WITH THE GUNS With the Guns BY F.O.O. _SECOND IMPRESSION_ LONDON EVELEIGH NASH COMPANY LIMITED 1916 TO D.C. CONTENTS PAGE I ARTILLERY 9 II 'O.P.' 25 III OBSERVATION 42 IV THE FOUR DAYS 61 V THE DAY OF ASSAULT 77 VI STRAIGHTENING THE LINE 96 VII LOOS 117 VIII IN FRENCH TERRITORY 137 IX CHANGING POSITION 156 X TELEPHONES 171 XI BEHIND THE LINE 189 XII A WAR MESS 208 WITH THE GUNS I ARTILLERY As these sketches of the changing phases of modern war are largely concerned with the work of the artillery, as, indeed, they are written from the standpoint of that branch of the Service, this would seem to be a favourable place to explain shortly the significance of the arm. My excuse, if any be needed, may be sought in the mind of the average man who, terrified as ever of the contemplation of anything technical, puzzled by the grandiloquence of the self-appointed "expert," regards the art of the artilleryman as written in a book sealed to him for ever by its own abstruseness. Yet the general principles that guide the employment of the man with the gun, as distinguished from the man with the rifle, are very simple. In the first place, whereas the latter is only concerned with the incapacitating of _personnel_, the former has in addition the task of the destruction of _matÃ©riel_. The old and still popular idea of a battle, wherein each arm engages exclusively the similar arm of the enemy, has, since the middle of the last century, entirely disappeared. In a few words it may be said that the function of the artillery of the attack is to prepare the way for the infantry assault by the demolition of the enemy's defences, so far as that may be possible, and during this actual assault to prevent the enemy's troops from leaving their shelter and offering resistance. The artillery of the defence, on the other hand, must endeavour to check the fire of the hostile guns, either by overwhelming the batteries themselves by a fire so intense that the detachments cannot work the guns, or by the destruction of their observation posts. During the assault, their object must be to cover the space over which the hostile infantry must advance with so continuous a rain of shell that they are unable to reach their objective. In order to perform these various duties with the greatest attainable efficiency artillery must possess two essentials. In the first place, it must be able to project the greatest possible weight of shell in a given time, and in the second it must be capable of rapid movement from one point to another so that it may be rapidly brought into use whenever the need for it is greatest. Now, obviously, the heavier the shell to be thrown, the greater must be the energy of the cartridge, and the greater the energy of the cartridge, the greater the strength (and consequently size and weight) of the gun necessary to withstand the pressures produced upon its discharge. On the other hand, if a gun is to be mobile, it must be as light as possible, both so that it can be moved at the required speed, and also that it can be taken over soft or difficult ground. Mobility and shell-power are therefore naturally antagonistic, the two cannot be combined in the same gun. The modern army, therefore, carries a range of guns, wherein maximum mobility controls one end of the scale and maximum shell-power the other. The former is represented by the mountain gun, firing a shell weighing some ten pounds and capable of being moved with great rapidity over practically any ground that a man can traverse laden, the latter by pieces of ordnance throwing a shell whose weight approximates to a ton, capable of very slow movement over good roads and requiring elaborately prepared positions from which to fire. Suppose, however, that we were to take a six-inch gun, that is to say a gun firing a shell six inches in diameter and weighing a hundred pounds, with a range of say twenty thousand yards. This gun will require a cartridge consisting of about twenty pounds of propellant, to withstand the explosion of which the gun must be made of such massiveness that it will weigh some seven tons. Now instead of requiring so great a range, we determine to be satisfied with a range of six or seven thousand yards. We now find that a charge of only some two pounds of propellant will give us this range, and that the gun can now be built very much shorter and less massive, so that its weight is reduced to a ton and a half. We have retained the same weight of shell, but have sacrificed range to increased mobility, and the fruit of our labours is no longer a six-inch gun, but a six-inch howitzer. But in the process of conversion from a gun, the howitzer has acquired a new characteristic. Owing to its heavy charge of propellant, a gun projectile leaves the bore with great velocity, and consequently the gun requires relatively little elevation to hit a target at any given range. A howitzer, owing to its small charge, requires a far greater elevation. Now a projectile reaches its mark travelling at very much the same angle with the horizontal as when it started on its journey. At a range within the capacity of both, therefore, if fired say at a house, the shell from the gun will tend to hit the front wall, whereas the shell from the howitzer will tend to drop upon the roof. This tendency, combined with their difference in mobility, determines the choice of a gun or howitzer with which to attack a given target. It may be added that by still further reducing the range to be attained, say to a few hundred yards, a charge of only a few ounces need be employed, and a weapon produced, capable of being carried by a couple of men, yet still throwing a comparatively heavy shell. The German _Minenwerfers_ and our own trench-mortars are the representatives of this class. All these various types and sizes of