EYES OF THE GUNS

Grey River Argus, 1 September 1917, Page 7

EYES OF THE GUNS

i THE OBSERVATION OFFICER.

HIS DANGEROUS TASK OUT IN

FRONT

There is no doubt that. the infantryman; has the most unpleasant time in this war, and there is no doubt that he Hkes other people to know it. But there is no job that is not always "cushy," and is apt to become so exciting that the "foot slogger,** sni'e in his trench, willi mutter a little speech of appreciation of the fact that he is in the infantry. For the man who sometimes has "real hell" is the observation officer, the eyes of the guns (writes Vernon Bartlett). Once, long ago, I made the discovery that the Germans were digging hard in theif trench 35 yards away from us. I could occasionally see spades tossing up the earth, and the earth always came from the same place, which ob viously, meant that the Germans had some t-vil intent — were mining or sapping.. So we rang up the gunners, and twenty minutes later a major appeared in our trench, followed by a. telephone operator who was carrying nn immense roll of .wire and paying it out as he' came along. ' ,

"Where's the young officer who s spotted the Huns at work?" asked the major. And very proudly — for I had only recently come out to the fornt— - I stepped forward and showed him through the periscope where the digging was in progress. . "H'm ! There's no doubt they're up to mischief" said the major, "but it's unpleasantly close to shell. You had better observe with me," and he handed mc a periscope, and issued a host of instructions to the telephone operator.

"They've fired, sir," said the operator, and a second later there was a most fearful rushing above my head, and I ducked as two shells passed over me and burst a little way beyond. "Bit too far," said the major ; ' ' what do you think ? "

I explained that I had not seen very we ll — how could I see from the bottom of the trench?

So the major issued a lot of instructions about degrees, and said, "Come down 25 yards." Upon which I found urgent business at the other end of the trench. But ho had me back, and I crouched there, my eyes glued to a periscope, until the -German trench was battered almost beyond recognition. /

And that appalling feeling that a shell is just going to -whisk off the top of your head as it passes has given me a wholesome respect for the observation officer.

And he is very well worth a respectful interest, for I* know of no man who is apt jto find himself in more dramatic situations. There -was the cj^se of an officer who once climbed a tree* just behind the trenches before dawn, and had the misfortune to be spotted by the Germans. Their snipers 'sent one or two bullets whistling horibly close through the foliage in a manner which must have made the observation officer consider seriously what would happen when he emerged from between the branches to climb down the tree. And there he had to stay for fully five minutes, until w y e had stretched out a blanket under the tree and had telephoned to his battery to shell for all they were worth to persuade the Hun snipers to keep their heads " down. Then he jumped for safety, and escaped with nothing tvorse than a-fl«sh wound in the arm.

But still more unpleasant was tho situation of a subaltern who used to observe from the cellar of a ruined house. He was there one day with a telephone operator! when the Germans suddenly began to "crump" the village, and the very first shell landed near the exit and completely entombed them.

For over an -hour the two men worked to make a hole out of their prison while the Germans dropped "heavies" all round the house. And for tools they had nothing but a bayonet and a clasp-knife. ( When at last they had made an aperture wide enough to allow them to escape, a shell hit the cellar as they were crawling out to safety. Tho telephone operator was killed outright, and the observation officer, pinned down by a block of masonry, had to wait for 14 hours until a passer-by found him. And nearly all the time the village was being shelled.

As the observation officer stopped me on a shell-pocked road to tell me' his adventure, a machine gun opened fire, and the bullets swish-swished aboye our heads. "It's an exciting life at times," he' said as we ducked.

"It is," I agreed fervently, and I hurried off to the blessed safety of the firing line.