BATTLE INCIDENT.

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume VI, Issue 349, 7 February 1917, Page 3

BATTLE INCIDENT.

THE HELMET HUNTER

CHANGES RETIREMENT TO ADVANCE.

Mr. Boyd Cable, an Australian writer, who has published some of the most entertaining battlefield sketches of the war, has a highly diverting descriptive article in a recent issue of “Land and YVater.” An Australian battalion, which has been advancing in a frontal attack on a village, is held up by enemy riflemen and machine gunners, who are present in force in shell-

holes and craters. The. order has been given to retire. Private Ben Sneath, an enthusiastic collector of souvenirs, becomes engaged in a duel with an adventurous German sniper. He misses his man several times, and expresses his annoyance. “Wot’s up, Ben?” said his companion, “Is some bloke stringin’ you?” » “Fair beats me,” said the exasperated Ben, “I’ve ’ad half a dozen clean shots at ’im, an’ ’e just laughs at ’em. But I’ve marked the last place e’ bogged down into, an’ if ’e just pokes a. nose out once more, ’e’il get it in the neck for keeps.” “YY’here is ’e?” said the interested Chick, “show us, an’ I’ll drop it acrost ’em too when ’e pops out.” “No,” said Ben firmly, “Fair dinkum. E’s my own private little lot, an’ I’m going to see ’im safely ’ome myself. Just’ havin’ a look out, eh Fritz. Orright m’ son. Keep on lookin’, an’ it’ll meet yer optic plunk,” and he fired again. “Massed again,” he said sadly as he saw a spurt of mud flick from the edge of the German’s cover. “But lumme Chick, di’jer see rhe 'elmet that bloke ’ad?” Ben could see distinctly that it was one of the old pickelhauben type —one of the kind ho so greatly coveted as a “souvenir.” “That settles it.” said Ben firmly,

“I’m goin’ to lay for that bloke till, I gets ’im, an’ then when we advance I’ll 'ave ’is ’elmet.”

He lay for several minutes, watching the spot where the German was concealed as a. cat watches a mouse-hole, and when his patience was rewarded by a glimpse of grey uniform he took steady aim, carefully squeezed the trigger until he felt the faint check of its second pull-off, held his breath, and gave the final squeeze, all in exact accordance with the school of musketry instructions The patch of grey vanished. and Ben could not tell whether he had scored a hit, but almost immediately he saw the spike and the rounded top of the helmet lift cautiously into sight. Again Ben took slow and deliberate aim but then hesitated. “Tchick-tchicked” softly ; between his teeth, aimed again, and fired. The helmet vanished with a jerk. “Lookin’ over the edge of ’is hole, ’e was,” said Ben, “an’ at first I didn’t like io shoot for fear of spoilin’ that ’elmet. But after all,” he conceded cheerfully. “I dunno’ that it wouldn’t maybe improve it as a fust-class sooveneer to ’ave a neat little three-oh-threo 'ole drilled in it.” “Did you drill it?” asked his companion directly. “Dunno,” admitted Ben. “But I’m keepin’ a careful eye on ’im, an’ I’ll soon know if ’e moves again.”

Over their heads the great shells shrieked and rushed round them crackled a spattering rifle fire, the occasional hammering of machine gun, the rolling crash and whirr of bursting I shells and flying splinters. Far out to right, and left of them, far to their front and rear the roar of batt.e ran, long-thundering and unbroken, in a deafening chorus of bellowing guns, the vibrating rattle of rifles and machine guns, the sharp detonations and reports of shells and bombs and grenades. I But for Ben. and in lesser degree his j companions, the struggle had boiled i down into the solitary duel between | Ben and his German; the larger issues j were for the moment completely overshadowed, as in war they so often are, by the mere individual and personal ones. Ben insisted in finishing off his duel single-handed, declining to have the others there interfere in it. “It’s ’im or me for it,” he repeated, “fair dinkum. An’ I’m going’ to get ’im, and ’is ’elmet on my blinkin’ own.” He decided at last to move his position, to crawl along and try to catch his opponent in flank, to stalk his enemy as a hunter stalks a hidden buck. He hurriedly crawled over into the next crater, squirmed and wriggled away from it along cracks and ho.es and folds of the torn and tumbled ground in a direction that he reckoned would allow him to reach the German sheltering in his holo and behind a broken hillock of earth. But before he reached such a position as he desired he found himself looking into a deep crater occupied by an officer and half a dozen men with a machine gun. The officer looked up and caught sight of him. “Hullo Sneath.” he said, “where are you off to? You’re moving the wrong way, aren’t you ? The order was to retire and you’re moving forward.” Ben was annoyed—exceedingly annoyed. This retirement looked like losing him his duel, and what was more, losing him his coveted helmet. He began to wish he had never come across this officer, and from that passed to wondering whether he couldn’t give the officer the slip, and finish off his programme in his own way. At that moment the British artillery fire redoubled in intensity, and the rush of shells overhead rose to a roaring gale. “Sharp there,” said the officer. “Get that gun picked up. Now's our chance to get back while the guns are socking it into ’em.” The others were, picking up the machine gun and preparing to move, and Ben took a long and careful look over the edge of the hole to locate his helmet wearer. With a quick exclamation he snatched the rifle to his shoulder, aimed, and fired.

