Richard had avoided Dickens as far as hecould – not a difficult task at Dartmouth. He knew of A Christmas Carol but nomore. He was not surprised that O’Grady had read more than him – he was an ableman in many ways, especially now that he was on the wagon.
“Must bring a book or two out with me, ‘Major.I do get a little of free time most weeks, might enjoy losing myself in a book,anything to get me away from the Trenches for half an hour!”
“All work and no play, sir – not good forany of us.”
There was no Mess in the lines, nor couldthere be. Some of the dugouts were a little larger and enabled the officers toform a card school. There were at least two ongoing games of bridge,competition ferocious between the junior officers. Richard suspected there wasa poker table as well, the game fashionable in London before the war. He had noobjections to bridge, regarded poker as potentially dangerous – the young menwere wild, naturally in the circumstances, and might lose sums vastly in excessof their income. He could do little about it, however. He could not join eithergame, being the merest novice at bridge and forbidden from gambling with hisjuniors.
“Not too much gaming among the men, Itrust, ‘Major?”
“Crown and Anchor is a commonplace, sir. Banned,of course, which means they hide the dice when I come near. Some of the menplay pontoon all day, every day, for pennies and the winnings fairly even amongthem. A couple of solo whist schools, sir, very keen they are, but again, onlypennies. No cardsharps that I have heard of, sir. Other than that, the odd wagersyou hear of, sir – men betting how many they can pick off with their rifles ina week, that sort of thing.”
“Sharpshooters? Have you picked out oursnipers yet?”
“Just the one lad who might be sufficientof a shot, sir. I do not know he has the mind for killing, sir. It takes a strangesort to be a sniper, sat up and looking to kill all day, every day. I amthinking we may have to do without a battalion sniper as such until a new bodycomes in.”
“Pity. If there should ever be an attack onour lines, a sniper can be handy.”
“Word is of the opposite, sir. Likely tobe us marching shoulder to shoulder off to kill the foe, sir. Provided we canpass through the wire.”
Richard shrugged.
“Depends on the artillery, sir. If theybombard and it is sufficient, then we pass through the gaps they have cut. Ifnot, then it is to be Neuve Chapelle all over again.”
That did not lie in their hands. Theycould only hope.
Richard slept badly that night, wakingevery few minutes to artillery fire coming onto targets in no man’s land. He gaveup and walked up to the first line of trenches two hours before dawn.
“’Morning, Harris. What’s up?”
“Hun’s having a panic, sir. Wetting hisknickers! Calling down artillery every time a sentry sees a shadow by the looksof it. They didn’t like your raids, sir!”
Captain Harris was young and determined inhis hero-worship.
“Where are they dropping their shells?”
“Just this side of their own wire, sir. Afew overs closer to us – we will be out making repairs later in the week, bythe looks of it.”
“No concerted attempt to cut our wire?”
“No, sir. Just the occasional small shellfalling into the wire. Nothing into our trench, sir.”
“Fire a flare. Let’s take a quick look atwhat’s going on.”
The short lived bright white light showednothing, no signs of raiders coming in retaliation.
“I wonder why not, Harris. We killed andwounded anything up to sixty of theirs last night. Not like the Hun to sit backand take whatever we throw at them… Pass the word, Harris. No dawn stand-to thismorning. Wouldn’t mind betting we get a concentrated bombardment on the trench justwhen they would expect all the men to be out of the dugouts. It’s what I mightdo, anyway.”
If that was the case, it was a near-certaintyas far as Harris was concerned. He sent the message out by his runners, downthe trench on either side.
“A minimum of sentries and an officer toeach company to be at the lip of the trench, close to a dugout. The men to beready to come out if necessary. Heads down away from the entrances.”
A cloudy morning delaying the dawn and thenheavy gunfire from behind the German lines.
“Get down!”
Ten minutes of concentrated barrage fromseveral batteries of medium guns and field artillery, landing in and around thefirst line, almost no unders and only a few over.
“Good shooting, Harris!”
“Nothing bigger than a hundred pounds, I wouldsay, sir. Mostly far lighter.”
Richard agreed.
“One battery of five or six medium guns.The rest three inch field artillery. Their seventy-sixes, I think. Divisionalartillery, not Corps or Army.”
A single battery began to respond fromtheir rear.
“Eighteen pounders attempting counter-batteryfire. If we have a balloon up for observation, it might be successful. Nototherwise.”
“I have heard that they are experimentingwith aeroplanes, sir. Using them to observe for artillery. Using signallinglamps, like the Navy does.”
“Could work…”
They were interrupted by a shell landingfeet away from the entrance to the dugout, the noise almost deafening.
“Lucky one, Harris! A little closer and wewould have taken the blast through the doorway.”
“Two feet between earache and the PearlyGates, sir!”
Richard laughed. It seemed an appositecomment.
“Coming to an end, I think, Harris. Timeto poke our noses outside, see what is happening.”
The trench itself had taken some damage –the men would be digging for much of the day to rebuild parapets and walls andreplace duckboards.
“The buggers hit the sump, sir! Pump’s agoner! We will be flooded out before the end of the day if it starts to rain.”
“Bloody nuisance that will be. Is the telephoneintact?”
Quick examination said that the wire was cut,would have to be replaced.
“I’ll go back to my own dugout and startthe ball rolling. What of casualties?”
Ten minutes loud noise and the expenditureof thousands of pounds on high explosive
