Starshine (3 page)

Nevertheless, it was a relief when his turn came to crawl back into the crater. There, he found Bertie in conversation with Sergeant Jones. The NCO had brought two of the modern Lee-Enfield rifles.

‘Ah, good, you’re back. These are dead men’s rifles, but it can’t be ’elped. There’s no time to instruct you properly with them but it’s better that you ’ave them before Jerry pays a visit in a couple of hours’ time. Now listen. The main difference is that they’re shorter than the Lee-Metford, so they’re much easier to ’andle in trenches. Your sword bayonets will fit just the same. Best thing, though, is that they’re magazine guns, see, ’ere.’

He slapped the magazine protruding in front of the trigger guard. ‘This means you can load with ten shots, instead of one at a time. Difference between life or death when you’re just a few feet away from the enemy – like now.’ He pulled back the bolt. ‘Just stick a couple o’ clips of five rounds each down there. The firin’ ejects the spent cartridge case, an’ the workin’ of the bolt, like this, pushes a new round up the spout. When you really get used to it you can let off about forty rounds a minute. It’s a great little gun. You got your oil and pull-through?’

They nodded, holding the rifles admiringly.

‘Good. Well give ’em a good clean now, while you’ve got the chance. I ’ope you ’ave better luck with ’em than their last owners.’

‘Thanks, Sarge,’ said Jim.

‘Very kind of you, sorr,’ added Bertie.

‘You don’t “sir” me, lad. I’m only a poor bloody sergeant. Now, clean the rifles and try and get your ’eads down. You might be able to ’ave about two hours’ shut-eye before we ’ave visitors.’ He paused. ‘’Ang on.’ He looked at his wristwatch. ‘Noticed anything?’

The boys stood, silently listening. ‘No, Sarge.’

‘That fixed machine gun’s stopped firing. It could mean that it’s a night attack, but I doubt it.’ The sergeant crept up to the watchman at the lip of the crater and lay there, his head just above the edge scanning the darkness ahead. He ducked momentarily as a blue Very light shot up from the British lines, then resumed his vigil. Eventually, he slipped down again and rejoined them.

‘Seems okay. Get some sleep. I’ll be back just before stand-to at dawn.’

‘Thanks, Sergeant.’

‘Nice bloke,’ said Bertie, as they saw Jones’s back disappear down the communications trench. ‘He’s looking after us.’

‘Yes. I like the look of these things.’ Jim held up the rifle admiringly. ‘We’re in the twentieth century now, Bertie. Proper rifles, for the killing of Germans. Come on, let’s oil ’em and try and get a bit of shut-eye.’

Hickman had no intention of sleeping, for he was on edge with the thought of what was to come in the morning and he wanted to be completely ready. He had carefully oiled the breech mechanism of his rifle, pulled a small square of cloth through the barrel several times to clean it, fixed his bayonet, and it seemed that he had only just closed his eyes for a moment of relaxation when he was being shaken awake.

‘Come on, lad, stand to. The good news is that grub’s up.’ It was
his friend from the digging. He was handing him a hot mug of tea and a sandwich of bread and jam. ‘Get this down you quick ’cos it’ll be light soon.’

Jim took the mug and the sandwich gratefully and began gulping down the tea and the bread and jam in successive mouthfuls. He looked across to find Bertie and winced as he saw that the little man had gone to sleep again, curled up on the soil of the crater edge, his mug and sandwich by his side.

He crawled across. ‘For God’s sake, Bertie. Wake up or you’ll be shot. Come on, man.’

The blue eyes opened and beamed at him. ‘Good morning, Jimmy boy. Holy Mary. Is that tea you’ve got there?’

‘Stand to, men.’ The sergeant had miraculously appeared. ‘Lookout – any sign?’

‘No, Sarge. Nothing moving as far as I can see.’

‘Right. Get that grub down you quickly, all of you, and then man the edge of the crater. You two Terriers, get out on the trench at the side there. You two,’ he gestured to two men who were hurriedly buckling on their equipment, ‘don’t let me see you taking off your belts at night again. The next time it’ll be a charge. Now get out on the trench on the left. Put a cartridge up the spout. Move now.’

The sergeant turned to greet a young subaltern who had slipped into the crater. It was obvious from the mud that clung to the young man’s boots and riding breeches that he was attempting to work his way along the line. ‘Morning, sir.’

‘Morning, Jones. Everything all right?’

‘Yessir. Ready and waiting.’

