A Lively Bit of the Front Part 37

Although outnumbered, the Diggers did the work Diggers smartly and effectually. As the Prussian officer raised his revolver to fire point-blank at Sergeant Fortescue, Malcolm plunged his bayonet into the Hun's side, while Fortescue reciprocated the service by shooting a German who was about to deal Rifleman Carr a smashing blow with the b.u.t.t of his rifle before the latter could disengage his blade.

"Now what's to be done, Sergeant?" enquired Joliffe, as he surveyed the scene of the struggle. Of the seven New Zealanders who had rushed the position only four were left standing--Fortescue, Malcolm, Joliffe, and Henderson. d.i.c.k Selwyn was lying with his back propped against a tree-trunk and a gunshot wound in his left arm.

The bullet, fired at close range, had been almost as destructive as a dum-dum. The other man was dead.

"Got it this time, Malcolm!" murmured d.i.c.k faintly, as his chum knelt beside him, and with a queer smile on his face Selwyn pa.s.sed into unconsciousness.

While Rifleman Carr was busy with first-aid dressings, Sergeant Fortescue was pondering over the situation. He had lost touch with the advance. It was a vain sacrifice to attempt to push on with a mere handful of men. He decided to sit tight and await developments.

Reserves would be speedily coming up; of that he felt certain.

"Can we get him out of this, Fortescue?" enquired Malcolm, indicating his unconscious chum. Fortescue shook his head.

"No," he replied. "'Gainst orders. Sorry!"

It cost the man an effort to refuse, but the sense of discipline had the upper hand. He, too, knew that once a wounded man was left in the depths of the battle-swept wood there was little chance of his being removed before it was too late. Yet if the rule were broken, and every unwounded man took upon himself to succour his disabled chum, the advance would be jeopardized.

Out of the smoke stumbled a wounded man, hesitatingly, as if not certain of his bearings. His shrapnel-helmet had fallen off, revealing an unbandaged bullet wound extending over both eyebrows.

From his waist downwards he was literally caked with plastic mud.

"This way, chum!" shouted Fortescue, seeing that the man was partly blinded by the flow of blood, and as likely as not dazed by the nature of his wound.

"Look out!" exclaimed the wounded Digger, as Joliffe and Henderson a.s.sisted him into the emplacement. "We've copped it properly up there. The boys floundered into a bog, and were shot down like rabbits. And the Boches are counter-attacking. They'll be along here in half a shake."

It was bad news. The main attack had inclined away to the right, while the thinly-held line between the New Zealand division and the English regiments on the left had been stopped, not by the Huns, but by the impossible condition of the marshy ground. Into the gap a strong body of German troops, who, having previously held the wood, knew how to avoid the treacherous swamp, came hurriedly, with the intention of driving a wedge between the a.s.saulting troops. It was one of those minor operations which, if successful, might turn the fortunes of the day.

"By gum!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Fortescue. "We're up against something. Any of you fellows know how to handle these?"

He indicated the two captured machine-guns, in one of which a fresh belt of ammunition had just been placed when the Diggers upset Fritz's preparations.

"Guess I'll have a cut at it," remarked Malcolm. Joliffe also signified his belief that he would be able to "work the gadget".

"All right, then," continued Fortescue. "Henderson, you and I will do a bit of bombing. How about you, chum? Can you bear a hand?" The wounded man who had brought the news of impending danger seized a couple of discarded rifles.

"I'm good for a few rounds rapid," he replied, as he examined the magazines of the weapons. "If I do a few of 'em in I don't mind overmuch. One of my mates told me he saw them shooting every wounded man of our crush they came across, so it's stick it to the last."

There was one alternative: to abandon the position. It meant leaving d.i.c.k Selwyn to the mercies of the Huns, for retirement through the mud would be impossible if hampered by a wounded man. Fortescue promptly dismissed the thought.

"Yes," he exclaimed, "we'll stick it out to the last! If I go under, Rifleman Carr takes command, then Joliffe. Now, stand by! Here they come!"

The foremost of the advancing Germans appeared in sight at a distance of about eighty yards from the devoted New Zealanders--bombers and riflemen in a compact ma.s.s--the advance guard of the formidable counter-attack.

They approached cautiously, almost furtively. Although a.s.sured by their officers that this part of the wood was not held, they appeared to have their doubts as to the success of their desperate measure.

Both machine-guns got off the mark almost at the same time. At that short range it was impossible to miss. Where men had been standing a second or so before was a struggling heap of writhing figures, while, to add to the slaughter, several of the bombs carried by the enemy exploded in their midst with devastating effect.

Back pressed the survivors, the wounded crawling slowly to the shelter of the fallen trees. Grouser Joliffe cheered. So far the Diggers had scored heavily.

Bullets whistling past their ears told them the unpleasant news that the Huns were developing an encircling movement. While the main body kept well back, skilled riflemen, taking advantage of abundant cover, were converging upon the little band of New Zealanders.

Bombs, too, were hurled, but the distance was too great. They fell and exploded harmlessly.