ordnance (the word "gun" is a generic term that covers them all) employ two main types of projectile, shrapnel and high explosive. Shrapnel may be considered as a sort of shot gun fired from a rifled gun. It consists of a steel case filled with round bullets except for a chamber in the base containing a small quantity of powder. The head of the shell is fitted with a fuse which can be set to act at any given time after the gun is fired. This fuse ignites the powder in the base of the shell, which projects the bullets from the case in the form of a cone whose axis is the direction in which the shell is moving at the time. Shrapnel, therefore, depends for its effect upon the destructive power of the flying bullets. High-explosive projectiles consist of a very strong and heavy shell, entirely filled with a high-explosive compound, and fitted with a percussion fuse that acts when the shell strikes anything. The fuse ignites a primer which detonates the high-explosive charge, and the body of the shell splits up into pieces of various sizes which are hurled in all directions with considerable velocity. This type of shell has a double destructive power, that of the high explosive itself and of the flying fragments. The Germans employ a compromise in addition, known as "universal" shell, which may be described as a shrapnel with a high-explosive charge, which can be used with either a time or percussion fuse. They have also combined with the explosive charge of some of their projectiles a substance which on combustion produces an irritant gas with the property of attacking the eyes, and thereby making a position untenable, and have also added phosphorus to produce incendiary effects. It may be accepted as a general rule that howitzers employ only high explosive, guns both shrapnel and high explosive. We are now in a position to consider how artillery can best engage the various types of target that offer themselves. The gunner's dream, a mass of infantry in the open, is now but seldom seen, and when it is no battery within range can restrain itself from hurling anything it possesses at such a heaven-sent objective. The most suitable method of procedure is to overwhelm it with a cloud of light shrapnel, burst well above and in front of it, so as to produce a hail of bullets beneath which nothing can live. In the case of the attack of a trench, the method usually employed is a preliminary bombardment by light and medium howitzers, with the object of destroying it and its occupants, or at all events rendering it untenable, by dropping high explosive into it; as soon as the infantry commence the assault, the field guns cover the face of the trench with shrapnel to prevent its defenders manning the parapet with their rifles. It has been found that wire entanglements can be most easily and efficiently destroyed by light shrapnel burst just above or if possible amongst them, followed if necessary by a few light high-explosive shells to uproot the standards without forming deep craters that would impede the assaulting infantry. A hostile battery in position under cover is usually engaged with high explosive from guns or howitzers. It is impossible to count upon a direct hit destroying any of the guns composing it, although such lucky shots have occurred. But the detachments may be forced to remain under cover and the battery communications disorganized. Either result will put the battery out of action so long as the fire continues. The real difficulty of such a target is to discover its exact position. Fortified positions such as redoubts and buildings may be destroyed by the high-explosive fire of heavy guns and howitzers; observation posts by guns, as they are usually small, and, speaking generally, it is easier to hit a small mark with a gun than with a howitzer, owing to the former possessing greater accuracy. A somewhat peculiar feature of modern warfare is retaliation, of which the general principle is that if the enemy incommodes one by the use of his artillery, one or more batteries are ordered to fire a given number of rounds into some place where his troops are known to collect, such as a town or large village behind his lines. Guns firing high explosive are most suitable for this, as the point selected for retaliation is usually beyond the range of howitzers. It is often desired, more usually at night, to prevent the enemy from sending reinforcements to his front line. To effect this end, a "barrage" is established, usually by means of howitzers, which draw a curtain of high explosive between the massing-place of the reinforcements and their goal. The first concern of any battery, once it is in position, is to be capable of maintaining fire as long as it is called upon to do so, and whenever necessary. To be able to do this presupposes immunity from hostile fire, and, it having been found in practice impossible to secure adequate protection from determined shelling, this involves concealment, not alone from direct view from the enemy's positions, but also from his aeroplanes and observation balloons. It is comparatively easy to find some natural or artificial feature behind which to place a battery, but it is almost a life study so to disguise that battery that it will not be detected from above. Pits may have to be dug to hold the gun and its detachment, spanned by iron rails carrying a load of earth artistically planted with shrubs and flowers, the inside of a hay-stack may be torn out so that a heavy howitzer can just be manipulated in the space so formed, an innocent heap of beetroots may conceal the long graceful contour of a sixty-pounder. Yet, however careful the disguise, unless the detachments themselves hide under any cover available and remain absolutely still when a hostile aeroplane is overhead, or if by mischance the tell-tale