Action Front

Boyd Cable

Description

In the midst of World War I, writer Boyd Cable carved out a niche for himself by collecting factual nuggets from the front lines of the conflict and using them as the foundation for gritty, action-packed short stories. The volume Action Front collects some of Cable's best efforts. Readers looking for blow-by-blow battlefield accounts won't be disappointed.

Sujets

• Adventure (Guyana)
• Adventure

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 juillet 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 5
• EAN13: 9781776580156
• Langue: English

Extrait

ACTION FRONT
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BOYD CABLE
 
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Action Front First published in 1916 Epub ISBN 978-1-77658-015-6 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77658-016-3 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Foreword In Enemy Hands A Benevolent Neutral Drill A Night Patrol As Others See The Fear of Fear Anti-Aircraft A Fragment An Open Town The Signalers Conscript Courage Smashing the Counter-Attack A General Action At Last Endnotes
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TO
MR. J. A. SPENDER
to whose recognition and appreciation of my work, and to whose instantand eager hospitality in the "Westminster Gazette" so much of these warwritings is due, this book is very gratefully dedicated by
THE AUTHOR
Foreword
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I make no apology for having followed in this book the same plan as inmy other one, "Between the Lines," of taking extracts from the officialdespatches as "texts" and endeavoring to show something of what thesebrief messages cover, because so many of my own friends, and so manymore unknown friends amongst the reviewers, expressed themselves sopleased with the plan that I feel its repetition is justified.
There were some who complained that my last book was in parts too grimand too terrible, and no doubt the same complaint may lie against thisone. To that I can only reply that I have found it impossible to writewith any truth of the Front without the writing being grim, and inwriting my other book I felt it would be no bad thing if Home realizedthe grimness a little better.
But now there are so many at Home whose nearest and dearest are in thetrenches, and who require no telling of the horrors of the war, that Ihave tried here to show there is a lighter side to war, to let themknow that we have our relaxations, and even find occasion for jests, inthe course of our business.
I believe, or at least hope, that in showing both sides of the pictureI am doing what the Front would wish me to do. And I don't ask for anygreater satisfaction than that.
BOYD CABLE.
May , 1916.
In Enemy Hands
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The last conscious thought in the mind of Private Jock Macalister as hereached the German trench was to get down into it; his next consciousthought to get out of it. Up there on the level there wereuncomfortably many bullets, and even as he leaped on the low parapetone of these struck the top of his forehead, ran deflecting over thecrown of his head, and away. He dropped limp as a pole-axed bullock,slid and rolled helplessly down into the trench.
When he came to his senses he found himself huddled in a corner againstthe traverse, his head smarting and a bruised elbow aching abominably.He lifted his head and groaned, and as the mists cleared from his dazedeyes he found himself looking into a fat and very dirty face and thering of a rifle muzzle about a foot from his head. The German saidsomething which Macalister could not understand, but which he rightlyinterpreted as a command not to move. But he could hear no sound ofScottish voices or of the uproar of hand-to-hand fighting in thetrench. When he saw the Germans duck down hastily and squeeze close upagainst the wall of the trench, while overhead a string of shellscrashed angrily and the shrapnel beat down in gusts across the trench,he diagnosed correctly that the assault had failed, and that theBritish gunners were again searching the German trench with shrapnel.His German guard said something to the other men, and while one of themremained at the loophole and fired an occasional shot, the others drewclose to their prisoner. The first thing they did was to search him, toturn each pocket outside-in, and when they had emptied these, carefullyfeel all over his body for any concealed article. Macalister bore itall with great philosophy, mildly satisfied that he had no money tolose and no personal property of any value.
Their search concluded, the Germans held a short consultation, then oneof them slipped round the corner of the traverse, and, returning amoment later, pointed the direction to Macalister and signed to him togo.
