“You an’ yer Suicide Club!” said Rabbie contemptuously to Shirty after this attack had been beaten off. “It’s no even what the insurance folks would ca’ a hazardous occupation.”
“Wait a bit,” said Shirty. “We all knows you’re a bloomin’ Scots-wha-hae hero, but you ’aven’t bin in it proper yet. Wait till you ’ave, an’ then talk.”
The Bombing Section went into it “proper” next day, when the battalion made a little forward move that cost them more casualties to take a trench and a hundred yards of ground than the mile advance of the previous day.
And when they had got the battered trench, the bombers were sent to clear a communication trench leading out of it and held by the Germans. This trench was more or less broken down, with fallen sides or tumbled heaps of earth and gaping shell craters every here and there along its length. The Germans contested it stoutly, and the bombers had to keep below the level of the ground and strictly to the trench, because above-ground was being swept by a hurricane of rifle and machine-gun fire from both sides. Length by length of the zig-zag trench they pushed their way, their grenades curving up and ahead of them, the German “potato-masher” grenades whirling over and down in on them, exploding with a prodigious noise and smoke but comparatively little damage, and yet cutting down the attackers one by one
Rabbie, Lauchie, and Shirty were all in the trench together, and were still on their feet when they came to the point where the communication trench ran into another, a support trench presumably, running across it. At this point they were supposed to hold on and consolidate. All had gone well according to programme with Rabbie and his companions, and they turned into the support trench, cleared a couple of bays to either side of the communication way, pulled down sandbags, and piled earth to make a “block” on either side, and settled down to hold their position and to await orders.
They were not left in peaceful possession for long. A vigorous attack was delivered, first at one barricade and then on the other, and both were beaten off with some difficulty and a number of casualties. The bombers had been reinforced several times to make up their reduced numbers, but no further reinforcements had come to them for some time, and now there were only half a dozen of them and one officer left. The officer sent back a lightly wounded man to say they held their point, but wanted support. The message, as they found afterwards, never got through, because the messenger was killed on the way by a shell splinter.
Another heavy and determined attack of bombers came soon after. For five minutes the Germans showered over their grenades, and the short section of trench held by the little party of Royal Jocks was shaken to pieces by the force of the explosions, the sandbag “blocks” almost destroyed, several more men hit, and the officer killed. The Jocks returned the shower of bombs with plentiful Mills’ grenades, but they were forced back, and almost the last thing the officer did before he was killed was to retire the remnants of the party to the communication trench entrance, build a fresh block, and prepare to hold on there. There were only four men left, and all were more or less lightly wounded with splinters from the German grenades. Just before another attack came they were reinforced by two bayonet men, and one bomber with buckets of Mills’.
“We’re all that’s left o’ C Company’s bombers,” said one of them. “We were sent up to reinforce, but they’re shellin’ the trench back there, an’ the others was knocked out.”
Another savage attack followed, and was beaten off with difficulty and the loss of another couple of men. Since there was no officer and no N.C.O. there, Shirty, as the oldest soldier, took charge.
“This isn’t good enough,” he shouted as another shower of grenades began to pitch over and burst with rending explosions in and about the trench. “Why don’t they reinforce. I’m goin’ to retire if they don’t send supports soon.”
Now, as a matter of fact, the officer bringing up the last supports had received orders to retire the party if they were hard pressed, because the attacks up the other communication trenches had failed to clear a way, and this one party was in danger of being overwhelmed. But since the little party knew nothing of these orders they were reluctant to retire, and unfortunately there was little prospect of the supports they expected coming.
Their grenades were running short, too, and that decided the point for them. Shirty Low and Rabbie were crouched close up against their barricade, and Lauchie took what cover he could get behind the heaped debris of the broken-down trench wall close at Rabbie’s side. He was squatted in a little niche of the wall and high enough up to allow him to lift his head and peep over the parapet. He ducked his head as several grenades spun over, lifted it, and peered out again.
“Here they come,” he shouted. “Lat them hae’t. Rabbie, pass me up some o’ they bombs.”
“Wull I hell,” retorted Rabbie, rapidly pulling the pins out, and tossing his grenades over. “Get yer bombs yersel’.”
“One of you two must go back and get some Mills’,” shouted Shirty. “We’ll ’ave to duck back, but we’ll need supplies to stand ’em off with. Go on now, one o’ you. Look nippy. We’ve ’ardly any left.”
“Go on, Lauchie,” said Rabbie. “I’ve half a dizen left, an’ you’ve nane.”
“I will no,” said Lauchie indignantly. “Gang yersel’. I’m the senior o’ us twa, an’ I’m tellin’ ye.”
“You ma senior,” shouted Rab indignantly. “Yer no ma senior. I was sojerin’ lang afore ever ye jined up.”
“Havers, man, Ye’ve hardly been off the square five meenutes.”
Shirty broke in angrily. “Will you shut yer heads, and get back, one o’ you? We’ll be done in if they rush us again.”
“See here, Rabbie,” said Lauchie, “I’ll prove yer no ma senior, and then mebbe ye’ll dae what yer telled. Here’s ma paybook, wi’ date o’ enlistment. Let’s see yours.”
And he was actually proceeding to fumble for his paybook, and Rabbie eagerly doing the same, when Shirty again intervened, cursing savagely, and ordering Rabbie back.
“I’m his senior, Shirty, an’ he should go,” said Rabbie. “Lat him show you his book.”
“Book be blistered,” yelled Shirty. “Go for them Mills’ or I’ll have you crimed for refusin’ an order.”
Rabbie slid down from his place. “I suppose yer in chairge here, Shirty,” he said. “But mind this – I’ll bring the Mills’, but as sure’s death I’ll hammer the heid aff ye when I get ye back yonder again. Mind that now,” and he scrambled off back along the trench.
He carried a couple of empty buckets with him, and as he went he heard the renewed crash of explosions behind him, and hastened his pace, knowing the desperate straits the two would be in without bombs to beat off the attack. The trench was badly wrecked, and there were many dead of both sides in it, so that for all his haste he found the going desperately slow.
The guns were firing heavily on both sides, but presently above the roar of their fire and the wailing rush of the passing shells Rabbie heard a long booming drone from overhead, glanced up and saw the plunging shape of an aeroplane swooping down and over his head towards the point he had left the others. It was past in a flash and out of sight beyond the trench wall that shut him in. But next instant Rabbie heard the sharp rattle of her machine-gun, a pause, and then another long rattle. Rabbie grunted his satisfaction, and resumed his toilsome clambering over the debris. “That’ll gie the Fritzez something tae think about,” he murmured, and then pounced joyfully on a full bucket of Mills’ grenades lying beside a dead bomber. Many more grenades were scattered round, and Rabbie hastily filled one of his own buckets and grabbed up a sandbag he found partially filled with German grenades.
He turned to hurry back, hearing as he did so another crackle of overhead machine-gun fire. Next moment the plane swept overhead with a rush, and was gone back towards the lines before