flash of the gun betray it, suddenly and without warning the heart-gripping whirr of heavy shell will be heard, and before there is time for everybody to find the dug-outs, the battery will be an inferno of unendurable explosions and deadly flying splinters. Then, happy the battery commander whose casualties are but slight! If the battery is so concealed from the enemy's positions that it cannot be seen from them, it follows that neither can they be seen from the battery. In order, therefore, to be able to bring fire to bear upon any given point, the officer controlling the battery must have recourse to one of three expedients. He must either go himself to some point from which he can see his target, and from which he can communicate with the battery, or he must plot the position of battery and target on a map, and work on that, or he must have an observer in an aeroplane who can see the target and can communicate with him. The first of these methods is known as direct observation, and may be described as one of the most important things that the war is teaching, and the most absorbing phase of the artilleryman's life. The principles underlying the second and third are self-evident, and the details of their application too lengthy for description. Finally, let me try to convey an impression of the gunner's performances from various points of view. The infantryman is the gunner's keenest critic, and here let me say once and for all that the infantryman is at the same time the hero and the decisive factor of every war. Artillery but exists to smooth his path to victory, on him falls every brunt and every hardship, the gunner is a mere accessory to his accomplishments. No battle and no war can ever be won except by infantry, superiority in any other arm is useless if the enemy's infantry gain the upper hand by greater numbers or efficiency. He therefore has a right to weigh us in the balance, and it is the Allies' brightest star that their infantry, after endless weary months of suffering under vastly superior gun-fire, know at last that behind them are men and weapons that daily exhibit their newly-won preponderance. It is the prerogative of all good soldiers to grumble when they are satisfied and contented, presumably as a reaction from the cheerful and unmurmuring endurance of hardship. The infantryman of to-day, although reposing every confidence in the artillery behind him, still believes the gunner to be a man of bad habits and occasional lapses. It is no use explaining to him that the round that fell so short as to burst in his trench instead of the enemy's was merely an evidence of senile decay on the part of the gun, and it would be mere waste of time to attempt to convey to the clay-plastered working-party who are busy shovelling up the parapet that it knocked down that accidents will happen even in the best regulated batteries. I have heard higher praise bestowed on our efforts than that of a group of senior officers, who whilst walking down a communication trench at night, contrived so firmly to entangle themselves in the telephone wire to my observing station that it took a whole platoon armed with wire-cutters to unbind them--they irresistibly reminded me of the Laocoon when I arrived upon the scene. Further, it is easy to understand that men who wade along a muddy ditch to the prospect of five long days and nights in a morass are apt to speak slightingly of others sleeping the sleep of the just in warm dry dug-outs a mile or so back. The gunner, on his part, admires the infantry with an admiration no less deep because it is hidden. Of course, he lacks soul, thinks the gunner, he has no imagination to see that yesterday's bombardment of the enemy's trench, although it _did_ send a few splinters whizzing into his own, must have a subtle and profound bearing upon the issue of the war entirely outweighing any temporary inconvenience it may have caused him. Besides, he is an incurable marauder, nothing that can be made to burn in a bucket fire is safe for an unguarded moment. Lastly, he _will_ clamour for vengeance upon an offending _Minenwerfer_ just as the light is getting too bad for observation and one's servant appears with tea. But--one can turn in and dream of home in the knowledge that he is between oneself and the enemy. It is interesting to follow the variations of German military opinion on the subject of the Allied artillery. Bernhardi, writing a year or two before the war, gives it as his opinion that the Krupp gun is slightly superior to all other weapons, as, at that time, before the perfection of the French "_soixante-quinze_," it probably was. He advocates the abandonment of shrapnel for "universal" shell, and throws doubts upon the ability of a German commander to use efficiently all the batteries at his disposal. The outbreak of war found the Allies, as regards "field" artillery, that is to say mobile ordnance throwing a shell of from fifteen to twenty pounds, in the possession of superior weapons in slightly inferior numbers. As regards "heavy" artillery, grouping under that heading all natures of ordnance heavier than a field gun, to every twenty pieces brought into action by the enemy we possibly had one. It will probably be the verdict of history that the rapidity of the hostile advance up to the Marne, and the ability of the enemy to establish himself, practically unmolested, upon a strong defensive line, were due entirely to this fact. Documents captured lately, however, have revealed that the higher German artillery advisers consider that, weapon for weapon, our guns have a slight superiority, and in numbers available upon the Western front a distinct preponderance. They also impress upon battery commanders the need of study of our method of concealment and observation, as being in many ways