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.Nulli Secundus -
'Second to None'
by Terence Cardwell
Chapter
Thirty Three - Retrenched
Max and Dieter were woken after only a few hours’ sleep
to be told they were about to make another attack.
‘Stupid, absolutely bloody stupid,’ Dieter was
muttering. ‘We won’t be back this time.’ It was four
a.m. in the morning and they were hoping to catch the
British asleep, or exhausted from lack of sleep.
Again the hated whistles blew and they went over the top
to run forward with hundreds of other black shadows,
keeping as low as they could.
This time there was no prelude bombardment by their
artillery. They were hoping to take the British by
surprise and the soldiers ran across the land in
silence, waiting for the deadly British riflemen to open
fire.
Five hundred yards. No one opened fire.
Running. Listening. All quiet except the rustle of
coats and the occasional tinkle of steel against steel.
Three hundred yards, still no firing. They were crossing
no man’s land much quicker than they had expected, and
still silence.
‘Max, we’ve got them on the run— come on, hurry up.’
‘I’m not in a hurry to die,’ gasped Max. ‘Let the others
go first,’ remembering what the sergeant had told him.
He could see the dark shadows of the mass of soldiers in
the light of the half-moon, running ahead of him. Now
they were only two hundred yards away and still no
firing or artillery.
One hundred yards. Still running. Almost out of breath.
They had run so far, so quickly that Max was starting to
ache from running. Dieter was alongside panting and
starting to stagger a little.
Suddenly there was yelling ahead, shouting and
bellowing. The soldiers in front had leapt into the
British trenches with fixed bayonets ready to wipe out
the enemy troops. Max and Dieter followed, looking for
soldiers to attack, but there were only grey uniforms
and pointed helmets. Their comrades in arms.
‘They’re gone! They’ve disappeared!’ Dieter said in an
incredulous tone.
‘Thank God for that,’ Max replied. ‘I felt sure my
number was up this time. I just had that feeling.’
As they spoke the artillery guns opened fire.
‘Must be the British firing back,’ Max yelled.
Suddenly the shells started exploding, some behind, some
in front, but most hitting their target, the trenches.
‘Oh No! They’re our guns. They’re firing on us. The
fools,’ Dieter screamed. ‘Get out. Get out. They’ll kill
us.’
No one operating the artillery guns had considered that
their troops could possibly cover the ground so quickly.
Expecting stiff and determined resistance, they assumed
their troops would only be halfway to the British
trenches.
Desperately the troops tried to climb the steep banks of
the trenches. Some were crying, others swearing and
cursing the German artillerymen, as they frantically
clawed their way up the wall of the trenches that were
becoming their death trap. Those who managed to scramble
out of the trenches were also hit by falling shells.
Their only chance was to run back to their own lines
against the onrush of their own troops, who were unaware
of the catastrophe. Officers running behind mistook them
for cowards, and began shooting them.
Max and Dieter could not escape from the trenches,
falling back from the loose gravel banks as they tried.
Soldiers exploded into pieces of arms, legs and flesh,
and they watched in horror as a row of massive
explosions moved towards them. They knew they could not
escape.
The last thing they heard was the sound of a roaring
train coming towards them, a massive eruption of forces,
and Max found himself lifted into the air. He rose
upward then fell heavily to the ground, landing hard on
his back. Intense pain swamped his body and everything
became hazy. Voices screamed from afar, but he could not
understand. Slowly the pain faded away, replaced by a
feeling of peace as he drifted into oblivion.
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