A Rifleman Went to War

were decidedly limited and were just as apt to be off to one side as to the front. In fact, it is generally safer to do one’s shooting at an angle to the front lines, as the danger from observation and stray shots is much less. Once a “firing point” was decided upon and arranged, we would determine all the possible ranges by means of trial shots and observation, and then I would proceed to jot all this data down in a little memoranda book I had, just the same as I had done many a time before in my regular score book on the Camp Perry and Sea Girt ranges. Only, at the targets I now fired at, there were no sighters allowed and in general there were no markers unless you happened to catch a target out in the open and could see it fall.

This first sighting-in for ranges was merely to get the approximate distances so we could come close enough to the targets to properly sight in upon any occasion when we again used that particular nest for future sniping. Upon taking up a position for the day in any prepared location, it is always necessary to first fire a few sighting shots at available “self-marking” targets and make certain the scope sight has not moved or become disarranged since last used. You pick out a small pool of water, or a piece of brick or stone upon which the effect of a hit can clearly be seen, and then two or three trial shots will suffice to determine sight settings or correct range. This is where it pays to have both iron and ’scope sights mounted so either may be used independently of the other; many times you can check the ’scope setting against the iron sights without ever firing a shot. If the range at which you are going to work is close, it will not pay to do much firing to sight in; fact is it is often impossible or inadvisable to do any preliminary firing and you must come prepared to make the first shot hit. But it generally happens that individual rifle shots are continually being let off up and down the line and no close attention will be paid to your few sighters. A word of caution to the novice here may not be amiss; be particular just what you pick out for a target on these sighters. Don’t go firing at any petrol cans, or empty boxes which may be lying around the top of the enemy trenches; they may possibly have been placed there to invite just such shots in order to “sight back” through the bullet holes and locate your position. I shall mention this trick farther along.

We had some wonderful shooting. By sighting in on various water-filled shell holes and bits of brick wall, both with the scope and iron sights, we could shoot in almost any kind of weather. Sometimes it was too foggy to see and sometimes, in the early morning, as we were shooting toward the east it would be almost as bad. (It reminded me of the times when I have been out of luck and caught the early relays at Sea Girt.) But, we managed to do pretty well. We certainly got our hundred — and then some. I have a little memorandum book in which I recorded, day by day, the various shots and, as nearly as we could tell, the results. I had intended to incorporate it, verabatim, in this story but, for various reasons, have decided not to do so. However, here are a few extracts:

December 1st. Hazy — Near leaning tree. 1 shot 750. Fell and they pulled him in. Two shots at helpers — got one.

December 2nd-3rd-4th. Rain. N.G.

December 6th. North of leaning tree, crouching, cutting wood. 1 shot. Got him.

December 7th. Brt. & clear. Fresh S.W. wind. Near 92. Twice men showed themselves. Three shots, sure of one. 50 yards R. one man — one shot. R of 02 our artillery blew down M.G. emplacement showing open end of covered trench. Men trying to get out — 4 shots — 2 known hits. Thirty yards left, 1 man, one shot. Got him. (This was a good day.)

December 8th. Rainy A.M. Hazy P.M. Piccadilly Farm. 5 good chances and three known hits.

December 9th. Hazy, cool. 1 at leaning tree, standing straight up. Tue. (If you don’t know what that means, ask someone.) 2 shots at group back of 92. N.O. (That means no observation.) One fifty yards right. Fell across log. Shot three successive helpers, (all soldiers), all four lying in sight at dark.

Dec. 10. Rain: N.G.

Dec. 11. Misty. One shot — Piccadilly. Probably missed.

Dec. 16. Clear. Fine hunting. 16 good shots — 7 known hits and feel sure of at least four more.

That’s the way it went. The above are copied, exactly as I wrote them at the time. The references — 92 — leaning tree, etc., simply referred to our range chart which covered every foot of the enemy territory within rifle range. The remarks in parentheses have been added to explain certain things that might not be otherwise understood by the reader.

Yes; we got them when and where we could get them and we damned their souls to hell, every one of them. They had started the dirty work but we finished it and I am here to say that I have never regretted it. The boy who was working with me (Bouchard) was killed later on, and all the rest of my best friends, but they played the game and took their medicine like men, although they were, most of them, just boys who should have been in school. May they R.I.P.

Early one morning Bou and I were stretched out in our little hole, he with the big telescope and I with my binoculars, scrutinizing the German line, about five hundred yards away. Suddenly the kid says, “There he is, Mac, right in front of that big tree just to the right of No. 4 post, see him?” I shifted my glasses a little and, sure enough; there was a man, evidently an officer, at the point he mentioned, standing upright, with a big tree behind him, and looking out over our lines through his glasses. (By the way, here’s a tip: if it ever becomes necessary for you to look out over a landscape where you have reason to believe that an enemy is on the lookout, choose a good sized tree and stand up right in front of it — and keep still.) Only the kid’s keen eyesight discovered that fellow. I had passed him over several times, but, when my attention was called to it, I saw him quite plainly — through my glasses. When I tried to pick him up through the sight, however, I had considerable difficulty in locating him, but, finally, by noting certain prominent features of the surrounding background, I managed to find the right tree and got him centered in the sight and cut loose. I got him.

We lay there quite a while, very well pleased with ourselves and looking for something else to shoot at when, all of a sudden, a bullet came smacking into our little nest. It did not hit either of us and we took it for just one of the strays that were always floating around looking for some place to light; but when, just a moment later, another one came along and ripped through my cap — just missing any meat — and right after, another one breezes along and hits the kid, it began to look as though it might be serious. The boy squirmed around and looked at me kinda funny and I thought, for an instant, that he was done for. Only for an instant, however, for he quickly “came to” and said: “Jesus Christ, Mac (at the same time crossing himself — he was a Catholic), they near got me that time.” He was hit, all right: I could see that, but, as the doctors say, a move was indicated; so we proceeded to get out of there, muy pronto. By carefully crawling backward, we managed to gain the protection of a group of ruined buildings and I took a look at the kid’s injuries. The bullet had just nicked him in several places. It had scraped the side of his head and his shoulder and had taken quite a bit of skin off the calf of his leg. I wanted him to go back to the dressing station but he said: “Wat t’ell Mac? They got to hit me harder than that before I quit.” That little son-of-a-gun never would quit. I saw him nicked several times after that but until he was absolutely blown to Heaven, down on the Somme, that boy never did quit.

Well, anyway, we had to hunt up another place from which to carry on with our day’s shooting, so we cautiously made our way around behind the group of demolished buildings to where we had another nest. This one was right out in an open field but was reached by a tunnel-like trench which we had dug during many nights of hard labor. It — the tunnel — was about three feet deep and nearly as wide, and extended for more than one hundred feet out beyond the corner of the last of the outlying buildings. In digging it, we would first take off the sod and lay it aside, then excavate the earth to the desired depth, carrying all the dirt back and hiding it in the building. Then we covered the top with pieces of board from the wrecked building, put on a little earth and replaced the sod. At the end, where we had our “nest,” was a good-sized chamber, big enough for the two of us to stretch out comfortably, and with two holes, one for the telescope and the other for the rifle. Small bushes and clumps of grass immediately in front (which were taken into account when planning it) effectively served to screen it from enemy observation. We had finished it more than a week before but had never used it; just waiting to see whether Heinie