CHAPTER IV

It still rained. As soon as they stepped out into No Man’s Land, they sank into the mud to their ankles. They advanced in file, their rifles at the high port, their bayonets fixed, their gas masks at the ready. They floundered about, groaning at each step, dragged down by the sticky mud, by the cumbersome weight of their rain-sodden great-coats and by their war equipment, rifles, entrenching tools, bullets, bombs, rifle-grenades, rations, Verey lights, wire-cutters, gas masks. They rattled and clanked, like armoured ghosts, slopping and clucking and groaning through the mud.

The Corporal had received orders to advance in a straight line and occupy the section of the enemy’s front line that faced the outpost. The distance was given to him as approximately three hundred and fifty paces. It appeared to be simple enough before they left the post, because the parapet of the post faced the enemy. But as soon as they left the post and had advanced about twenty yards the Corporal side-stepped to avoid a dump of barbed wire. He went on another five yards and then halted, realising that he did not know where he was.

Appleby, following immediately behind, gloomily indifferent to where he was going and praying under his breath, stumbled against the Corporal. They both fell into the mud. Friel came up and, before he could halt, fell over Appleby. As he fell, he lowered the point of his bayonet, instinctively trying to save himself. He fleshed the Corporal slightly on the buttocks.

“Halt!” whispered Jennings.

They all halted, one after the other. Being trained soldiers, as soon as they moved out of their hole, they ceased to think of anything except the business in hand, which consisted solely in placing one foot carefully in front of the other and in keeping their eyes fixed on the centre of the back of the man in front. The Corporal, being in command, was thinking for them. They were half-asleep. Now, finding that something had gone wrong and that they had to halt, a fact for which no provision had been made, they awakened in a startled fashion. In their excitement, they broke ranks and got into a bunch.

The Corporal, lying on the ground with Appleby across his back, began to mutter curses, spluttering and spitting forth the mud which got into his mouth. He reached out and struck Appleby a smart blow with the butt of his rifle. He thought it was Appleby who had prodded him with the bayonet.

Appleby squealed, “I’m wounded.”

“I’ll wound you, you bastard,” growled the Corporal, giving him another whack. “What’s your number?”

“What’s on now?” grumbled Shaw from the rear. “Move on. We don’t want to get caught here.”

Lamont leaned on Gunn and whispered, “I’m dead beat. I can go no farther.”

The Corporal and Appleby were still on the ground arguing. Appleby was swearing that it was not he who had stuck the Corporal. The Corporal swore that it was. Friel, like the cute fellow he was, had at once struggled to his feet as soon as he had done the damage and got out of the way. He fell in behind Jennings.

“What’s the idea, Friel?” said Jennings. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t stick your blasted rifle in my face, you,” cried Gunn, digging his elbow into McDonald’s face.

“Cripes!” said McDonald, staggering against Friel.

The Corporal got to his feet and cried in a loud whisper, “Move on. Stop that whispering.”

Everybody took a step and then stopped. They were going in six different directions.

“We’re lost,” said Reilly. “What did I say? I told you so.”

“Keep together,” said the Corporal.

“Don’t wander about. Come on.”

They moved on.

Suddenly there was a heavy splash. Jennings fell head first into a shell-hole, having tripped over a barbed-wire stake. Friel tripped over the stake also but saved himself. As he called out, “Mind the stake,” he was pushed from behind by McDonald right into the shell-hole on top of Jennings.

“Help!” cried Jennings. “I’m drowned.”

“What’s up now?” said the Corporal. “Halt!”

“Pull them out,” said Reilly. “They’re sure to drown. Come on, lads, don’t stand looking at them. There were four Jocks drowned like that relieving the Froggies at Sailly.”

“Who’s in that shell-hole?” said the Corporal, staggering over. “Get out of that hole.”

“I can’t bloody well get out,” muttered McDonald. “Let go of my scabbard, Gent.”

“Where the hell are you?” said Gunn, stooping over the hole. “Catch the end of my rifle.”

“God!” said Jennings. “I’ve lost my rifle.”

“Fish it out, then,” said the Corporal. “You’re not much good with a rifle, but you’re worse without one.”

They spent over ten minutes dragging McDonald and Jennings out of the hole. Jennings came out without his rifle.

“Go in again and get it,” said the Corporal.

Jennings, shivering and shaking himself like a wet hen, was covered from head to foot in slime.

“I’d die, Corporal,” he said. “I’m all in.”

Gunn cursed and said he would go in for it.

“Get out of my way,” he said.

He stepped into the hole, searched around with his foot, got the rifle and hauled it out. He handed it to Jennings.

