CHAPTER XX
LIBERATED
A PROLONGED spell of steady westerly winds delayed the British airsquadron's return to the Western Front. A week or more had passedsince the arrival of Blake and his companions on Russian soil, andalthough the hospitality of their hosts exceeded all expectations,the airmen eagerly looked for a favourable breeze to aid them ontheir lengthy flight.
Especially was there anxiety when they learnt the news--a widespreadsecret--that the great Anglo-French offensive was shortly to takeplace. On the Eastern Front, especially in Bukovina, the Muscovitetroops were displaying great activity. Already the Austrians werebeing pushed back in headlong rout towards the Carpathians. In Italy,too, their frenzied offensive, which in the first instance had pushedCadorna's troops from the Trentino Mountains, had been checked andhurled backwards by the magnificent valour of the Italian armies.
On the Western Front Verdun was still proving the grave of thousandsof the Kaiser's troops, who, in hopes of being able to announce asplendid though costly victory, had been ineffectually hurled dayafter day upon the grim, determined lines of Frenchmen backed bytheir tremendously effective "Seventy-fives."
Meanwhile in the neighbourhood of Riga Hindenburg had to be watched.More, his projected offensive had to be met and broken. Here, too,there was a good prospect of success for the Allied arms, for notonly had the Russians vast reserves of men and munitions, but sincethe bad smashing of the German Fleet off the Jutland shore, thedanger of a naval attack upon Riga was at an end. And not only that;the almost intact Russian Baltic Fleet, aided by a number of Britishsubmarines, could co-operate with the land forces and seriouslymenace the left flank of the German armies in Courland.
Private Thomas Smith, who was now putting on weight rapidly and wasfast recovering his normal health and spirits, had been made asupplementary member of the battleplane's crew. On learning the namesof his new officers he made the announcement that for three monthsduring his incarceration at Meseritz he had been acting as servant toAthol's father.
There were, he reported, four British officers at the prison camp, onwhom the task of maintaining discipline devolved; for, owing to thehorrible sanitary conditions and totally inadequate food, typhus hadbroken out in the camp. It was Wittenburg all over again. ThePrussian guards, terrorised by the thought that they were exposed tothe dread disease, had kept well aloof from their prisoners,supplying them food by means of iron trucks that were hauled in andout of the camp by endless ropes. To make matters worse the truckswere liberally sprinkled with chloride of lime, which had the effectof making the already unwholesome food absolutely unpalatable.
"Not a single man of us left the camp alive during those days,"continued Smith. "Afterwards it got a lot better, so they hired usout like a lot of cattle. As things went it turned out all right forme. No, sir, I haven't seen anything of Colonel Hawke for nearly sixmonths. He was all right then--as well as could be expected in thathorrible den."
At daybreak on the following morning the rumble of guns, that for thepast week had been intermittent, increased into a continuous andterrific roar. All along the Courland Front dense clouds of smokedrifted slowly across the Russian lines. The ground, twenty milesfrom the actual scene of the furious cannonade, trembled under thepulsations of the concentrated artillery.
"Would you like to have a nearer view of the action?" enquired thecourteous Russian colonel who acted as the British officers'principal host. "To-day we hope to achieve something."
"Our battleplane is at your service, sir," replied Blake.
"No, no," protested the Russian. "That is not what I meant. Your workis best performed on your own front when the climatic conditionspermit of your return. Here, while you are on Russian soil, it is ourduty to take good care of you. Nevertheless, should you wish to seehow your Russian brothers-in-arms can fight the Huns----?"
"Assuredly," replied Blake.
Within five minutes a swift motor-car was in readiness. Accompaniedby two Russian officers, Blake, Athol and Dick were soon speedingover an excellent road that had only recently been completed--one ofthe vast network of communications made by the Russians during thewinter of 1915-16, and which enabled them to move their troops withthe same facilities as did their highly-organised foes.
"This is as far as I dare take you, gentlemen," announced one of theRussian officers, as the car came to a standstill in the rear of aslightly-rising ridge. "His Excellency Colonel Dvouski has impressedupon me the necessity of caution. It will be fairly safe to walk tothe summit of this hill. From it we can see much of the operations."
The party alighted and accompanied their guide. The view at firstsight was distinctly monotonous. Both the Russian and the Germantriple lines of trenches were completely invisible, the zigzag linesof clay being garbed in a verdant cloak of wavy grass interspersedwith gay-coloured flowers. But, although the trenches were concealedfrom direct view the Russian gunners had the range of the hostileguns to a nicety, thanks to the efficient aid given by theirobserving aeroplanes.
As far as the eye could reach the German lines were being subjectedto a terrific bombardment. Clouds of dust and smoke, mingled withflying timbers, sandbags, human bodies and limbs testified to thestupendous power of the high-explosive shells which Russia'serstwhile foe was now lavishly pouring into her new ally's magazines.
Two miles beyond the German third line trenches another deluge ofshells was falling, forming a "barrage" or impassable zone of fire inorder to prevent the enemy's reserves from being rushed up to assistthe already demoralised front line defenders.
The Russian officer consulted his watch.
"In seven and a half minutes from now," he announced laconically andas calmly as if he were stating the time of departure of a train.
Breathlessly Athol and Dick watched the bursting shells, mentallycomparing the hail of friendly projectiles with the state of affairswhen they were "foot-slogging" in the Flanders trenches. Then theywere in the unenviable position of being subjected to a heavy"strafing" with the disconcerting knowledge that the Huns weresending three shells to the British one. Now, thanks to energeticmeasures to provide munitions, it was the other way about. The sightthat the lads witnessed near Riga was but a part of a similar andconcerted plan of action stretching between the Baltic and theCarpathians on the Eastern Front; from the North Sea to the Swissfrontier on the Western, and in no less a degree against theAustrians on the Italian border.
