Part 35

Soon the sight of tanks became part of the routine of existence, and interest in watching an advance centered on the infantry which they supported in a charge; for only by its action could you judge whether or not machine gun fire had developed and, later, whether or not the tanks were silencing it. The human element was still supreme, its movement and its losses in life the criterion of success and failure, with an eternal thrill that no machine can arouse. If the tanks had accomplished nothing more than they did in the two great September attacks they would have been well worth while. I think that they saved twenty-five thousand casualties, which would have been the additional cost of gaining the ground won by unassisted infantry action. When machines manned by a few men can take the place of many battalions in this fashion they exemplify the essential principle of doing the enemy a maximum of damage with a minimum to your own forces.

XXVIII

CANADA IS QUICK

Canada's first offensive--The "surprise party"--Over nasty ground--Canada's hour--Germans amazed--Business of the Canadians to "get there"--Two difficult villages--Canadians make new rules--Canada's green soldiers accomplish an unheard of feat--Attacking on their nerve--The last burst--Fewer Canadians than Germans, but--"Mopping up"--Rounding up the captives--An aristocratic German and a democratic Canadian--French-Canadians--Thirteen counter-attacks beaten--Quickness and adaptability--Canada's soldiers make good.

The tanks having received their theatric due, we come to other results of Sept. 14th when the resistance of the right was stiff and Canada had her turn of fortune in sharing in the brilliant success on the left.

It was the Canadians' first offensive. They knew that the eyes of the army were upon them. Not only for themselves, after parrying blows throughout their experience at the front, but in the name of other battalions that had endured the remorseless grind of the Ypres salient they were to strike the blows of retribution. The answer as to how they would charge was written in faces clear-cut by the same climate that gave them their nervous alertness.

On that ugly part of the Ridge where no stable trench could be made under the vengeful German artillery fire and small numbers were shrewdly distributed in shell-craters and such small ditches as could be maintained, they crept out in the darkness a few days before the attack to "take over" from the Australians and familiarize themselves with this tempest-torn farming land which still heaved under tornadoes of shells. The men from the faraway island continent had provided the jumping-off place and the men from this side of the Pacific and the equator were to do the jumping, which meant a kind of overseas monopoly of Pozieres Ridge.

The Germans still hated the idea of yielding all the crest that stared down on them and hid the slope beyond which had once been theirs. They would try again to recover some of it, but chose a time for their effort which was proof enough that they did not know that a general attack was coming. Just before dawn, with zero at dawn, when the Canadians were forming on the reverse slope for their charge, the Germans laden with bombs made theirs and secured a footing in the thin front line among the shell-craters and, grim shadows in the night lighted by bursts of bombs and shells, struggled as they have on many similar occasions.

Then came the "surprise party." Not far away the Canadian charge waited on the tick of the second which was to release the six-mile line of infantry and the tanks.

"We were certainly keyed up," as one of the men said. "It was up to us all right, now."

Breasting the tape in their readiness for the word, the dry air of North America with its champagne exhilaration was in their lungs whipping their red corpuscles. They had but one thought and that was to "get there." No smooth drill-ground for that charge, but earth broken with shell-craters as thick as holes in a pepper-box cover! A man might stumble into one, but he must get up and go on. One fellow who twisted his ankle found it swollen out of all shape when the charge was over. If he had given it such a turn at home he would not have attempted to move but would have called for a cab or assistance. Under the spell of action he did not even know that he was hurt.

It was Canada's hour; all the months of drill at home, all the dreams on board the transport of charges to come, all the dull monotony of billets, all the slimy vigil of trenches, all the labor of preparation come to a head for every individual. Such was the impulse of the tidal wave which broke over the crest upon the astounded Germans who had gained a footing in the trench, engulfing them in as dramatic an episode as ever occurred on the Somme front.

"Give yourselves up and be quick about it! We've business elsewhere!" said the officers.

Yes, they had business with the German first-line trench when the artillery curtain lifted, where few Germans were found, most of them having been in the charge. The survivors here put up their hands before they put up their heads from shelter and soon were on their way back to the rear in the company of the others.

"I guess we had the first batch of prisoners to reach an inclosure on the morning of the 14th," said one Canadian. "We had a start with some coming into our own front line to be captured."

On the left Mouquet Farm, which, with its unsurpassed dugouts and warrens surrounded by isolated machine gun posts, had repulsed previous attacks, could not resist the determined onslaught which will share glory, when history is written, with the storming of Courcelette. Down hill beside the Bapaume Road swept the right and center, with shell-craters still thick but growing fewer as the wave came out into open fields in face of the ruins of the sugar factory, with the tank Creme de Menthe ready to do her part. She did not take care of all the machine guns; the infantry attended to at least one, I know. The German artillery turned on curtains of fire, but in one case the Canadians were not there when the curtain was laid to bar their path. They had been too rapid for the Germans. No matter what obstacle the Germans put in the way the business of the Canadians was to "get there"--and they "got there." The line marked on their map from the Bapaume Road to the east of the sugar factory as their objective was theirs. In front of them was the village of Courcelette and in front of the British line linked up on their right was Martinpuich.

Spades now! Dig as hard as you have charged in order to hold the freshly won position, with "there" become "here" and the Ridge at your backs! The London song of "The Byng Boys are Here," which gave the name of the Byng Boys to the Canadians after General Byng took command of their corps, had a most realistic application.

With the news from the right of the six-mile front that of a continuing fierce struggle, word from the left had the definite note of success. Was General Byng pleased with his Byng Boys? Was his superior, the army commander, pleased with the Canadians? They had done the trick and this is the thing that counts on such occasions; but when you take trenches and fields, however great the gain of ground, they lack the concrete symbol of victory which a village possesses.

