craters, the mortars found their targets.
For a moment Casca closed his eyes in despair. Their position was hopeless. To turn and run back down the long slope would only invite a machine gun bullet in the back. And to move forward meant collecting one in the front. But to stay put meant that sooner or later he would collect a mortar shell in the crater.
Casca crawled to the lip of his hole and took careful aim at the closest mortar crew. The .303 Lee Enfield was a clumsy, heavy rifle, but it was highly accurate. By the time he had emptied his five-shot magazine, he had killed all three of the mortar crew.
He reloaded and turned his attention to a machine gun. He picked off the man pulling the belt and then the loader. The gun promptly jammed, and when the triggerman moved to free the belt, Casca shot him in the head.
He reloaded again, fixed his bayonet, and, calling to the men of his company, climbed out of the crater and charged for the silent machine gun. A number of men charged with him. From somewhere nearby he heard the bagpipes and knew that George, too, was leading a charge.
Major Blandings was quickly on his feet, directing more men to follow. All along the line Tommies were coming up out of the ground and running for the German trench.
When he was almost there, Casca lobbed two Mills bombs, crouched to wait for their explosions, and then raced forward. There were no wire, and in an instant he was in the trench. Other Tommies tumbled in behind him, and they charged left and right along the excavation.
The trench was a mass of milling men, too close-pressed to shoot, fighting mainly with bayonets. The advantage was with the British troops who rarely had anything other than their bayonets and were ready and skilled with them. The Germans' lightweight Mauser rifles were ineffective for parrying the heavy Lee Enfields, and most of the defenders fell to the British bayonets before they could bring their own blades into the fight.
But the numbers were with the Germans, and they were quickly supported by troops from farther along the trench. The counterattack pushed the Tommies back to where they had entered the trench. More and more British were now arriving, and the close quarters battle became a confused blood bath.
Tommies on the ground above the trench were lobbing Mills bombs, blowing many Germans to bits, but also blasting some of their own men. The British were shooting down into the trench, but many of them were falling to fire from the defenders.
Inside the trench more and more Tommies were dying as the Germans closed on them from both sides. Casca clambered out and crouched on the edge of the trench, to help other Tommies out. Then they were all running wildly back down the slope, to stumble into the nearest shell craters.
Germans came running from the trenches. Many were cut down by British rifle fire, while those that made it to where the Tommies crouched in the craters were outnumbered and few survived.
But more and more Germans made the attempt, and soon the Tommies were racing back for their own lines with the Germans in hot pursuit. At least, Casca thought as he ran, they can't use those fucking machine guns with the Jerries so close after us.
They reached the gulch and raced across it, but as they began to climb the next slope, the pursuing Germans caught up with them. The numbers in the gulch were roughly even, and the fighting was fast and furious.
And eventually, the British were retreating in good order up the next slope, holding off the Germans with cool, steady rifle fire.
As they neared the ridge, Casca was once more cursing Major Blandings for a fool. No troops had been kept in reserve. Even a few fresh men would have had an enormous effect if they were now to enter the fight from the vantage point of the ridge. But there were no such troops. The only men on the ridge were the machine gun crews, the wounded, and a few runners and medics.
As the Tommies gained their foxholes, their
For a moment Casca closed his eyes in despair. Their position was hopeless. To turn and run back down the long slope would only invite a machine gun bullet in the back. And to move forward meant collecting one in the front. But to stay put meant that sooner or later he would collect a mortar shell in the crater.
Casca crawled to the lip of his hole and took careful aim at the closest mortar crew. The .303 Lee Enfield was a clumsy, heavy rifle, but it was highly accurate. By the time he had emptied his five-shot magazine, he had killed all three of the mortar crew.
He reloaded and turned his attention to a machine gun. He picked off the man pulling the belt and then the loader. The gun promptly jammed, and when the triggerman moved to free the belt, Casca shot him in the head.
He reloaded again, fixed his bayonet, and, calling to the men of his company, climbed out of the crater and charged for the silent machine gun. A number of men charged with him. From somewhere nearby he heard the bagpipes and knew that George, too, was leading a charge.
Major Blandings was quickly on his feet, directing more men to follow. All along the line Tommies were coming up out of the ground and running for the German trench.
When he was almost there, Casca lobbed two Mills bombs, crouched to wait for their explosions, and then raced forward. There were no wire, and in an instant he was in the trench. Other Tommies tumbled in behind him, and they charged left and right along the excavation.
The trench was a mass of milling men, too close-pressed to shoot, fighting mainly with bayonets. The advantage was with the British troops who rarely had anything other than their bayonets and were ready and skilled with them. The Germans' lightweight Mauser rifles were ineffective for parrying the heavy Lee Enfields, and most of the defenders fell to the British bayonets before they could bring their own blades into the fight.
But the numbers were with the Germans, and they were quickly supported by troops from farther along the trench. The counterattack pushed the Tommies back to where they had entered the trench. More and more British were now arriving, and the close quarters battle became a confused blood bath.
Tommies on the ground above the trench were lobbing Mills bombs, blowing many Germans to bits, but also blasting some of their own men. The British were shooting down into the trench, but many of them were falling to fire from the defenders.
Inside the trench more and more Tommies were dying as the Germans closed on them from both sides. Casca clambered out and crouched on the edge of the trench, to help other Tommies out. Then they were all running wildly back down the slope, to stumble into the nearest shell craters.
Germans came running from the trenches. Many were cut down by British rifle fire, while those that made it to where the Tommies crouched in the craters were outnumbered and few survived.
But more and more Germans made the attempt, and soon the Tommies were racing back for their own lines with the Germans in hot pursuit. At least, Casca thought as he ran, they can't use those fucking machine guns with the Jerries so close after us.
They reached the gulch and raced across it, but as they began to climb the next slope, the pursuing Germans caught up with them. The numbers in the gulch were roughly even, and the fighting was fast and furious.
And eventually, the British were retreating in good order up the next slope, holding off the Germans with cool, steady rifle fire.
As they neared the ridge, Casca was once more cursing Major Blandings for a fool. No troops had been kept in reserve. Even a few fresh men would have had an enormous effect if they were now to enter the fight from the vantage point of the ridge. But there were no such troops. The only men on the ridge were the machine gun crews, the wounded, and a few runners and medics.
As the Tommies gained their foxholes, their
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