Chapter XII: Afternoon Tea

One day in my turn I went out on service to the small town of B——. The front-line trenches were located just outside the village. Upon our arrival, shortly after noon, in this town we obtained our meal from a soup kitchen that was tucked away in a sort of a driveway between two demolished houses. It was an ideal location for a soup kitchen, for, from all outward appearances, no one would ever think that this desolate spot would be picked out or utilized by anyone for any purpose whatsoever. After eating we started out for the post. This was the first time we had gone up to the front-line trenches covering this particular sector of the front.

After we had proceeded some three hundred yards, we came to a place where the trenches passed through a small clump of woods, in which was located one of our advanced artillery observation posts. Here we were met by a sergeant major, who informed us that we had better exercise a great deal of caution in our advance of the next hundred yards, which was the distance that separated us from our front line. It was necessary to pass through a gulley and the trench we were in was only shoulder high. The Boche trenches were so close to our front line that the enemy, by posting men in the trees behind their lines, were in a position to observe what transpired in the gulley, we were about to enter.

We climbed out of the trench, and, with the aid of field glasses, carefully scrutinized the taller trees to ascertain whether or not the Boche at this time was on the lookout. As we did not see anything that attracted undue attention, we decided to take a chance and proceed.

Crouching, we advanced some fifty yards. In passing one place that was particularly low, we were observed and the next second brought a hail of machine-gun bullets which kicked up the dust all about us. In front of us, some fifteen or twenty feet away, I noticed another spot where the side walls of the trench did not afford much protection and at the same instant, or just long enough for a man to proceed from one opening to another, came a stream of machine-gun bullets in front of us.

It was a case of being between the devil and the deep sea; all we could do was to remain in the position where we were protected. We finally decided that by crawling on our hands and knees we could get past the second opening. This we did without being observed and the last we heard of our sniping Boche friend was a few shots intermittently fired in the hope of picking us off.

Arriving at the front line, we proceeded along the machine-gun positions, and, finally, entered a small communicating trench which led into the lieutenant’s dug-out. We descended and found our friend seated at a table, pondering over military maps and familiarizing himself with this particular sector which our division had just taken over. While we were conversing, one of the under officers reported the completion of a “_Petit Post_” (listening post). The lieutenant inquired if I would care to accompany him in looking it over. Of course I would.

The general direction we took immediately impressed me as being toward the location of our Boche friend, who was planted in a tree based upon the angle that the machine-gun bullets came from. But we did not have to give much consideration to him, as the side wall of our trench nearest to his position was over six feet high and afforded complete cover. We soon arrived at our destination—sixty feet from the Boche front line.

The instruction completed, two soldiers were stationed here and became a part of the defense for this sector. We were soon on our way to the rear. We passed through the gulley where we had been held up on the way out without attracting any attention. Arriving at the town of B——, we obtained our tinned meat with four large potatoes, sought a quiet spot and built a fire to prepare our evening meal.

Suddenly we were startled by the hum of a shell, as it passed over us and burst in a field just beyond. Then came a second, which burst closer; then a third. My companion and I looked at each other in amazement—then, thinking that the smoke from our fire was the cause of the shelling, we quickly stamped it out and poured water on the spot where our spoiled dinner had been sending up delightful odors only a moment before. We ran as fast as good legs could carry us into an old house near by that afforded better protection in the event of a shell breaking near us.

The shells kept coming for about ten minutes, then stopped. Cautiously, we returned to where our fire had been and were considering the possible salvage when the hum of a motor attracted our attention to a Boche aviator flying directly over our heads. We were only about five hundred yards back of our first-line trench, toward which the Boche plane proceeded. It went directly over the trench, swooped down and raked it from one end to the other with machine-gun fire. Circling back, he returned as far in the rear as we were and then again made a run for the front line to open up with his machine gun as he dived for it.

In the open we afforded him a fine mark, but each time as he flew back toward us we saw to it that there was a brick wall between him and ourselves. By this time he had attracted the attention of our anti-aircraft guns and they began shooting shrapnel at him as he circled, and the machine guns in our front-line trenches also shot in our direction as they followed the flyer to the rear. As the shrapnel and pieces of the exploded shells fell like rain around us, we decided to give up our supper as a bad job, and went to sleep hungry that night.

We walked up the street and passed the _Post du Succors_. The stretcher-bearers had begun to bring in the wounded. One man had lost most of his head. Accustomed as I was to such scenes, the sight of this man’s condition was the last straw in the way of gruesome experiences, and I was glad to get away and to bed.