preferable to their own. Of the gunner himself a few words will suffice. He is of a traditional type, big, burly and equipped with a vocabulary that has been known to fuse the delicate windings of an over-sensitive telephone. His gun, for which his terms of endearment are expressed in profanity, is his only care, in his spare time he will sit in its emplacement as in his natural home. The "limber-gunner," an old soldier selected for each gun to keep it groomed and immaculate, is jealous of his charge as he has been for all time, since the day when Alfonso d'Este of Ferrara hurled the brazen statue of Pope Julius II into the melting-pot wherewith to cast more cannon. Hear him discoursing to a group of youngsters on the regimental motto. "Ubique," he says, "ubique, that means, my sons, that whenever there's a scrap on you an' me an' the bloomin' old pop-gun's got to up an' trek an' earn our blessed rum ration doin' ten days' work in one." And I think he speaks the truth. II 'O.P.' The mystifying habit of speaking in abbreviations, the result of a constant use of rapid means of communication, is one that is developed to its maximum degree in the jargon of artillery. For instance, "L.X.C. El. 25Â° 30Â´, 15Â´ M L ORD BYF 40Â´Â´" is a very common type of order, and is the form in which that order would be transmitted. Consequently, whether in writing or in speech, the Observation Post is invariably referred to as the O.P. What more fitting than that these two letters should stand at the head of a sketch that proposes to deal with some of the aspects of these same observation posts? The modern battery is so concealed that the view from it is often restricted to a few hundred yards in any direction. It therefore follows that the officer who wishes to direct its fire must discover some place from where he can see the target he proposes to engage, and from whence he can establish communication, in practice almost invariably by telephone, with his battery. He may be lucky enough to find some point near at hand, such as a church tower, from which he can obtain the necessary range of vision, and such points certainly have the advantage that they usually afford an extended view. But far more frequently, especially if his target is a hostile trench only a few yards from our own lines, some point right up forward must be selected, for preference just behind our own front line. This usually involves the selection of alternative positions, both because the view from each is usually restricted to a very small section of the hostile line, and also in the not-uncommon event of the observation officer being shelled out of his post, the battery is out of action until he has established himself somewhere else. The forward observation officer (F.O.O.) is the eye of the artillery, it is his business to observe not only the shooting of his own battery, but also to keep a watch over the whole of the enemy's territory visible from his post; to learn by constant inspection every detail, to perceive the smallest alteration or movement that may give a hint from which enemy plans or dispositions may be deduced. Hence it is clear that the selection of a good observation post is one that demands no small skill and experience. Nor is this selection altogether devoid of humour. A battery arrives, apparently from nowhere, its officers have a bundle of unfamiliar maps thrust into their hands, and are told to go and find as many O.P.s as they require to see a certain prescribed area. "So-and-so will go with you, if you like, he knows all about this part of the world." So-and-so is eventually, after a prolonged search, unearthed from the one comfortable chair in his mess, it being, as he bitterly explains, the only afternoon he has had off for a month. We start, preferably along a road pitted with shell-holes that look disconcertingly recent. Our guide informs us with melancholy pride that two telephonists of the 652nd Battery were killed there yesterday. "But it's usually pretty healthy----" A small and particularly vicious shell whizzes apparently just over our heads and bursts a hundred yards or so away. We change the conversation. We come to a place where the road ends, and where it seems as though some lover of beauty had cut a narrow winding course for a merry little streamlet that murmurs contentedly between its banks. Some yards away stands what was once a house, but the doors have been wrenched off their hinges, the windows are blocked up--no loss to internal illumination, for a dozen huge gaps in the wall amply supply the deficiency--and the roof has collapsed, leaving only the chimney-stacks standing. "That might do for you," says our guide, "750th Battery used it for months." "How do we get there?"--for the country looks suspiciously open and deserted beyond our present retreat behind the hedge. "Oh, they don't often snipe here, we can walk across one at a time, or there's the communication trench," pointing to the streamlet. Heroes all, we elect a soldier's death rather than wet feet, and the first of our party starts to walk across the open. Before he reaches the shelter of the house, zip! comes a bullet with the ugly sound that marks the rifle fired in one's own direction. He makes a wild dive for shelter, from which he subsequently watches us as we wade, cursing its maker, knee-deep along the communication trench, and exhorts us to be careful to change our socks when we get home. After much argument, we decide that the house will suit us, and we splash homewards through our clay-coloured rivulet, by no means comforted by the thought that this is the only safe means of access to our new-found property, unless we propose to go there before daylight and stay till after dark. Small things provoke humour where amusements are few. I subsequently discovered that