‘Now, men,’ he addressed them all in a low monotone. ‘We’ve held ’em off so far. There’s to be no more retreating, so we have to hold out here to the end. Understood?’

There was a low murmur of assent.

‘Very good. Rapid firing when they come. Good luck.’

Hickman and Murphy crawled their way along the ditch that Jim had helped excavate during the night. A soft light began to illuminate them all. Bertie threw away his last crust and took a peek over the edge towards the German lines. He called back to the sergeant.

‘How many men would there be in the German army, then, Sarge?’ he asked.

‘What? Oh, about seven million. Why, for God’s sake?’

‘Well, they’re all standing up now just across there and starting to come towards us.’

‘Stand to! Lookout, what the hell’s wrong with you?’ The sergeant scrambled to the lip of the crater and pulled back the inert form of the lookout who had a small black hole in the middle of his forehead. Jones’s voice rose to a shriek. ‘Man the lip of the shell hole and trenches. Rapid fire at enemy in front.
FIRE
!’

Jim, on his knees, levelled his rifle and looking down its unfamiliarly short barrel found himself gazing at a grey mass of uniformed men marching stolidly towards him, a frighteningly short distance away. At the same moment the British line exploded into a crackle of gunfire.

He pulled the trigger and saw his target collapse and fall. He groped with his hand to find a replacement cartridge and realised, with a curse, that the action was unnecessary and a waste of precious time, for he did not need to feed the breech with single cartridges; he could just keep firing. He did so, hardly bothering to take aim now, pumping the bolt as fast as he could and blessing the fact that he had cleaned the rifle, for it was firing fast and smoothly. His ten rounds were soon spent and he fumbled to put two more clips into the magazine, flipping away the clip holders with his thumb, and recommenced firing.

The enemy were falling all across the line, for they were tightly bunched together and presenting an unmissable target to the British rifles. Yet they still marched on with great courage into that devastating fire. The front rank were near enough now to break into a lumbering trot, their bayonets presented to the front and the rising sun glinting on their strange, spike-topped pickelhaube helmets.

‘Bloody ’ell, Jimmy boy,’ Jim heard Bertie cry. ‘They’ll be on us in a minute.’

‘Keep firing,’ hissed Jim. ‘When they’re a few yards away climb out back, away from the trench and get behind me. They’ll have to reach across the trench to get to us.’

‘I’ll not be fightin’ behind yer, lad, that’s for sure. But I’ll be awful glad if you’ll stay with me …’

But these desperate measures were not needed. Within some ten yards of the flimsy entrenchments the grey line suddenly seemed to pause, stop and then turn and run back up the slope, leaving behind it groups of bodies, some of them still moving and emitting a low moan of men in pain. A faint cheer ran along the British line.

‘Keep firing, don’t stop, bugger it!’ The sergeant’s voice rang out from the shell hole to the left of the two men. ‘You’re allowed to shoot the bastards in the back if they run away. Rapid fire still!’

Hickman kept sighting down the barrel of his Lee-Enfield, firing and banging the bolt down until his hand felt bruised and perspiration ran down his forehead and into his eyes, affecting his aim. He looked across at Bertie. The little Irishman’s head was lying, cheek down on the soil to the side of his rifle. A surge of fear ran through Jim.

‘Bertie! Have you been hit?’

The familiar round face turned slowly and regarded him. ‘No, but I’m fair knackered, Jimmy. And, I don’t mind confessin’, more than a touch shit scared, darlin’ boy. I thought we were done for.’ The
grin came back. ‘Think of it, Jimmy boy, our first battle and killed in it in the first mornin’. Now that wouldn’t have been fair, would it? Gone without a sniff of the altar cloth. Snuffed out with no chance of enjoyin’ it all and gettin’ medals and stuff like that. Eh?’

Hickman grinned back. Then he half rose and looked at the dead men in heaps before them. The smile disappeared. ‘Well, I’m right glad, Bertie, that you took a look over the top. Otherwise we’d probably have been done for. Strange we didn’t hear the bullet that got the lookout, poor bugger. Must have been a sniper.’

He indicated the bodies. ‘We shot well, though, didn’t we?’

‘Couldn’t miss at that range. Lucky we’d got the new rifles, though, eh?’

The sergeant’s voice called from their left. ‘You Terriers all right?’

‘Yes, Sarge.’

‘Good shooting. You knew what you were doing.’

‘Ah well.’ Bertie’s voice had pride in it. ‘We was both marksmen with them long rifles, Lee-Whatsits, but it was even easier with these new little darlins.’

