CHAPTER IX
THE ADVANCE OF THE TANKS
SLOWLY the mechanical mastodons advanced, reeling from side to sideas they skirted the edges of the largest shell-craters. Through theirmulti-coloured sides guns, as yet ominously silent, grinnedmenacingly. The weapons, moving easily on their mountings, began tosearch for their objectives.
Through the waist-deep slime the Tanks floundered, displacing tons ofmud under the resistless pressure of the broad-flanged endless belts.A shell from a distant German gun burst close alongside one of thesteel mammoths, converting the "invisible" colour-scheme into ahideous daub of greenish yellow, but beyond that the H.E. missileshad no effect upon the mobile fortress. Straight from the triple rowof barbed wire the Tanks waddled deliberately and remorselessly. TheHuns watched their approach with evident concern, so much so that thebombers engaged in a duel with the Wheatshires across the traverseabandoned the task and scurried to their dug-outs. A few, morecourageous than their comrades, directed their energies towardshurling their missiles against their uncanny foes. It was likeshooting peas at a crocodile.
As matchwood the stout stakes supporting the entanglements snappedunder the impact of the leading Tank's snout. Wire, coiling likewrithing snakes directly the tension was released, was swept aside aseasily as if made of pack thread. Then, lifting its bluff bows, theTank ambled awkwardly up the parapet of the hostile lines, displacingsand-bags by the score, and finally coming to a standstill, like asteel Bridge of Sighs, across a canal of liquid mud with grey-coatedHuns in place of gondolas.
"She's bogged!" yelled Penfold.
"No fear," retorted Alderhame. "She's just having a little rest. See,her wheels aren't moving."
The Tank was making good use of the stop, whether forced orotherwise, for astride of the trench she opened a terrific fire,enfilading the Germans as they crowded, panic-stricken, in thelimited space 'twixt parapet and parados.
Up went scores of hands, but in vain. Mingled with those of the Hunswho wished to surrender were several "die-hards," who with bullet andbomb tried in vain to find a vulnerable spot in the armour of theirtitanic antagonist. A few even scaled the side of the Tank and rainedsavage but ineffectual blows upon it with the butts of their rifles.
The second and third Tanks were now grinding their way through thehostile parapet. One, bridging the trench, landed immediately overthe entrance to a dug-out. The reinforced concrete, set upon a mudfoundation, was unable to resist the strain of hundreds of tonsdeadweight. The fore part of the landship sank until its verticalaxis was inclined at an angle of forty-five degrees.
"She'll never get out of that," thought Setley, for the merepossibility of that mass of metal extricating itself from the chaosof mud and shattered concrete seemed out of the question. For perhapsfive minutes the Tank remained in this ignominious position, thewhile spitting out flame from the muzzle of her guns, her tractorbands revolving uselessly since they found no resistance in the softearth.
The wheels ceased to revolve. To outward appearance the Tank was outof action. Her guns no longer fired, since the Germans had evacuatedthe trench and were either risking certain death by bolting acrossthe open or else obtaining a doubtful shelter in their dug-outs.
Then the traction bands were restarted, this time in a reversedirection. Slowly the huge mass of metal, disengaging itself from thedebris, backed through the passage it had previously cleared in theparapet, and descended the glacis. Choosing another spot, the Tankagain crawled forward, this time bridging the trench and disappearingbeyond the parados.
All save the first mastodon had now passed the fire-trench. The onethat remained did so with a set purpose. While it bridged the trenchit was certain death for a Hun to show himself. A few, armed withbombs, did issue from their dug-outs, but caught by a hail of bulletsfrom a machine-gun they ceased to be effective units of the Kaiser'slegions.
The colonel of the Wheatshires saw the chance of straightening theline. He knew his men had suffered severely, but the time to rest wasnot yet. Armed only with a stick the gallant, grey-haired C.O. sprangupon the shell-scarred parados.
"The Wheatshires will advance," he shouted. "Come on, men; we'vestuck in this trench quite long enough."
A hoarse shout rose from the parched throats of the indomitableTommies as the remainder of the battalion leapt out of the trenchthey had held so stubbornly. In thirty seconds their former shelterwas untenanted save for the dead and wounded and a handful of mentold off to guard the entrance to the dug-outs that containedprisoners.