the depth of water in this trench was about two inches less than the length of my gum-boots, and that, therefore, by careful progression, I could navigate it safely. Whilst doing this one day, a large dog, presumably frightened by a shell bursting near him--although animals of all kinds get extraordinarily accustomed to such things as a rule--plunged into the water within a foot of me. The wave of his impact overflowed my boots--they have never been really dry since--and the splash soaked me to the skin. As I stood telling the world at large what I thought of war and dogs and trenches, a gentle voice, near at hand but unseen, demanded of me, in the catchword of the day, "Daddy, what did _you_ do in the great war?" A sense of humour will make, even of war, the finest game in the world. Frequently the guide is young and enthusiastic, apt to let his confidence outstrip his local knowledge. A representative of this type volunteered to take one of us to a place from whence he declared we could see a particular point that puzzled us. The two set out smiling, and promptly entangled themselves in a maze of unfamiliar trenches. The guide declared he knew every inch of them, and for many hours as it seemed the two wandered in and out, like trippers in the maze at Hampton Court. At last they reached the ruins of a farmhouse. "If you climb up there you can see all right," said the guide. The unwary pilgrim did so, and found himself, outlined against the evening sky, gazing at the German trenches not thirty yards away. My friend is the soul of discretion, he hurled himself rather than jumped into the security of the trench, followed by a _rafale_ of machine-gun and rifle fire. Nor was he mollified by the words of a choleric and indignant infantry major, who came up and wanted to know what the devil he meant by acting like an infernal clown and drawing fire on his trench--I soften his epithets. There was a marked coolness between the three for many days to come. More harrowing still is the whispered legend of two adventurous spirits who, in the early days of the war, when the armies were not, as now, divided by an unbroken line of trenches, set out to seek for some commanding position from which to survey the surrounding country. At dusk they found a piece of rising ground, that seemed to promise the fulfilment of all their hopes. Seeing a group of men at work upon it, they strolled up to them and enquired whether it were possible to observe the Germans from there. "I know of but one place more suitable, gentlemen, and that is Berlin," was the reply, and in a very short time they were on their way thither. They had chanced upon the headquarters of a German division! The observation post once found, the next step is to make it tenable. It may be, if Fate is kindly disposed, the upper storey or garret of a house, from whence through a hole in the roof or walls the necessary view can be obtained. Happy the man who finds such available! The alternative is a straw-stack, on the top of which one must lie, covering oneself as much as possible with straw; a tree, amongst whose branches one must perch like a disconsolate and clumsy bird for whom there is no close time; or, worse than all, a spot in some particularly exposed trench, over whose parapet one pops one's head at the longest possible intervals for the shortest possible time, wondering the while whether the man opposite will pull his trigger before one gets it down again. Generally speaking, all these latter are to be avoided. Any sort of ruin is preferable, and the more of a ruin it is, the less likely is the enemy to sit up and take notice of it. It is as well to make it as bullet-proof as possible, by judicious strengthening with timbers and sandbags. Anything more ambitious is waste of time; if a shell of any size hits it directly, it is coming down and oneself inside it, despite the most elaborate fortifications, which in this case only serve to bury one the deeper. All one can hope for is a little box wherein to sit and observe, proof as far as possible from rain and bullets, and a dug-out for one's telephonists, in which one may take shelter oneself if shelled--that is, if one is lucky enough to get there in time. The most important thing to remember is that the exact appearance of every single object within view is known to the observers on the other side, and that consequently it is a remarkably sure form of suicide to alter the exterior view of anything that one proposes to occupy. A careful man, however, can establish quite a home-like resort almost anywhere. I have known observation posts within two or three hundred yards of the German trenches whose occupants have lived in profound peace and contentment for weeks at a time. A church tower, or even the remains of one, is an ideal place. It is, certainly, sure to be shelled periodically, but the first round is not going to hit it, and a rapid (and, for preference, carefully rehearsed) descent into a cellar or dug-out at its foot usually averts a _contretemps_. Of course, as happened once in my experience, a lucky round may carry away the stairs or ladders inside the tower below the observing officer, who then spends a _mauvis quart d'heure_ whilst the enemy leisurely shells him. It is surprising, though, how many direct hits from even heavy ordnance a tower will stand without falling. If no church is available, the tallest house or ruin that can be found must be adapted, by making a tiny slit in the wall or roof, invisible at a distance of a hundred yards or so, and rigging up a platform inside on which to sit whilst observing. A very ingenious method that I once saw employed by a French battery was to make a wooden box the exact shape and size of the chimney stack of a cottage, and painted brick red. The box was hollow and had