‘Will they attack again, Sarge?’ asked Jim.

‘Oh yes. But I can’t understand why we weren’t shelled first. We’ll probably get it now. Use your bayonets to scoop out ’oles in the side of the trench and crawl into ’em when the shelling starts. At least they won’t attack when we’re being shelled. Well done, lads.’

The two removed their bayonets, laid down their rifles and began scraping away at the side of the trench. As if to give their efforts urgency, the German guns began to boom and they felt for the first time the fear that comes from being shelled and knowing that there was absolutely nothing at all that they could do about it. They were lying virtually out in the open, like rabbits sprung from the last vestige of corn as a field is harvested – except that the rabbits could
run. Here, all the two men could do was to press into the slight depressions they had made in the trench wall, put their hands to their ears and pray.

At first, the shells exploded behind them, further down the slope towards Ypres. Ah, thought Jim, they’re targeting the support tracks and trenches, to stop reinforcements coming forward to the line. Clever bastards! Then the explosions began to creep nearer until they seemed to be all around them, landing everywhere and sending clouds of soil, rock and steel fragments into the air to rain down onto the trench. The hiss as the shells soared down, and then the crash and crump as they landed, were deafening and caused Hickman’s tongue to cleave to the roof of his dry mouth.

As he pressed, foetus-like, into the scraping he had made, Jim thought of the German wounded, lying even less protected, out in the open the other side of the low parapet. Would the gunners think of them? Would they lift their sights to avoid killing their own kind?

They did not. The shells continued to rain down, exploding with less ferocity as they landed among the soft bodies of the fallen, sending remnants of what had been living men high into the air. An arm, torn from its body, landed at Hickman’s side as he crouched. He noticed with disgust that a watch was still fixed to the wrist. He wrinkled his nose and shuddered. None of the wounded could have survived that. If this was modern warfare, then it was disgusting!

‘Are you all right, Bertie?’ he called.

‘No. I’d rather be somewhere else, Jim boy.’

He had no idea how long the bombardment had lasted but suddenly it ceased. Immediately, the sergeant’s voice came from the shell hole to their left. ‘They’ll come at us again now. Fix bayonets and man the edges, but keep your heads down. I’ll shout when you have to fire.’

‘Oh, bloody hell, Jim,’ said Bertie. ‘You’d have thought that they would have had enough—’

He was interrupted by the arrival of a young Gordon Highlander, his knees grimed and his kilt filthy. ‘Move up, boys,’ he said. ‘Sergeant’s sent me to give a hand. We’ve had reinforcements, the noo. All four of ’em. Very crowded in our shell hole.’

‘Stand to!’ The sergeant’s voice was high and it cracked now. ‘Rapid fire!’

The three men immediately thrust their rifles above the rim of the trench, resting them on the soil piled there. ‘Blimey,’ exclaimed the Scotsman. ‘They’re coming over as thick as before. Stupid. They should be in open order, yer ken. If only we’d got a machine gun.’

Jim realised that he had not heard a machine gun fired from the British lines and, for a brief moment, he wondered why. Did the British Expeditionary Force in France not possess the things? But the thought was soon replaced with a mixture of twin emotions: fear and a new kind of elation as, through his sights, he saw the grey mass dissolve into a line of individuals as they neared – men, like himself, except that they wore funny hats and grey coats. They were coming once again to kill him and he must kill them. He squinted down the barrel, fired, worked the bolt and fired again, as the fragmented British line sprang into life in a blaze of yellow flashes.

The German attack this time, however, was a little more sophisticated. Its front line fell – some men, indeed, as casualties as a result of the British fire, but others because they intended to do so. They fell, levelled their long rifles and delivered a volley at the British lines, reloaded and then fired again. It became apparent that the second line had been kept further back, for it now stepped through its supine comrades and charged ahead, bayonets levelled.

That volley had had its effect, because, as bullets thudded into the turfed mound and whined overhead, Jim, Bertie and the Highlander instinctively ducked their heads. As they lifted them again, the German line was closer, considerably closer.

‘Bloody hell,’ shouted the Scotsman. ‘Rapid fire, boys. Rapid fire.’

The fire was effective but not completely so, for six men bounded ahead of the German line and were within ten feet of the three men kneeling in the trench when the bullets of the defenders caught three of them and brought them down. The other three, however, presented their long bayonets low and came on, so close that Jim could hear the sound of their heavy breathing.