“Thank you,” said Jennings. “But how am I ever going to get it clean?”

“Everybody all right now?” said the Corporal. “Get in your proper places.”

They floundered about until they were in line.

“Who’s that sitting down there?” said the Corporal. “Fall in that man. Who told you to sit down? What is your number?”

“I was tying my puttee, Corporal,” said Lamont, in his girlish voice.

“Oh! Christ!” said the Corporal. “There he is again. The principal boy, tightening her tights. Get up, you little bastard.”

Lamont got up. He had not really been doing anything but had sat down for a rest. He fell in behind Gunn.

“Hang on to my scabbard,” whispered Gunn, “and give me your rifle.”

“Say, Corporal,” said Appleby. “I think we’re going wrong.”

“Shut up, you fool,” said the Corporal. “Eh? Where are we? All right! I’ve got it. Move on.”

Again they advanced, floundering, for about ten yards and then Shaw cried out, “Hey! Where are we going? That’s our post there. We’re on the wrong side of it.”

“Halt!” said the Corporal.

He came over to Shaw. The latter pointed to the top of the elephant frame which covered the extreme left of the post.

“See that?” said he.

“What? Where?” said the Corporal, peering.

Shaw tipped the zinc with the butt of his rifle. The Corporal swore.

“Turn back,” he said, moving up to the front of the line.

They all turned about, lost their positions and got into a bunch, arguing and cursing.

“Get into your right places,” said the Corporal. “Get... Oh! God!”

Although there were only nine of them all told it seemed impossible to form a line. The Corporal pushed them and threatened to take their numbers, but only added to the confusion by his exhortations and threats. Catching Lamont by the shoulders to put him into his place, he noticed that the boy had no rifle.

“Where’s your rifle?” he said.

“I’ve got his rifle, Corporal,” said Gunn

“Give it to him, you daft bastard,” said the Corporal. “Did you ever hear of a man going over the top with a servant to carry his rifle? Gunn, I’ll report you for this.”

“What have I done?” said Gunn angrily. “It was only...”

“Don’t answer me back,” said the Corporal. “As for you, Lamont, your mother won’t know you when I’ve done with you.”

“Chuck that, Corporal!” said Gunn with great violence. “Leave the kid’s mother out of it.”

The Corporal thrust his face near to Gunn’s face and said, “Eh? Say that again. D’ye know what you’re saying?”

In the darkness, the face of each appeared enormous to the other’s eyes. They could not see one another’s eyes. But they could hear one another’s breathing and smell one another. Gunn stood very stiffly, with his heart thumping. The Corporal leant forward with his jaws strained upwards, grasping his rifle with both hands, threatening.

Although Gunn did not speak and although he stood rigid in a respectful attitude, the Corporal became afraid of the man and as a consequence began at that moment to hate him.

Gunn also began to hate the Corporal.

Without saying anything further the Corporal moved away to the head of the section, forgetting that Gunn still carried Lamont’s rifle, which he had ordered Gunn to return to its owner. The men moved on.

There was silence for some time. Gunn kept grinding his teeth. He was struggling to overcome his hatred of the Corporal, or rather, the terrible inclination towards the commission of a certain act that was inspired by this hatred. Lamont, clinging to his empty bayonet scabbard for support, now appeared to him as something unpleasant which he really detested but was forced to protect for an occult reason.

“How utterly idiotic!” said Jennings suddenly. “Nobody seems to know where we are going.”

“No talking now,” said the Corporal. “We’re getting near his line.”

“We are like hell,” said Reilly.

“Who’s that?” said a voice from the right.

They all halted.

“No. 2 Bombers,” said the Corporal. “Is that Corporal Wallace?”.

“Yes,” said the voice. “Where are we?”

“How the hell do I know?” said Corporal Williams. “Wait there. I’m coming over. Come on, lads.”

The bombers floundered across to Corporal Wallace’s Lewis gunners.

“I halted here,” said Corporal Wallace, “and sent a man out to look for you, but he hasn’t come back. Did you see him?”

“No. We’re lost, I think. Whereabouts are you?”

“I don’t know. I thought you might know. Are you far from your post?”

“Can’t say. Are you far from your post.”

“I don’t know where I am.”

They began to argue about their position and about the orders which they had received. The men of both sections, delighted at being able to talk to one another after a separation of two days, eagerly asked questions.

“What was it like in your post?”

“Bloody awful. Dusty Smith got back yesterday, sick. Any of your chaps hit in that firing?”

“Yes. ’38 Finnigan got a packet in the back. Shrap.”

“Lucky bastard!”