small peep-holes cut in it. One night they skilfully removed the real stack and substituted the imitation one, which served them admirably for many months. In another case all that was left of what had been a fair-sized house was a wall facing towards the enemy. A neighbouring ruined village was ransacked for a dovecot and a long ladder. A band of amateur carpenters fitted the dovecot to the inside of the wall, as high up as possible, cut a small hole through the wall, and arranged the ladder as a means of access to it. I can vouch from personal experience for the comfort and general excellence of the completed work. Of the delights of a certain pear-tree, behind whose ample trunk was a most rickety ladder, up whose rotten rungs one climbed fearfully--the tree was about seventy yards behind our front trenches, and in full view from the German line--I will not speak. As autumn pursued its sorrowful course we watched the leaves of our tree fall off one by one, until to the prejudiced eyes of the man who had to climb into it there seemed hardly enough cover to hide a caterpillar. Finally, when an enthusiastic sportsman dumped a trench-mortar--the surest thing in the world to provoke a long-suffering enemy to fury--into a pit some twenty yards away, we shook our heads sadly and left it to its fate. It stands there still, waving its bare arms mockingly at us, but I, for one, shall not tempt its embraces until May has seen fit to dress it decently again. The enemy, on his side, is no less ingenious and probably more painstaking. There was a certain water-tower that stood in a wood, with its top just visible above the surrounding trees. Imperceptibly, as the days went by, it seemed to grow out of the wood, until a month or so after we first noticed it, about ten feet of it were visible. The solution appears to have been that, to increase the field of view, all the trees in front of it, and there must have been two or three hundred of them, were very cautiously pruned every night, so as to show no apparent alteration from day to day, but gradually to allow the required observation. It sometimes happens that it is necessary for the observing officer to remain night and day in the post, and under such circumstances continual interest is necessary if life is not to become very dull. Frequently the enemy are good enough to provide this interest, an unexpected shell now and again either just over or just short is a powerful antidote against ennui. More often our own headquarters, with a laudable intention of preventing one's interest from flagging, send one encouraging messages--"Can you see a hostile working party at such-and-such a place? If so, kindly keep under observation and report half-hourly," or "Infantry report flashes of hostile battery in the direction of Hill 0, observe and locate if possible." One observes till one's eyes ache as the light grows too bad to see, when a second message comes, "Flashes reported by infantry ascertained to be caused by summer lightning." At night one crawls into the dug-out and endeavours to slumber with one ear glued to the telephone, and, strangely enough, despite the presence of two loud-sleeping telephonists, one usually does. Or perhaps it is only necessary for the observing officer to be at his post during the hours of daylight, which involves a pleasant walk an hour before sunrise and another an hour after sunset, both times at which the approaches to the O.P. are being shelled, or swept by a machine gun, or at all events are receiving some sort of attention from the enemy, who appear to take a kindly interest in one's movements. Still, this system secures one a night in bed, which is a luxury by no means to be despised, and one is rewarded for one's early rising and walk by the prospect from the observation post during what is often the clearest part of the day, just before and after sunrise. There, right in front, are the two lines of trenches, seemingly deserted, except where a faint curl of blue smoke denotes preparation for breakfast. Over the whole space of country before one there is no sign of life or movement, unless perhaps at some point from a communication trench a spade-full of earth rises regularly. In the middle distance over a cross-roads a succession of white puffs shows the suspicious nature of one of our field batteries, but further back still smoke rises from a tall chimney as though the world knew of no war. The aeroplanes are up, of course, each cruising about in the centre of a constellation of greyish wisps of shrapnel, like flashes of cotton-wool against the greenish blue of the sky. Rifles crack startlingly near at hand. The drone of spent bullets rises and falls, the distant sound of guns blends with the bursting of the shrapnel far overhead and the hum of the aeroplanes. Surely all this noise is of another world, it cannot have any relation to the peaceful scene before our eyes? The treachery of the quicksand is the calm serenity of this Forbidden Land. Observation posts have each their own legend, which clings to them through successive tenancies. We shared one once with a very youthful officer whose nervousness was only excelled by his ignorance. I fancy myself that he was only there to keep a claim on the place for his battery, but it so happened one fatal afternoon that he had to observe a series. The first round was fired, and the young man, suddenly discovering that observation of fire is one of the most difficult things in the world, and being utterly at sea as to where the shot had fallen, hesitated in his report. The rest of the tale is best told by the telephone. The battery commander is the first speaker. "Ask the observing officer to report where that round fell." "Mr. Jones reports that was a very good shot, sir." "Tell Mr. Jones I don't want criticism of