘Yes, sir.'

Fagioletti felt a tap on his legs. ‘You, Private Fagioletti … come with me.'

Fagioletti slid down into the trench. The colonel said, ‘Go with Mr Campbell. You've done well today. What's your name?'

‘Fagioletti, sir.'

‘I'll remember you. Mr Stratton, take command of the sector from here to Mametz Wood. Make sure that the Germans can't infiltrate past you through the wood.'

‘There's not many trees left standing now, sir.'

‘Boy, go and take over the right sector … and, of course, what's left of D, wherever you can find them. And send me C.S.M. Dalley, if he's alive … I want him as R.S.M.'

‘Come along, Fagioletti,' Mr Campbell said. ‘We'll have a tot of rum at Brigade … if we get there in one piece.'

‘Very good, sir,' Fagioletti said. He unfixed his bayonet, made sure his magazine was full, and followed Mr Campbell up into the open, running from shell hole to shell hole, among sporadic explosions, under the random rattle of machine gun fire, past still smoking craters, over uncountable silent dead, and moaning wounded.

Candles guttered in the crowded dugout. Colonel Rowland continued, ‘The two companies from the 17th Connaught Rangers are due to join us here by midnight, and attack with us. You'll have guides in our old front line trench, Mr Campbell, to bring them forward from there.'

‘Aye, sir … yes, sir.'

‘The artillery barrage will begin at first light, when the spotters can see the targets. The heavies will be directed specifically at the German pillboxes and wire … We will attack in two waves, at seven-thirty ack emma. Our first objective is the new German front line trench, but there will be no delay on that, and troops will advance straight on to the second objective, which is the German reserve trench … lines of advance will be by compass, bearing 20 degrees magnetic … that line will be adhered to at all costs …'

He went on … creeping barrage … rate of advance … necessity of keeping close behind the barrage … forming waves … wire … unexpended portion of the day's ration, if any (the men haven't had any rations, or fresh water, all day, Boy thought, as he listened, taking notes, an army message pad on his knee) … intercommunication … success signals … It was all a repeat of the scene the day before, except that that had been by daylight, and this was in the dusk, in a German dugout … and so many faces, grown familiar, had gone … Dodson, Burke-Greve, Beldring, Jackson, Le Fevre, Nichols, Foy, Scott, Jerram, all dead … Kellaway, Garvey, Gates, Churchill-Gatty, Stroud, Buchman-Smythe, wounded … and the men – over five hundred.

The German dugout still smelled of German cigar
smoke, German officers' equipment still hung on nails from the beams, the crowded British faces wavered in German candle light – Campbell, the old Scotsman he'd barely seen, come here under a cloud for getting drunk with an O.R. in the Depot Mess – he'd done all right today, though: Fred Stratton, confident, assertive, a new man … young Dale, gawky as a scarecrow but otherwise very Sandhurst, didn't need to shave yet – he'd done well, too … a York and Lancs subaltern just out from home, and almost dumb with the shock of what he'd seen … Father Caffin,
there
was a good one; he'd be pleased to see the Catholic Connaughts when they came up … but he was just as good with the Kentish and Cockney Protestants of the Wealds …

What had happened today? He ought to find out. Everyone ought to know, to make sure it didn't happen again. On this part of the front it had certainly been a disaster, only the stubborn courage of the men shining through the murk of failure. But it was all going to repeat itself tomorrow …

His uncle said, ‘Any questions?'

No one spoke and Quentin said, ‘Dismiss, then, and good luck tomorrow. I'll be round soon after midnight, when I've seen the Connaughts in, and made sure they understand the orders.'

The officers rose from the bench and ammunition boxes and sandbags they had been sitting on, saluted, and filed out into the trench. There was no moon, and starlight gleamed dully on the bayonets of the sentries along the firestep – one-third of all men were on sentry duty, the rest sleeping at their feet in the bottom of the trench, their rifles cuddled in their arms.

The Yorks and Lancs subaltern had been appointed Boy's second-in-command, and the two now stumbled along one behind the other, trying not to tread on sleeping soldiers, edging round traverses, squeezing past N.C.O.s patrolling the trench, until they reached the dugout in the middle of Boy's sector where he had established his headquarters. Sergeant Thompson was waiting there, and Boy said, ‘I'll give all N.C.O.s orders in ten minutes, Sergeant, here.'

‘They're eating now, sir. We found a string of Jerry sausages, and a sack of bread – black bread, it is.'

Boy led into the dugout, dropped the gas curtain into
place, fumbled for a match, and lit the solitary candle that stood in a bottle on the table. He sank down wearily onto the backless chair on one side of the table, the subaltern onto the other, facing him. He was about twenty. He stared fixedly at Boy, his mouth working, and finally burst out in a marked Lancashire accent – ‘It will be joost the same as t'day! We'll all be killed!'

Boy said, ‘Not all … some.'

‘Boot …'

‘It's a dangerous war,' Boy snapped. Privately he thought that if the Germans were guilty of atrocities, the British generals certainly were for the planning of today's attack. Any other soldiers would have shot their officers in the back and run. Perhaps it would be better if they had. Then the brass hats back there would have had to face the facts. As it was, nothing went through … pale, frightened, hungry, thirsty, filthy, the British infantry stuck it; and the brass hats could report … victory.