"Hang on to the tail of that Tank," shouted Sergeant Ferris to themen of his section. "We'll have our work cut out to settle the Hunswho aren't squashed. Don't leave a single Fritz with a rifle in hishand behind you--I've had some."
The sergeant looked a most ferocious object despite his inches, forhe was just five feet one and a half. His steel helmet was dented andbespattered with mud. His face was black with dirt thrown up by ashell that exploded less than twenty yards from him. His great coatwas torn away at the waist, while one puttee was ripped awayentirely. His left wrist was clumsily swathed in first-aid dressingsthat momentarily threatened to fall off, while to complete thepicture a partly dressed goose dangled from his belt.
Ferris had always the resources of an old campaigner. In one of thecaptured dug-outs he had found the bird, and with the idea that itwould "come in handy after the dust-up" he had lashed the goose'slegs round his belt.
"Don't think I'm greedy, boys," he shouted. "You'll all stand inlater on."
The Germans in the second and third line trenches were fairlytrapped. Their own guns were putting up a barrage behind them. Mere"cannon fodder" the defeated infantry received no consideration fromtheir own artillery. The latter, their one idea being to attempt tohold the British attack, were furiously pouring in shells that notroops could hope to pass through in the open.
There was a stubborn resistance offered by the Huns in the secondline of trenches, but the Tanks, assisted by the now wildly excitedWheatshires, were not to be denied. With bayonet and bomb the Tommiesrushed the defences and made prisoners of the surviving Huns.
There was still plenty of work to be done before the attack wasresumed upon the third and last of that section of earthwork. Thecaptured trench had to be consolidated as a matter of precaution, incase the final attack failed.
"Who's got a fag?" enquired Penfold, stopping in the act oftransferring a sand-bag from the parapet to the parados. "Hang itall, did you ever see such mud? It's a jolly sight worse than ourtrenches."
"Here you are," said Ralph, tendering a very soiled cigarette. "Letme give you a hand."
Penfold lighted the cigarette, then, shouldering the heavy sack,descended very cautiously from the fire-step to the floor of thetrench. His feet sank into the slime until the mud and water reachedto his knees. Vainly he tried to extricate himself. It was not untilSetley and Alderhame threw down a couple of pieces of timber asfootholds and tugged at their comrade by main force that Penfold wasfree from the tenacious mud.
It was an even more difficult matter to heave the sand-bag intoposition. Again Penfold's legs sank ankle deep. Perspiring freely inspite of the cold he struggled to maintain his balance withoutdropping the sand-bag from his shoulder. In his efforts his steelhelmet slipped over his eyes. Still holding on with one hand to hisburden he grasped the rim of his "tin hat." As he did so a bulletpinged sharply against the metal head-covering, the glancing blowcausing Penfold to stagger and drop the sand-bag. Blood was streamingdown his face.
"I always said that steel helmets were a rotten swindle," heexclaimed, then he broke off abruptly and looked dully at his righthand. The middle finger had been completely severed by the bullet.
"Thought it was my head!" he said. "Hanged if I felt this at all."
"You are a lucky bounder, Penfold," declared George Anderson. "It'llget you back to Blighty for a dead cert."
"Thanks, you're welcome to my luck," replied the wounded man as hesubmitted to the surgical attentions of S
etley and Alderhame. "I callit jolly hard lines, just as we are going forward. Now, if this hadhappened while we were held up in our trenches I wouldn't haveminded. Jolly rough luck, I call it."
Just then Sergeant Ferris came bustling along the captured trench.
"Hullo! Copped it?" he enquired laconically.
"Rather," replied Penfold dolefully. "Suppose there's no chance of myhaving a slice of that goose now?"
"Where is the bird, sergeant?" enquired Alderhame.
Dumfounded the non-com. clapped his hands on his belt. The goose hadvanished--all but the legs, that were still fastened to thesergeant's equipment.
"Must 'a' lost it in the charge," decided Ferris. "I'm off back tolook for it."
Regardless of the risk he ran the N.C.O. doubled across theshell-pitted ground. In five minutes he was back again, holding whatappeared to be a flattened lump of mud.
"Got it!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "Found it in the track of aTank. Only the head was to be seen, but I managed to hike it clear ofthe mud."
"Not much of a goose now, sergeant," remarked Ginger.
"True, lad, true; but it'll wash all right while it's boiling. Onecan't afford to be too particular these times."