my shooting, I want to know where the rounds fall. No. 2 is just firing." "Mr. Jones reports the last round fell about an inch from the target." "Then I can assume that as a hit?" "Mr. Jones says he means an inch on the map, not an inch on the ground." Threatenings and slaughter _ad lib_! Of course, it is an unpardonable crime to do anything in or near an O.P. which might draw the enemy's attention to it. A battery of my acquaintance had for some weeks been installed in a pretty little villa residence of which they were very proud, situated on the outskirts of a mining village. They had certainly spared no pains to make it comfortable or safe; indeed, the interior was a solid mass of sandbags through which a sort of tunnel ran to the little observation chamber, elaborately reached by a series of ladders and passages. One day the battery commander was conducting a deliberate and deeply calculated series, his mind too full of figures and angles to allow room for any idea of possible molestation by the enemy. Suddenly, directly behind the house, he heard a series of violent explosions. In rather less than the proverbial twinkling of an eye he was down below in the dug-out, nearly flayed by violent contact with ladders and other unyielding substances, but still alive and safe. Still the explosions continued, but no shell seemed to strike the house. At last one of his telephonists, more daring than the rest, ventured to peer out, and there, right in the sacred enclosure, was an armoured car in full and noisy action. The scene that followed baffles description. Two heads, one thrust through the hatchway of the car, one cautiously hidden behind a projecting sandbag, discussed the question of unmentionable idiots who wheeled their indescribable tin perambulators into other people's preserves, until the hardy navigators in the car and the stalwart gunners in the O.P. blushed to hear them. Finally, upon a reiterated threat from the major to turn his own battery on to the car if it did not move off, the nuisance was abated. But "Sans Souci," as we called the place, was never its old self again, its restful charm had departed. Some hostile battery had seen the flashes of the car's gun, and afterwards, at uncertain intervals, presumably when things were dull with it, would fire a few rounds in friendly greeting. The gunner's appreciation of these things is usually keener even than one's own. One day when reconnoitring for an O.P. with a couple of telephonists, I came upon a house that had once been used for the purpose, but out of which its occupants had been driven by heavy shell-fire. The interior of the place presented an indescribable appearance. Its original owners had fled early in the war, leaving everything as it stood, and a succession of inquisitive searchers had been all through it to see if they could find anything of value. Dresses, broken bottles, letters, rags of all descriptions, a sewing machine, blended with the plaster from the walls and clay from the burst sandbags. Very little of the roof was left, and heavy rain had made of this mass a peculiarly evil-smelling mud, from which protruded here and there lumps of bread, bully-beef and cheese, whose increasing age was apparent. Some sort of cesspit had burst and flooded the cellar, which had been used as a dug-out, and in the centre of the savoury flood floated a mattress that looked as if it held the germs of all the plagues of Egypt. Outside, shrapnel were bursting freely, I fancy the enemy had seen us enter the place. I overheard one of my telephonists apostrophizing it: "You're a nice 'ouse, you are," he said. "Blowed if I don't advertise yer in the bloomin' papers, 'Charming bijou residence, quiet 'ealthy situation, perfect repair, hevery convenience, pleasant garden.' I _don't_ think!" III OBSERVATION It has been said in a previous chapter that the fire of any given battery is, in the majority of cases, directed by an officer in an observation post from whence he can see the target and the ground surrounding it. The general principles of this observation are as follows. The position of the battery and target are ascertained upon a map, and by means of it the range and direction of the target from the battery are obtained. A calculation based upon this information is made, and a certain elevation and direction given to the guns. A round is then fired, and the position of the point where it falls relative to the target noted by the observation officer, who gives a correction based upon the error. This correction is transmitted to the battery by methods depending on the distance between it and the observation post, but almost invariably by telephone, and applied to the guns. Another round is then fired, which is again observed and a fresh correction made as before. This process continues until the rounds are falling at or very close to the target. It sounds remarkably simple, but is in practice extremely difficult. To hit an unknown target with the expenditure of the minimum possible number of rounds requires considerable experience in observation, for the puff of a bursting shell lasts only for the fraction of a second, and is apt to look very small at a distance of more than a few hundred yards. Further, knowledge of the vagaries of each individual gun is required, and also a keen appreciation of the nature of the country round about the target. Observation of fire may be truly said to be an art, in that it comes naturally to some people, whilst others may spend a lifetime in its practice without ever becoming proficient. The second part of an observation officer's duty, that of keeping a general watch on the ground spread out in front of him, is considerably easier, as it only requires a keen eye and a good memory. After a little practice, it is soon found that the