Suddenly the guns pounding the German first line trenches "lifted,"transferring their hail of projectiles to a line well beyond.Simultaneously swarms of grey-coated Russian infantry appeared fromthe invisible trenches, clambered over the parapets, and surgedshoulder to shoulder across the intervening "no man's land."
Numbers fell, for the Huns had contrived, even amidst the inferno ofhigh explosive shells, to keep some of their machine-guns intact.
But the Czar's troops were not to be denied. With the sunlightglinting upon their long bayonets, and with a succession of rousingcheers they swept forward unfalteringly and irresistibly.
Penetrating the barbed wire entanglements they closed. Here and therebayonet crossed bayonet, or clubbed rifle fell upon foeman's skull,but for the most part the Huns, their spirits crushed by thenerve-racking bombardment, threw down their rifles and raised theirhands above their heads in token of surrender.
Over the parados of the captured trench swept the triumphant troops,hurling hand grenades by hundreds into the second line of Hundefences. The reserve trenches shared the same fate, and in less thanforty minutes the surviving Germans, unable to flee owing to thesteady barrage fire, surrendered to their hitherto despised foes.
Already swarms of prisoners, closely guarded, were being marched tothe rear of the Russian positions, while a long line of wounded, somesupported by their comrades, others borne in stretchers, and otherswalking slowly and painfully, testified to the stubbornness of theconflict.
"What are those fellows doing, I wonder?" asked Dick, indicating alarge body of u
narmed men who were approaching with every indicationof delight. They were still some distance off, but by the aid oftheir binoculars Blake and his party could see the men withcomparative distinctness.
They were clad mostly in a motley of rags Their faces were black withdirt and almost hidden by long, straggling beards. Yet in spite oftheir battered and scarecrow appearances they marched with a goodidea of military order.
"Poles, perhaps," suggested one of the Russian officers. "The Hunshave forced a lot of them into their ranks. That is what the Germansmeant by granting them self-government."
"You are wrong there, Alexis Ivanovitch," said his brother officer,speaking in French, for, out of politeness to their guests, they hadrefrained from talking to each other in their native tongue. "Thosemen are not Poles; they are English and French."
"Surely?" inquired Blake incredulously.
"I am certain of it," continued the Russian. "They are some of theprisoners whom the Huns have sent from their concentration camps towork in their trenches on this front. These Germans have a saying,'Scratch a Russian and you will find a Tartar.' The whole civilisedworld can now very well say, 'Show me a Hun and I will show you abrute.'"
Nearer and nearer marched the ragged regiment, proceeding along aroad that led about a quarter of a mile from the hillock on whichBlake and his companions were standing.
"Let us go and give the poor fellows a bit of a welcome," hesuggested, to which the Russian officer agreed.
Suddenly, to his comrades' surprise, Athol broke into a run and madestraight for the advancing men. His sharp eyes had discovered a tall,attenuated figure at the head of the column. In spite of the greybeard, the hollow cheek, and bent shoulders the lad recognised hisfather. Not so Colonel Hawke; he never expected to find his son, atall strapping youth in the uniform of an officer of the Royal FlyingCorps, on this remote corner of Russian soil.
When at length the colonel grasped the situation, he could only gaspin speechless wonderment, while Athol shook his hands as if they werea couple of pump-handles.
The rest of the released prisoners, numbering half a dozen Britishand French officers, and about four hundred men, halted, broke ranks,and crowded round the rest of Blake's party, filled with delight atthe sight of the well-known uniforms once more.
At the same time a Russian regiment on its way to the capturedpositions halted. The troops with characteristic kindness were soonoffering their water-bottles, rations and tobacco to their starvingallies.
"It has been simply hell," declared Athol's father, after he hadrecovered from the surprise that had all but rendered him speechlesswith emotion. "Those swine of Germans compelled our poor fellows toslave in their first-line trenches. Our spirit was broken by hungerand exhaustion. We would have welcomed a Russian shell, but even thatwas denied us. They pushed us into dug-outs and mine galleries, andkept us there for three days without food. Thank heaven, though, theboys kept their end up pretty well. At least three large mines failedto explode as the Russians stormed the first line trenches, and Ithink I know why. We tampered with the wires."
"We have a motor-car which is at your disposal, Colonel Hawke," saidthe Russian officer responsible for the safety of the British airmen."It will indeed be an honour to offer you hospitality."
Athol's parent shook his head.
"Many thanks, sir," he replied, "but I must decline. Until I seethese men safely quartered and given a good meal my place is withthem. Well, good-bye, Athol, for the present. I'll try to look you upthis evening. I say," he added anxiously, "what's this we've heardabout a great German naval victory in the North Sea?"
"If the fact that Wilhelmshaven and Kiel are chock-a-block withcrippled German warships, that a score or more are at the bottom ofthe North Sea, and that Jellicoe's fleet still holds undisputedmastery of the sea--if that constitutes a German victory they mayrepeat their success as many times as they like," observed DesmondBlake. "I suppose that in Germany the people still believe the tissueof lies issued by the German Admiralty. Already neutrals know thetruth. I feel sorry for the Kaiser when his subjects learn the actualfacts."
"I feel sorry for no German," declared Colonel Hawke. "I never was ofa vindictive nature, but--a Somali would give a Hun points as far as'culture' is concerned, while an Afghan or a Turk is streets abovethe brutal, degraded louts who sport the Kaiser's uniform. My greatwish at the present moment is to get back to England as soon aspossible, pick myself up--and I want a lot of feeding up, Ifancy--and then have another go at the Huns."