decent barrage. It’s pretty obvious that there aren’t any reinforcements to be had and well …’ He tailed off, daunted by the look of impatience in Yates’s haggard face. ‘Sorry if I’ve spoken out of turn.’
Yates sighed. ‘You’re a Terrier, aren’t you?’
‘Yessir.’
‘I know you’ve done well in the few days that you’ve been out. But I don’t think that an eighteen-year-old amateur soldier should question the wisdom of experienced senior officers. If the colonel says we hold the line here, we bloody well do so. Is that understood?’
‘Yessir.’
But Yates had a frown on his face as he watched him go.
As a miserable dawn broke, the enemy did not attack. It was clear that the frontal onslaught – was there no other way that the Germansfought, wondered Hickman? – had proved to be immensely expensive and, it seemed, they had other objectives and perhaps other problems on their minds, for both to the defenders’ right and up above, in the village itself, came the sound of heavy gunfire. Whatever the reason, the makeshift company in the scraped-out half-trench below the ridge was left unmolested, except for sniper fire.
The opportunity was taken to issue the basic rations that had been able to survive the hazardous journey up the Menin Road – bully beef, bread, jam and hot tea – and then the company was set to digging again. It was not easy, for, as Hickman had pointed out, there was little cover from well-aimed fire from the ridge above them. It was difficult to dig when crouching or kneeling and two men were hit shortly after sunrise as a result of shots from one particular sniper, well sited at the top of the slope.
Yates called from along the line. ‘Anybody here earned a marksman’s badge during training?’
Jim looked about him. No one raised his hand. The Regulars, of course, all espoused a mantra of not volunteering for anything. But Bertie raised his hand and, reluctantly, Hickman followed suit.
‘Ah, the terrible Terriers.’ Yates, crouching, made his way towards him. ‘Right, Corporal, I’ve got a job for you.’
Jim sniffed. ‘Private Murphy here, sir, is a much better shot than me.’
‘Really? Very well. Murphy will do.’
Bertie looked concerned. ‘Well, sorr. I’m very happy to be of use to you, indeed I am. But I’m not particularly happy to be shootin’ people, y’see. Our priest always told me …’
Captain Yates sighed and his face, still youthful with his moustache well trimmed despite the ravages of the last week, assumed the countenance of a man of fifty. He lifted his eyes to the heavens. ‘Oh,I’m so sorry, Private Murphy, that you’re not particularly happy about killing people. But I really must remind you,’ and his sarcastic tone lapsed into a snarl, ‘that you’re in the fucking army now and that you are being paid, lad,
to
kill people. And if you don’t obey orders, then I personally will shoot
you
. Is that understood?’
Bertie gave an accommodating smile. ‘Ah well, sorr, put like that it would be difficult to refuse. Now, then, how can I oblige you?’
‘How kind of you to agree to help. Now, keep your head low but look with me through this small gap in the mound. That’s it. Now look up to the right along the ridge. See anything?’
‘Ah, nothin’ much, sorr. There’s a low wall, but nothin’ much.’
‘Right. Come away, or you’ll get a bullet between those blue eyes and what would I tell the priest then?’ Yates pulled Murphy down.
‘When you look again – and no, don’t do it now – when you look again, you’ll see a small hole in that wall to the right. There is a German sniper operating behind that wall and he is firing through that hole. He’s already killed two of our men. It is a terribly small target at this range but if you could put a bullet through that hole, you will almost certainly get him, because he is peering through it all the time. And, my lad, if you can pot him, there’s an extra
Yates sighed. ‘You’re a Terrier, aren’t you?’
‘Yessir.’
‘I know you’ve done well in the few days that you’ve been out. But I don’t think that an eighteen-year-old amateur soldier should question the wisdom of experienced senior officers. If the colonel says we hold the line here, we bloody well do so. Is that understood?’
‘Yessir.’
But Yates had a frown on his face as he watched him go.
As a miserable dawn broke, the enemy did not attack. It was clear that the frontal onslaught – was there no other way that the Germansfought, wondered Hickman? – had proved to be immensely expensive and, it seemed, they had other objectives and perhaps other problems on their minds, for both to the defenders’ right and up above, in the village itself, came the sound of heavy gunfire. Whatever the reason, the makeshift company in the scraped-out half-trench below the ridge was left unmolested, except for sniper fire.
The opportunity was taken to issue the basic rations that had been able to survive the hazardous journey up the Menin Road – bully beef, bread, jam and hot tea – and then the company was set to digging again. It was not easy, for, as Hickman had pointed out, there was little cover from well-aimed fire from the ridge above them. It was difficult to dig when crouching or kneeling and two men were hit shortly after sunrise as a result of shots from one particular sniper, well sited at the top of the slope.
Yates called from along the line. ‘Anybody here earned a marksman’s badge during training?’
Jim looked about him. No one raised his hand. The Regulars, of course, all espoused a mantra of not volunteering for anything. But Bertie raised his hand and, reluctantly, Hickman followed suit.
‘Ah, the terrible Terriers.’ Yates, crouching, made his way towards him. ‘Right, Corporal, I’ve got a job for you.’
Jim sniffed. ‘Private Murphy here, sir, is a much better shot than me.’
‘Really? Very well. Murphy will do.’
Bertie looked concerned. ‘Well, sorr. I’m very happy to be of use to you, indeed I am. But I’m not particularly happy to be shootin’ people, y’see. Our priest always told me …’
Captain Yates sighed and his face, still youthful with his moustache well trimmed despite the ravages of the last week, assumed the countenance of a man of fifty. He lifted his eyes to the heavens. ‘Oh,I’m so sorry, Private Murphy, that you’re not particularly happy about killing people. But I really must remind you,’ and his sarcastic tone lapsed into a snarl, ‘that you’re in the fucking army now and that you are being paid, lad,
to
kill people. And if you don’t obey orders, then I personally will shoot
you
. Is that understood?’
Bertie gave an accommodating smile. ‘Ah well, sorr, put like that it would be difficult to refuse. Now, then, how can I oblige you?’
‘How kind of you to agree to help. Now, keep your head low but look with me through this small gap in the mound. That’s it. Now look up to the right along the ridge. See anything?’
‘Ah, nothin’ much, sorr. There’s a low wall, but nothin’ much.’
‘Right. Come away, or you’ll get a bullet between those blue eyes and what would I tell the priest then?’ Yates pulled Murphy down.
‘When you look again – and no, don’t do it now – when you look again, you’ll see a small hole in that wall to the right. There is a German sniper operating behind that wall and he is firing through that hole. He’s already killed two of our men. It is a terribly small target at this range but if you could put a bullet through that hole, you will almost certainly get him, because he is peering through it all the time. And, my lad, if you can pot him, there’s an extra
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