“That’ll do,” said the officer sharply turning at sound of the shot. “Cease firing and get along back.” But Ben was gazing hard in the direction of his shot. “I’ve got ’im,” he said triumphantly, “I’ll swear I got ’im that time. Showin’ a fair mark ’e was, an’ I saw ’em jerk an’ roll when I fired.” “Never mind that,” said the officer impatiently, “there s their rifle fire I beginning again ; time we were out of this. . Keep down as well as you can all of you. Move yourselves now.” The men began to scramble out of the hole, and in an instant Ben’s mind was made up- He climbed up the rear wall of the crater, halted, and spoke hurriedly to the officer. “I won’t be ’half a mo,’ sir.” he said. “Something there I want to pick up an’ bring in,” and without waiting for any reply turned and bolted across the open towards his helmet. The officer was consumed with a quick gust of anger at such disobedience. “Here,” he shouted, and scrambled out of the pit, “hi, come back you” ; and as Ben gave no sign of having heard him, he shouted again and ran a few paces after him. And so it was that about a dozen Anzacs rising sullenly and grumblingly out of a big shell-crater in'reluctant obedience to the order to retire, saw a khaki figure rise into sight and go charging straight forward towards the enemy, and a second later the figure of an officer bound into sight and follow him. Two or three of the Anzacs voiced together the thought that rose to all their minds; “Who said retire? . . YA hat blundering fool twisted the order? . . . retire, Gosthewth, they’re advancing . . . us retire, an’ them going forward. . . .” To them the position required little thinking over. They could see some men advancing, and distinctly see an

officer too at that. And how many more the smoke hid. 1 nan instant they were swarming up and out of their crater; there was a wild yell, a shrill “Coo-ee,” a confused shouting, “Come on, boys . ( . at ’em, Anzacs ... Advance Australia,” and the dozen went plunging off forward. Out to right and left of them the yell ran like fire through dry grass, the coo-ees rose long and 1 shrill ; as if by magic the dead ground sprouted gleaming bayonets and scrambling khaki figures. Every man who looked saw a ragged and swiftly growing line surging forward, and every man. asking nothing more, taking only this plain evidence of an advance, made haste to fling himself into it. Straight at the flashing rifles and the drifting fog-bank of shell smoke that marked the German position, the shifting wave swept and surged, the men yelling, shouting, and cheering. Bullets beating down upon them, shells crumpling and smashing amongst them cut them down by dozens, but neither halted nor slowed down the charging line. The village was taken; 1 the line pushed out beyond it, took firm grip of a fresh patch of ground, spread swiftly and linked up with the attack that raged on out to either side and bit savagely into the crumbling German line. These wider issues were, of course, quite beyond the knowledge or understanding of Private Ben Sneath. He had come uninjured to the spot where his German lay, found he was an officer and quite dead, snatched up the helmet that lay beside him, and turned to hurry back. Only then was he aware of the line charging and barging down upon him, and understanding nothing or why or how it had come there, noticing only from a glimpse of some faces he know that men of his own battalion were in it, he slipped his

arm through the chin-strap of his captured helmet, turned again and ran forward with the rest. With them he played his part in the final overrunning of the village, the usual confused scuffling jumble of a part played by the average infantry private in an attack, a nightmarish mixture of uoise and yelling, of banging rifles, shattering bomb reports, a great deal of smoke, the whistle of passing bullets, the crackling snap and smack of their striking ground and stone, swift appearance and disappearance of running figures. He had a momentary vision of men grouped about a black dug-out mouth hurling grenades down it; joined a wild rush with several others on a group of grey-coated Germans who stood firm even to a bayonet finish; scrambling and scuffling down and up the steep sides of the smaller shellcraters, round the slippery crumbling edges of the larger, caught glimpses—this towards the end—of scattered groups or trickling lines of .wfliite-faced prisoners with long grey coats flapping about their ankles, being shepherded out towards the British lines by one or two guards. All these scattered impressions were linked up bj many panting, breathless scrambles over a chaos of torn and broken ground, pocked and oitted with the shell-crat-ers set as close as the cells of a broken honeycomb, and ended with a narrow escape, averted just in time by one of his officers, from firing upon a group of men—part of the flank attack as it proved—who appeared mysteriouslj out of the smoke where Germans had been firing and throwing stick-grenade; a moment before. Through all the turmoil Ben clung tightly to his helmet. He knew thai there had been a stiff fight and thai they had won, was vaguely 'pleased at the comforting fact, and much more distinctly pleased and satisfied with the possession of his souvenir.