apparent changeless calm of a deserted land is in the highest degree deceptive. Although they are utterly invisible, that land is thickly populated with hidden troops, whose object it is perpetually to turn every feature of it, natural and artificial, to the best possible use for attack or defence. The ruins of a barn stand some little way back from the enemy's line, roofless and abandoned. The telescope shows it to have some part of its walls yet standing, and within them a ladder. Now ladders are precious things in a strip of country where everything is made to serve a useful purpose. Examine the place daily and perhaps at dawn a single figure may be seen scurrying up the ladder, or perhaps its position may have altered slightly. For weeks, perhaps, one has noticed a dilapidated house, so broken down that through the shell-holes that breach the front wall one can see the horizon beyond. Yet one morning one of these shell-holes shows dark, or perhaps a new one has appeared higher up, although no battery has been seen to fire at it. A flock of starlings pours suddenly from the stump of what was once a church tower, and for a long time the birds circle in clamorous flight about it, seemingly afraid to re-enter their accustomed haunt. Hints, all of these, indicating that some use is being made of these places, either as observation stations or snipers' posts. Even the innocent-looking surface of a weed-grown field is not above suspicion. The naked eye is suddenly drawn to it by what seems at first almost inspiration, but one becomes conscious as one watches of an indeterminable movement taking place on its surface. Mark the place very carefully and bring the telescope to bear upon it. The sense of movement resolves itself into the periodic sprinkling of brown earth thrown up as by an industrious mole. These are spadefuls of earth, showing that a trench is being dug. Natural features themselves have a habit of changing their positions with the same disconcerting effect as that phenomenon had upon Macbeth. Of course, one is never lucky enough to catch them actually in motion, but a morning of surprises will often reveal the disappearance of a well-known hedge, or the sudden apparition of an orchard of full-grown trees in the middle of a ploughed field, or even a stately plantation of elms on what was formerly a _pavÃ©_ road. The hedge was removed to provide something with a field of fire, or to allow somebody to see a particular part of our line; the game is now to discover the whereabouts and nature of that something or somebody. The orchard and the elm trees were required as cover, probably for guns; the surest plan is to shell them and await developments. It may be possible to drive the detachments out into the open, when every weapon that can be brought to bear will sing its own particular song of triumph. A certain redoubt was located by our aeroplanes, and its position indicated to us by the fact that it lay right in front of the seventh from the northern end of a row of trees such as occur at intervals along the side of most French _Routes Nationales_. For many days we used this mark, until it suddenly struck one of our observation officers that the trees looked somehow different to what they did when first he noticed them. Suspicion being thus aroused, further aeroplane reconnaissance was undertaken, when it was found that the third tree of the row now marked the position of the redoubt. The enemy, seeing that they had been "spotted" by the first aeroplane, had dug up the four trees at the northern end of the row and replanted them at the southern end, and must consequently have watched, with a delight not very difficult to imagine, our shells raising a little inferno of their own a couple of hundred yards away from them. All this is a part of the great game of war that it is most difficult to learn in times of peace. "Pretending to look for something you know isn't there," as I have heard it described, is an occupation that palls upon the dullest mind. Well do I remember many years ago forming one of a class of young officers under instruction in the use of the "Observation of Fire Instrument," which consists of a telescope fearfully and wonderfully mounted on a gigantic tripod--it is now, in the language beloved of the text-books, "becoming obsolescent," may it soon be relegated to the limbo of forgotten things! Our instructor, a highly capable but choleric major (majors always were apt to be petulant, I thought, in those days), had spent the best part of a warm June morning explaining the use of the cumbrous toy, until the whole class were sick at heart. At last he sent one of our number some distance away with orders to observe and report upon some object in the distance out to sea, the while he discoursed to the remainder. The minutes slipped by, and no word came from the keeper of the lonely vigil. "Go and see what that dam! fool is up to, sergeant-major," said our instructor. Anon the sergeant-major returned, with a face as impassive as the metal of the instrument itself. "Well?" rapped out the major. "If you please, sir, Mr. Robinson is a-studying observation on the ladies' bathing-place!" Observation, it may be repeated, is an art, but every art requires considerable training, if only in technique, before the artist can acquire perfect and instinctive expression. Where, as in the case of the art of the gunner, art leans for its support upon the strong arm of science, the probationary stage requires even more time and application on the part of the tyro. It has been said that it takes three years to teach an artillery officer the elements of his profession. It will doubtless be claimed as a triumph of foresight for our
{'title': 'With the Guns by Cecil J. C. Street', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}