Mr. Standfast - John Buchan (autobiographies to read TXT) 📗

good line and wired it nobly. It ran from the river to the wood of La Bruyere on the little hill above the Ablain stream. It was desperately long, but I saw at once it couldn’t well be shorter, for the division on the south of us had its hands full with the fringe of the big thrust against the French.

“It’s no good blinking the facts,” I told them. “I haven’t a thousand men, and what I have are at the end of their tether. If you put ’em in these trenches they’ll go to sleep on their feet. When can the French take over?”

I was told that it had been arranged for next morning, but that it had now been put off twenty-four hours. It was only a temporary measure, pending the arrival of British divisions from the north.

Archie looked grave. “The Boche is pushin’ up new troops in this sector. We got the news before I left squadron headquarters. It looks as if it would be a near thing, sir.”

“It won’t be a near thing. It’s an absolute black certainty. My fellows can’t carry on as they are another day. Great God, they’ve had a fortnight in hell! Find me more men or we buckle up at the next push.” My temper was coming very near its limits.

“We’ve raked the country with a small-tooth comb, sir,” said one of the staff officers. “And we’ve raised a scratch pack. Best part of two thousand. Good men, but most of them know nothing about infantry fighting. We’ve put them into platoons, and done our best to give them some kind of training. There’s one thing may cheer you. We’ve plenty of machine-guns. There’s a machine-gun school near by and we got all the men who were taking the course and all the plant.”

I don’t suppose there was ever such a force put into the field before. It was a wilder medley than Moussy’s camp-followers at First Ypres. There was every kind of detail in the shape of men returning from leave, representing most of the regiments in the army. There were the men from the machine-gun school. There were Corps troops⁠—sappers and A.S.C., and a handful of Corps cavalry. Above all, there was a batch of American engineers, fathered by Blenkiron. I inspected them where they were drilling and liked the look of them. “Forty-eight hours,” I said to myself. “With luck we may just pull it off.”

Then I borrowed a bicycle and went back to the division. But before I left I had a word with Archie. “This is one big game of bluff, and it’s you fellows alone that enable us to play it. Tell your people that everything depends on them. They mustn’t stint the planes in this sector, for if the Boche once suspicions how little he’s got before him the game’s up. He’s not a fool and he knows that this is the short road to Amiens, but he imagines we’re holding it in strength. If we keep up the fiction for another two days the thing’s done. You say he’s pushing up troops?”

“Yes, and he’s sendin’ forward his tanks.”

“Well, that’ll take time. He’s slower now than a week ago and he’s got a deuce of a country to march over. There’s still an outside chance we may win through. You go home and tell the R.F.C. what I’ve told you.”

He nodded. “By the way, sir, Pienaar’s with the squadron. He would like to come up and see you.”

“Archie,” I said solemnly, “be a good chap and do me a favour. If I think Peter’s anywhere near the line I’ll go off my head with worry. This is no place for a man with a bad leg. He should have been in England days ago. Can’t you get him off⁠—to Amiens, anyhow?”

“We scarcely like to. You see, we’re all desperately sorry for him, his fun gone and his career over and all that. He likes bein’ with us and listenin’ to our yarns. He has been up once or twice too. The Shark-Gladas. He swears it’s a great make, and certainly he knows how to handle the little devil.”

“Then for Heaven’s sake don’t let him do it again. I look to you, Archie, remember. Promise.”

“Funny thing, but he’s always worryin’ about you. He has a map on which he marks every day the changes in the position, and he’d hobble a mile to pump any of our fellows who have been up your way.”

That night under cover of darkness I drew back the division to the newly prepared lines. We got away easily, for the enemy was busy with his own affairs. I suspected a relief by fresh troops.

There was no time to lose, and I can tell you I toiled to get things straight before dawn. I would have liked to send my own fellows back to rest, but I couldn’t spare them yet. I wanted them to stiffen the fresh lot, for they were veterans. The new position was arranged on the same principles as the old front which had been broken on March 21st. There was our forward zone, consisting of an outpost line and redoubts, very cleverly sited, and a line of resistance. Well behind it were the trenches which formed the battle-zone. Both zones were heavily wired, and we had plenty of machine-guns; I wish I could say we had plenty of men who knew how to use them. The outposts were merely to give the alarm and fall back to the line of resistance which was to hold out to the last. In the forward zone I put the freshest of my own men, the units being brought up to something like strength by the details returning from leave that the Corps had commandeered. With them I put the American engineers, partly in the redoubts and partly in companies for counterattack. Blenkiron had reported that they could shoot like Dan’l Boone, and were simply spoiling for a