‘Smarten up,' he said sharply to the subaltern. ‘The N.C.O.s will be here in a minute and I don't want them to think we don't believe entirely in what we're going to do.' God, he thought, my voice was exactly like Uncle Quentin's when I said that.

Quentin Rowland sat on an ammunition box in the dugout where he had given his orders. It seemed much larger now, with only himself, Father Caffin, and Campbell in it. A half empty bottle of German champagne stood on the battered table between two guttering candles. He was puffing on his last fill of tobacco, and his arm still hurt, but he felt a slow, solid content. The battalion had done magnificently. No other soldiers could have done it … just citizen soldiers, too, for the old regulars he'd commanded at Mons and Le Cateau and First Ypres were long gone. In spite of the tremendous artillery preparation, in the end the work had had to be done with bare hands. Tomorrow they'd finish this part of the job … and the day after, the next … and then the next …

Campbell, sipping the sweet champagne, watched the colonel with an artist's concentration. This was Fiona's husband, whom she despised, the man who didn't understand her … no imagination, she had said a hundred
times. No understanding of her, she had meant; but he must have no imagination at all, or how could he sit there, in obvious contentment, with five hundred of his men and more than half his officers dead and wounded, the great attack dead. But there he was, and whatever the men had been through, he'd been through it with them. None of them were going to say a word against him, or hear one said. None of
them
were going to accuse him of lack of imagination … Why? Because they didn't have any themselves? That must be it, otherwise how could they face the memory of what they had seen, and the certainty of more of the same tomorrow, and tomorrow … for weeks, months, perhaps?

He said, ‘Sir … at first, when we left our trenches, the battalion on our right was doing very well. If they'd gone on they would have got behind the Huns who were enfilading us. But they stopped. Did they have to do that, sir?'

The colonel said, ‘It was in the orders … pace of advance not to be altered or exceeded in any circumstances, nor objectives changed.'

‘But, sir …'

The colonel interrupted, ‘If we don't stick to exact orders and timings, we lose all formation … There's no real communication once the battle has begun, whatever arrangements they make with Very lights, flags, coloured patches on the men's backs. If they were regulars, perhaps one could allow some flexibility … but as it is – stick to orders. It's the only way, in the long run. A few weeks at the Depot, a few weeks in the trenches, is not enough to prepare men for this sort of thing … especially the officers. There'd be chaos.' He puffed on his pipe and leaned back against the dugout's cold, wet wall.

The priest said, ‘Would there not be an advantage in attacking at night, Colonel … as you were going to do, before Brigade sent up the new orders?'

The colonel said, ‘I don't think so, Padre. I was going to because I couldn't get artillery support. This is better.'

The priest said, ‘My brother thought night attacks would be the best way to attack anyone, these days. He was trying to get Pearse to make a night attack on the Curragh. The darkness would even things up, he said.'

Archie saw the colonel's head jerk up, ‘Attack the Curragh? Why, that …'

The priest said gently, ‘My brother was a Sinn Feiner, colonel.'

The colonel sat silent a moment, then said, ‘So's my sister.'

The priest said, ‘I know. They call her Lady. My brother was in the Rising. He was courtmartialled and shot.'

The colonel said, ‘Margaret deserved to be. She escaped.'

For a long time no one spoke. Archie thought, the colonel's staring at me, or through me. He felt nervous. Did he know? Had Fiona told him that her ex-lover had come to the Wealds, and been posted to the 1st Battalion? She'd sent Archie three notes while he was at the Depot in Hedlington, but he had not answered them; and she had not spoken to him the night of the concert; but she hadn't given him up yet. He knew that from the look in her eye that night.

The priest said, ‘Night attacks may not be possible with these men, colonel … but nor is what we did today. After another day or two like that there'll be no British Army left.'

The C.O. glowered at him and said shortly, ‘We'll obey orders.'

The priest looked as though he was going to say something more on the same subject and Archie cut in – ‘Sir, I noticed that when the Germans counter-attacked they came out of their trenches in dribs and drabs, little groups here, others there … some came running, some dived for a shell hole and started firing. They made difficult targets for our machine gunners, even for the riflemen and Lewis gunners.'

‘We go in straight lines,' the C.O. said, ‘for the same reason that we don't make large night attacks. The men are untrained. It requires a lot of training and good leadership at the platoon level, to let troops act in small separated groups like that.'

‘The Germans opposite us …'

‘They did two years military training in peace time – all but the very youngest,' the C.O. said. He took the pipe from his mouth and pointed the stem at Archie. His slightly protruding blue eyes were bloodshot with fatigue, but his voice was still strong. ‘You're an older man, Campbell, and now you're adjutant, and you, Padre, are officially a noncombatant
… otherwise I wouldn't be discussing these matters with you. But you must both understand that no officer or man in this battalion must be permitted to express doubts or criticism of a plan, once ordered, whether by me, or by my superiors.'