The trench was boxed into small compartments by the traverses, and inthe next section Macalister found three Germans waiting for him. One ofthem asked him something in German, and on Macalister shaking his headto show that he did not understand, he was signaled to approach, and aGerman ran deftly through his pockets, fingering his waist, and,searching for a money-belt, made a short exclamation of disgust, andsigned to the prisoner to move on round the next traverse, at the sametime shouting to the Germans there, and passing Macalister on at thebayonet point. This performance was repeated exactly in all its detailsthrough the next half-dozen traverses, the only exception being that inone an excitable German, making violent motions with a bayonet as heappeared round the corner, insisted on his holding his hands over hishead.
At about the sixth traverse a German spoke to him in fairly good,although strongly accented, English. He asked Macalister his rank andregiment, and Macalister, knowing that the name on his shoulder-strapswould expose any attempt at deceit, gave these. Another man askedsomething in German, which apparently he requested the English speakerto translate.
"He say," interpreted the other, "Why you English war have made?"Macalister stared at him. "I'm no English," he returned composedly."I'm a Scot."
"That the worse is," said the interpreter angrily. "Why have it yourbusiness of the Scot?"
Macalister knitted his brows over this. "You mean, I suppose, whatbusiness is it of ours! Well, it's just Scotland's a bit of Britain, sowhen Britain's at war, we are at war."
A demand for an interpretation of this delayed the proceedings alittle, and then the English speaker returned to the attack.
"For why haf Britain this war made!" he demanded.
"We didna' make it," returned Macalister. "Germany began it." Excitedcomment on the translation.
"If you'll just listen to me a minute," said Macalister deliberately,"I can prove I am right. Sir Edward Grey—" Bursts of exclamationgreeted the name, and Macalister grinned slightly.
"You'll no be likin' him," he said. "An' I can weel understan' it."
The questioner went off on a different line. "Haf your soldiers know,"he asked, "that the German fleet every day a town of England bombard?"
Macalister stared at him. "Havers!" he said abruptly.
The German went on to impart a great deal of astonishinginformation—of the German advance on Petrograd, the invasion of Egypt,the extermination of the Balkan Expedition, the complete blockade ofEngland, the decimation of the British fleet by submarines.
After some vain attempts to argue the matter and disprove thestatements, Macalister resigned himself to contemptuous silence, onlyrousing when the German spoke of England and English, to correct him toBritain and British.
When at last their interest flagged, the Germans ordered him to moveon. Macalister asked where he was going and what was to be done withhim, and received the scant comfort that he was being sent along to anofficer who would send him back as a prisoner, if he did not have himkilled—as German prisoners were killed by the English.
"British, you mean," Macalister corrected again. "And, besides that,it's a lie."
He was told to go on; but as he moved be saw a foot-long piece ofbarbed wire lying in the trench bottom. He asked gravely whether hewould be allowed to take it, and, receiving a somewhat puzzled andgrudging assent, picked it up, carefully rolled it in a small coil, andplaced it in a side jacket pocket. He derived immense gratification andenjoyment at the ensuing searches he had to undergo, and the explosiveGerman that followed the diving of a hand into the barbed-wire pocket.
He arrived at last at an officer and at a point where a communicationtrench entered the firing trench. The officer in very mangled Englishwas attempting to extract some information, when he was interrupted bythe arrival from the communication trench of a small party led by anofficer, a person evidently of some importance, since the other officersprang to attention, clicked his heels, saluted stiffly, and spoke in atone of respectful humility. The new arrival was a young man in asurprisingly clean and beautifully fitting uniform, and wearing ahelmet instead of the cloth cap commonly worn in the trenches. His facewas not a particularly pleasant one, the eyes close set, hard, andcruel, the jaw thin and sharp, the mouth thin-lipped and shrewish. Hespoke to Macalister in the most perfect English.
"Well, swine-hound," he said, "have you any reason to give why I shouldnot shoot you?" Macalister made no reply. He disliked exceedingly thelook of the new-comer, and had no wish to give an excuse for thepunishment he suspected would result from the officer's displeasure.But his silence did not save him.
"Sulky, eh, my swine-hound!" said the officer. "But I think we canimprove those manners."
He gave an order in German, and a couple of men stepped forward andplaced their bayonets with the points touching Macalister's chest.
"If you do not answer next time I speak," he said smoothly, "I willgive one word that will pin you to the trench wall and leave you there.Do you understand!" he snapped suddenly and savagely. "You Englishdog."
"I understand," said Macalister. "But I'm no English. I'm a Scot"
The crashing of a shell and the whistling of the bullets overhead movedthe officer, as it had the others, to a more sh