They were indifferent to the business they had in hand and discussed their little affairs, like gossiping old men, while the Corporals, being in charge, shouldering all the responsibility for the extraordinary situation in which they and their men were placed, lost in No Man’s Land, argued about the direction of the enemy’s front line.

It was all to no purpose. In the pitch darkness, orders, officers, Sergeant-Majors, trenches, positions and the enemy, with his rival organisation of officers, orders, trenches and positions, all disappeared and became meaningless, just as reality becomes transformed in a wild nightmare. They were lost in No Man’s Land, floundering in the mud, while the ceaseless rain fell upon them with a monotonous drone.

Mud, rain, darkness and babbling men I

Unable to think of any intelligent solution of their difficulty, the two Corporals decided to join forces. They marched off together in what they considered was a new direction. They soon entered a space which was covered with barbed wire entanglements. Appleby tripped over a stake, hurtled forward and fell prone on the wire. He immediately began to moan in his gloomy voice, “I’m wounded. I’m wounded.”

“The curse of God on you, Appleby,” said Corporal Williams. “What is the matter with you now? Have you fallen into another shell-hole?”

The ground was wired in patches and the Corporal had got through the entanglement on an open space. But as he stepped back to see what was the matter with Appleby, he himself got caught and fell.

Now several voices cried out “Mind the wire. Look out!”

Trying to evade the wire, they nearly all got caught on it, as they instinctively got together in a bunch for protection. Their voices rose almost to a shout, in spite of the Corporals, who shouted still louder than the men, ordering silence. There was an uproar, like a brawl in a tavern.

Appleby, on being dragged away from the wire, was found to be gashed severely along the right thigh. A man of the Lewis gun section had his face cut. The Corporal’s right arm was slightly torn. The others escaped with torn clothes. They bandaged the injured and set forth once more, in search of the enemy’s front line.

Now there was no attempt at falling in by sections or moving in file. Although the two Corporals, from sheer force of habit, still whispered commands and threats, nobody took any notice. They had lost all semblance of discipline, and indeed they had quite forgotten about the enemy and about the war.

Now they only feared the darkness and the mud and the falling rain; and they desired feverishly to reach the enemy’s line as a refuge from the horrid wilderness in which they were lost.

Gunn got separated from Lamont during the confusion at the entanglements. He still carried the youth’s rifle slung on his shoulder. In his brain he carried the knowledge that he hated the Corporal.

Now, as he floundered along through the mud, concealed from observation by the darkness, this hatred took complete possession of him, distorting his features, making his brain hot, stiffening his muscles, causing his chest to expand and contract painfully, making his blood tingle.

Suddenly another voice hailed them.

“Who’s that?”

Both Corporals answered.

“Where the blasted hell are you?” came the voice.

It was Platoon Sergeant Corcoran. They halted and waited for him to come up. He had Corporal Tynan’s section with him.

“How the hell did you get here?” he said, angrily.

Now the Sergeant and the three Corporals began to argue. Then they all set out together. A few minutes later they were joined by the fourth section of the platoon. Another argument followed. Then the whole platoon set out to seek the enemy’s front line, cursing, groaning, falling into shell holes, getting caught on barbed wire, utterly exhausted.

Dawn came. Somebody cried out suddenly, “See. There it is.”

They saw the enemy’s front line within a few yards of them. They gaped at it like small boys who have for the first time reached a hill distant from their village, and found to their amazement that it’s not an imposing mountain but a dull hillock. This long, winding hole had, a few hours before, contained dangerous enemies. It was a secure place, fortified with parapets, with comfortable dug-outs, a place that aroused envy in them, as they lay in shallow exposed holes. Now it was deserted, a morass, half-full of débris.

The enemy had destroyed everything. Where dug-outs had been sunk deep into the ground there were now quagmires. Planks, old iron, sheets of zinc, pieces of concrete littered the ground.

They stepped down into this trench, with their weapons pointed foolishly, although there was not even a rat to oppose them. They spread out at the Sergeant’s command and then stood still. There was nothing to do.

Word was passed along after a delay of twenty minutes.

“We are to wait here for orders.”

It still rained.

Then a groan of anger passed along the line. Sodden with rain, torn by barbed wire, hungry, bloodshot in the eyes from want of sleep, lousy, they suddenly became enraged with this foolish expedition in the darkness from one hole to another; an expedition that now seemed utterly without purpose.

It was a groan of revolt against Authority, but it had no power behind it. It was rather like the revolt of an over-laden ass, which, when whipped under his load by a cruel and stupid master, tosses his foolish ears and grinds his teeth; but afterwards, groaning, with downcast head, goes on until he falls.

##