Trenchblight

Almost in slow motion he pushed himself upwards as if thrusting his head from beneath a pool of water; his lungs gasping for breath. His limbs did not seem to be answering the signals pulsing from his brain, through his whole nervous system. He could feel each thought, but he could not feel his limbs answering that signal. But they were. He could sense Tom pushing up beneath him. His heart had skipped several beats, and then he was up. The world turned upside down. His senses buckled. His vision lost all focus. Everything became blurred and then almost instantly swirled back into focus. Hell was before him. It was a vision of hell, everything was smashed and broken. The landscape pitted and ruptured, shrouded in a faint wispy mist. Twisted in agony and tortured beyond repair. Distantly explosions raged on the horizon, throwing up huge sprays of earth and rubble into the air. But they seemed miles away. He could feel the others around him. But he was not sure that he was there. For a brief second his spirit soared above him and looked down along the line with an unfettered vision. It stretched for miles; a winding line of humanity; a sight beyond description. His spirit raced down the line, soared above them as they moved forward as one. For eighteen miles it stretched and for that brief second it seemed so heroic, so magnificent. Victory was inevitable. Nothing could stand against this khaki tide of glory. But then with a crackling snarl the machine guns kicked into life and a burning wall of lead rose up to meet them. Instantly his spirit returned as the first flickers of earth sprayed up around him as bullets exploded into the earth. But in their sector the fire was erratic and had not yet found its range. John Ford was behind them, pulling himself up over the lip of the trench. ‘Come on boys. Form up. Move.’ He roared above the noise. The order brought him to life. The enemy fire seemed to have moved away; concentrating into the centre of the advance. The 11th was wide on the left and as the fire dissipated they begun to move forward. Jeremy Royston was to his right out in front of his Platoon; leading the way. His revolver in one hand, held before him, as if it was a shield. His cane held in the other. He roared silently, urging them on with a wave of his arm. They rallied to him. Moving forward now in a thin ragged line. Tom was beside him his rifle dressed before him, the gleaming bayonet pointing like an arrow towards the German positions. The first German line was about two hundred and fifty yards ahead of them; virtually straight ahead of them. But the concentration of the fire into the centre of the Brigades advance unconsciously pushed them further to the left into what appeared to be a gap in the wall of bullets. And resolutely they moved into the gap, they had now formed up into a Company advance. They staggered forward the land rent and riven. But they kept moving forward, managing to maintain their formation. They had gone less than a hundred yards when a volley of rifle fire erupted amongst them. Bodies fell, screams were unleashed. David could not tell who they came from or who had fallen. He was locked into his own effort to keep moving forward. As if he could not afford any slip of concentration, else he would fall to the earth, away from the bullets and death. But he could still sense Tom plodding forward beside him. That lent him reassurance. It seemed to be several seconds before another volley met them. More bodies fell. But still they pressed forward. The urge to run was growing but somehow the discipline that had been drilled into them kept them together; stopped them from breaking. The German counter fire now became erratic, their fire discipline gone as individuals fired randomly at the line that advanced relentlessly towards them. This lessened the impact. Bodies still fell but the morale effect was reduced. They held on. ‘Forward boy’s.’ He could hear Royston now. He had moved closer to them. ‘Come on let’s get into em’ the young man roared savagely. Adams was at his side, as if he was trying to guard him from the bullets that began to rain around them. He seemed to be drawing the German fire. He stood out clearly from his men, an easy target. But his life seemed fated. They could see the German line clearly now. It seemed to have been smashed into oblivion. There were lines of twisted wire before them. Only twenty yards ahead of them now. For one fearful second it seemed that there were no gaps; but then with a huge sense of relief they could see that the wire had been broken, there were a series of small twisted gaps. They surged towards them. They were gathering pace now. The fire in them could not be restrained. They could see a few handfuls of the enemy spread at intervals along the battered trench line, grouped together in a series of shell holes. The hate erupted in them. ‘Charge’ the call echoed around them. They were running now. A massive surge of adrenalin burst through David’s body. He gripped his rifle, a bullet was not even in the breach, but he held it before him like a lance. He could see the enemy. Death. The need to kill gripped him like a frenzy. Suddenly a German Machine Gun erupted, pouring death into them. At such close range the impact was devastating. But it was too late. Bodies stumbled all around him. But he was through a breach in the wire. It snagged on his tunic, but he ripped it free, oblivious to the bullets that whistled through the air. Somehow he had caught his hand, ripped open the flesh. But he ignored it, did not notice it. Tom moved alongside him. They roared unheard and incoherent obscenities. Hate. It burnt through them. Taff was ahead of them now, running full pace at the German line, as if he was back on the Rugby pitch, with a line of would be tacklers ahead of him. The Machine Gun was to their right. But after a series of small muffled explosions it was silenced. Then they were amongst them. For a brief moment the Germans held their ground, but they were hopelessly outnumbered and totally demoralised. Taff was the first to reach them and he swung his rifle like a scythe, plunging his bayonet into a German who stood before him, throwing him back with the impact, a spray of blood spewing from his chest. They poured forward with him. Now the Germans put up little resistance, throwing away their rifles in terror. But it did not save them. They were killed without pity. Hate drove them. Within minutes the position was secured. Broken bodies were littered everywhere. Only a couple of weeping prisoners had been taken the rest were dead. Their blood staining the earth, desperately the remaining young Officers and the senior NCOs sought to restore order. The advance needed to be maintained. More objectives were ahead of them. But the men were flushed with success. Uncontrolled adrenaline coursed through their veins. But eventually order was restored. The Company began to form up along the German trench, for a moment out of the line of fire. The rest of the Battalion was with them; the captured trench bristled with a long line of bobbing bayonets. David was gasping, desperately trying to draw air into his lungs; it was as if he had not taken a breath since he had gone over. He looked back towards their line, saw the bodies littered along the wire and beyond into no man’s land. Some of them were still moving, comrades helping them up. The sight brought him back to reality. Where were his friends? Tom. But Tom was beside him wiping blood from his bayonet, a dark smile spread across his face. ‘I got one – the bugger squealed like a Pig’ Tom whispered. David nodded. He had not landed a blow. He looked around trying to get his bearing. Taff was there, the front of his tunic covered in glistening blood, thick dark splotches dripping from his face. But he smiled, it was not his blood. He counted. Yes they were all there.