And ahead were Courcelette and Martinpuich, both only partially demolished by shell fire and in nowise properly softened according to the usual requirements for capitulation, with their cellars doubtless heavily reinforced as dugouts. Officers studying the villages through their glasses believed that they could be taken. Why not try? To try required nerve, when it was against all tactical experience to rush on to a new objective over such a broad front without taking time for elaborate artillery preparation. General Byng, who believed in his men and understood their initiative, their "get there" quality, was ready to advance and so was the corps commander of the British in front of Martinpuich. Sir Douglas Haig gave consent.

"Up and at them!" then, with fresh battalions hurried up so rapidly that they had hardly time to deploy, but answering the order for action with the spirit of men who have been stalled in trenches and liked the new experience of stretching their legs. With a taste of victory, nothing could stop these highstrung reserves, except the things that kill and wound. The first charge had succeeded and the second must succeed.

German guns had done the customary thing by laying barrages back of the new line across the field and shelling the crest of the Ridge to prevent supports from coming up. It was quite correct form for the German commander to consider the ceremony of the day over. The enemy had taken his objective. Of course, he would not try for another immediately. Meanwhile, his tenure of new line must be made as costly as possible. But this time the enemy did not act according to rules. He made some new ones.

The reserve battalions which were to undertake the storming of the village had gone over the ground under the barrages and were up to the first objective, and when through the new line occupied by the men who made the first charge they could begin their own charge. As barrages are intermittent, one commander had his men lie down behind one until it had ceased. Again, after waiting on another for a while he decided that he might be late in keeping his engagement in Courcelette and gave the order to go through, which, as one soldier said, "we did in a hundred-yard dash sprinting a double quick--good reason why!" When the fresh wave passed the fellows in the new line the winners of the first objective called, "Go to it!" "You'll do it!" "Hurrah for Canada!" and added touches of characteristic dry humor which shell fire makes a little drier, such as a request to engage seats for the theatre at Courcelette that evening.

Consider that these battalions which were to take Courcelette had to march about two miles under shell fire, part of the way over ground that was spongy earth cut by shell-craters, before they could begin their charge and that they were undertaking an innovation in tactics, and you have only half an understanding of their task. Their officers were men out of civil life in every kind of occupation, learning their war in the Ypres salient stalemate, and now they were to have the severest possible test in directing their units in an advance.

There had been no time to lay out pattern plans for each company's course in this second rush according to map details, which is so important against modern defenses. The officers did not know where machine guns were hidden; they were uncertain of the strength of the enemy who had had all day to prepare for the onslaught on his bastions in the village. It was pitched battle conditions against set defenses. Under curtains of fire, with the concentration heavy at one point and weak at another, with machine gun or sniping fire developing in some areas, with the smoke and the noise, with trenches to cross, the business of keeping a wave of men in line of attack for a long distance--difficult enough in a manoeuver--was possible only when the initiative and an understanding of the necessities of the situation exist in the soldiers themselves. If one part of the line was not up, if a section was being buffeted by salvos of shells, the officers had to meet the emergency; and officers as well as men were falling, companies being left with a single officer or with only a "non-com" in charge. Unless a man was down he knew that his business was to "get there" and his direction was straight ahead in line with the men on his right and left.

With dead and wounded scattered over the field behind them, all who could stand on their feet, including officers and men knocked over and buried by shells and with wounds of arms and heads and even legs which made them hobble, reached the edge of the village on time and lay down to await the lifting of the fire of their own guns before the final rush.

After charging such a distance and paying the toll of casualties exacted they enjoyed a breathing space, a few minutes in which to steady their thoughts for the big thing before, "lean for the hunt," they sprang up to be in for the fray with the burst of the last shells from their guns. They knew what to do. It had been drilled into them; they had talked it and dreamed it in billets when routine became humdrum, these men with practical minds who understood the essentials of their task.

There were fewer Canadians charging through the streets than there were Germans in the village at that moment. The Canadians did not know it, but if they had it would have made no difference, such was their spirit. Secure in their dugouts from bombardment, the first that the Germans, in their systematized confidence that the enemy would not try for a second objective that day, knew of the presence of the Canadians was when the attackers were at the door and a St. Lawrence River incisiveness was calling on the occupants to come out as they were prisoners--which proves the advantage of being quick. The second wave was left to "mop up" while the first wave passed on through the village to nail down the prize by digging new trenches. Thus, they had their second objective, though on the left of the line where the action had been against a part of the old first-line system of trenches progress had been slow and fighting bitter.

The Canadians who had to "mop up" had the "time of their lives" and some ticklish moments. What a scene! Germans in clean uniforms coming out of their dugouts blinking in surprise at their undoing and in disgust, resentment and suppressed rage! Canadians, dust-covered from shell-bursts, eyes flashing, laughing, rushing about on the job in the midst of shouts of congratulation and directions to prisoners among the ruins, and the German commander so angered by the loss of the village that he began pouring in shells on Germans and Canadians at the same time! Two colonels were among the captured, a regimental and a battalion commander. The senior was a baron--one cannot leave him out of any narrative--and inclined to bear himself with patrician contempt toward the Canadian democracy, which is a mistake for barons in his situation with every Canadian more or less of a king that day. When he tried to start his men into a revolt his hosts acted promptly, with the result that the uprising was nipped in the bud and the baron was shot through the leg, leaving him still "fractious and patronizing." Then the little colonel of the French-Canadians said, "I think I might as well shoot you in a more vital part and have done with it!" or something equally to the point and suddenly the baron became quite democratic himself.