Except for the moral effect, the machine-guns were now of little use. Better work could be performed by individual shooting, but the diverging fire from five rifles was a feeble reply to the converging volleys from ten times that number, while the emplacement, constructed to meet an attack from the westward, was ill-designed to ward off an a.s.sault from the opposite quarter.

For full five minutes the defenders lay low, replying cautiously to the hostile fire, yet conserving their energies for the time when the Huns would attempt to rush the scantily-held post.

Then came a catastrophe. A bullet, pa.s.sing through an aperture in the concrete, struck Fortescue in the chest. Almost at the same time the already wounded Digger who had brought the news received a second wound in the right shoulder.

Malcolm Carr was now in charge of a garrison of four effectives all told.

With a weird attempt at cheering a number of Boches, mostly bombers, emerged from behind the tree-trunks and rushed towards the defences.

Both guns quickly stopped the rush, but not before three men were astride the concrete wall.

Hardly realizing what he was about, Malcolm abandoned the machine-gun, seized a rifle, and dropped the foremost Hun. The second promptly lunged with his bayonet, and, although Malcolm parried, the blade transfixed his left arm just above the elbow. The next instant Henderson dropped the fellow with a bullet at close quarters, while Joliffe accounted for the third.

The three New Zealanders quickly slipped behind cover, just in time to escape a hail of bullets from the Huns, who had witnessed their comrades' deaths. Deftly Joliffe tied a strip of linen tightly above Malcolm's wound, for there was no time to lose. Although unable to use a rifle, Malcolm could still work the machine-gun, in spite of the throbbing and burning pain that shot through his left arm and down his side.

"We've settled a good many of the swine," exclaimed Joliffe. "When the boys come up they'll see we've died game."

Beyond a few desultory shots the attack had quieted down. It was ominous. The Huns, unable to rush the position, were bringing up a trench-mortar.

Suddenly the lull in this part of the wood (elsewhere the noise of combat was still intense) was broken by the rattle of rapid independent rifle-firing and the well-known battle-cry of the New Zealand boys. Bombs, too, were crashing in all directions, while Lewis guns added to the din.

Then, as swarms of khaki-clad figures dashed from between the shattered tree-trunks, Malcolm realized that aid was forthcoming in the very nick of time. His work accomplished, he dropped inertly to the ground between the bodies of his greatest chums, and everything became a blank.

Up the hill leading to No. 1 General Hospital, Brockenhurst--an establishment known as Tin Town--two men in "hospital blues" were slowly making their way. Both were wearing new, stiff-brimmed New Zealand hats, adorned with scarlet puggarees. The "blues" might be ill-fitting and sloppy, but it was a point of honour amongst the "boys" that their head-gear should be smart.

One of the men had his left arm in a sling, the empty sleeve being pinned to his coat; the other, in addition to wearing a bandage round his forehead, walked with a p.r.o.nounced limp and leant heavily upon a rubber-shod walking-stick.

"Think you'll manage it, Malcolm?" enquired the man with the crippled arm. "It's a stiffish pull."

"I guess I'll do it, d.i.c.k," replied Rifleman Carr. "We've tackled some job for our first walk beyond the grounds; but Fortescue will be disappointed if we don't fetch there. How much farther is it?"

"Foot a bit stiff?" enquired Selwyn as his companion paused and rested one hand on d.i.c.k's shoulder.

"It gives me gip at times; suppose I'm a bit out of training, too,"

replied Malcolm. "What puzzles me is how did I get that buckshie?"

"What puzzles me," rejoined d.i.c.k, "is how any of us came out of it alive. There's Fortescue, with a hole drilled completely through his chest, alive and kicking. You came off lightly, my boy; but when they carted me into the operating-room I thought it was good-bye to my arm."

At length the chums reached the portals of Tin Town. Following an asphalted path between well-kept lawns they arrived at the corrugated-iron building in which Sergeant Fortescue was to be found. Being a fine afternoon, and most of the cases convalescent, the ward was almost deserted. The object of their search was soon discovered.

"Glad to see you," exclaimed Fortescue when the preliminary greetings had been exchanged. "I hear you're boarded for New Zealand, Selwyn?"

"Yes, I'm off to Torquay on Thursday," replied Selwyn. "Suppose it'll be six weeks more before I get a boat, and then cheer-o for Christchurch."

"Lucky dog!" commented Fortescue. "By the way, Malcolm, I've news for you. That boxing Maori pal of yours, Te Paheka's his name, I fancy, is in the next ward. Do you know, he carried you right back to the advance dressing-station, and that you were both bowled over by a sh.e.l.l just the other side of Hannebeke stream? That's how you got it in the foot, and Te Paheka had a chunk taken off his shoulder. Yet he stuck to you and carried you in before he collapsed."

"That's news," declared Malcolm. "How is he? I'll look him up when we leave you. And now I'll tell you some news. I've been recommended for a commission, and am to have a staff job in Blighty until I'm fit to go out again."