IN A "TANK."

Wanganui Herald, Volume LI, Issue 15183, 31 March 1917, Page 6

IN A "TANK."

FRENCH GUNNER’S STORY.

(By ofle who was there).

The following vivid article 'by a French .. gunner was printed in the Flench magazine “Lecture Pour Tons”: Our (“Tanks” have made their debut, and a startling debut it was. Heavens, what a warm day's work! I can speak of it, for i was there. There were only a' few privileged people’ “in the know''—the mechanics, first of all, and the machine gunners, like myself—’ because it was very necessary to experiment with thO “Tanks” before sending them into battle, and to teach each one of us the part he would be called ;upon to play. 1 It would be a great mistake to suppose that this apprenticeship! was a‘.‘soft job. ” It is exceedingly uncomfortable in. a “Tank;” and; as my friend Charlie said to me. (he is a bluejacket, a regular sea-dog, and has been transferred from the Navy for this special work), “It is as bad there as in a battleship iturret,” But these were only minor troubles "which we exaggerated during our training, and for which wo were amply re-, paid in the hour of battle, and particularly in the hour of triumph. ’

We were in' the front line with our '‘Tanks,” in little groups of “crews,” each under the command of an officer. The resemblance to the battleship had seemed to us so striking that we had named our “Tanka” of our own accord. There was he erdw of the “Creme de. Menthe,” of ‘the Diplqdocus,” and of one ironically styled “The Bocbes’ Victory.” Indeed, the name of some prehistoric animal was very apfopriate to this kind of Machine. The enormous silhouette of ours amid the ruins of Pozieres—where it had been quartered, waiting to be brought up to the line of fire—called up in the moonlight the idea of some fantastic monster of prehistoric times. It looked like a tortoise with, a hump. There were Tommies from London and Northumberland, Scotsmen, Canadians and New Zealanders—who wgre presently to march into the firing line with us—staring at my machine with curiosity and respect. But the hour is approaching. Dawn will soon be tere. I smoke my last pipe, because, once inside the tank, farewell to any. other chance of smoking. My good old pipe, thought it may be really and truly my last one! I gaze at the enormous machine, whose engines are already beginning to groan terribly: it seems like a gigantic tomb, flow will it behave of a large shell falls 'on top of it? I fear it would be the end of everything—both of us and of the steel beast itself. After all, it is war; we must wait till we see hat happens. Here comes our officer. There is a quick rally and a short address. He reminds us of oar respective roles and what Sir Douglas Haig expects both of us and of the “Tanks,” and compliments us on our courage, our coolheadedness. A manhole is opened in the side of the “Tank” and one by one we entered the interior, like cats going through a hole in a door. ■ The whole crew climbs on board this fortress on wheels. I install myself in the narrow space, by the side of my ma-chine-gun, whose muzzle is pointing outside the steel-late sides of the tank, and fix my ©yo to the loophole. “How hot it is!” said my neighbour. “It will be worse in an hour!” Through my loophole I can see just a strip of sky, which looks light to me' although the day has not yet fully dawned. In front of me I see undulating fields which have been ploughed up by guns of every oalibe. Farther on, the Fourreaux Wood, where we are to operate. “SEA-LEGS” NEEDED. There is a crater to the left of the wood which, according to the reports of our airmen, the Germans have converted into a fortress. This is tht objective of the “Tank” on onr left. At the right of the wood there is a redoubt described to us as extraordinary powerful ; walls, interminable harbed-wire cheavaux dc frise, a formidable entanglement of all sorts of vile contrivances. A real “nest” of vile beasts! This is to be onr job. By Jove! how stifling it is! Suddenly the glare pf a rocket lights up the sky, followed by ten, twenty, thirty others. A sharp whistle sounds strangely in. onr prison. The hour has really come; we are to start.

My heart is beating violently—l do not know / why. One needs to have “sea-legs” to avoid' knocking oneself against the sides of this carcase of steel, which is now waddling along ungracefully over ruts and uneven places. I take hold of the metallic handle of a case of machine-gun ammunition. The motor system of our “Tank” is gripping the soil, sticking to it, gliding and dragging itself along like a centipede. We move onwards, while the enthusiastic cheers of our infantry reach our ears, in spite of the fearful din. As we advance, the earth everywhere around our track is ploughed up and thrown aside. But, Heavens, how stiffling it is, and flow infernally far away the Fonrreaux Wood seems to be!

Our “Tank” rolls down the slope of an exploded mine, breaking through a house en route. All goes well.

Now we arrive at the bottom- Without apparent trouble we climb up tbe other side. Once more the strip of sky shows itself, and tie jagged trunks of the trees of the Forreaux Wood are appreciably nearer. Bang! A she 1 ! has hit us “head on,” and the noise of tue impact and bursting of the shell makes the whole carcase vibrate, but otherwise no damage is done, and we go calmly on our woy. A heavy thud, then a flash over my head. Our “Tank” is trembling from top to bottom, and has stopped for the eighth of a second. We have just fired. This perpetual rumbling over my head has a disturbing effect; the machine' resounds, the . air vibrates. They are getting it these Boches. Tock, tock, tock. Thousands of “Tock! tock!” re-echo on the steel sides of our “Tank.” _ It sounds like a myriad of hailstones beating' against the window-panes of a moving train. The German guns have opened fire on us. They have as much effect on our machine as pellets of bread against a wall. GIGANTIC IRON WEDGE. At last we are near the “nest” we are to destroy. I can distinguish the sandbags heaped up and the walls pierced with-holes. Little white flashes are coming, from as though they were safety Valves for the escape of steam. These are the guns of the enemy. : Onr “Tank” advances, steadily and inexoriabiy. A ditch—we clear it; an

incline—we, scale it; a heap of rubbish from a demolished house—we pass over it; -And then -'we come- to; the first barbed-wire entanglements. Onr “Tank” does not even' make an effort; everything breaks everything is crushed, ; everything - is torn • j up. ■ ■ Splinters of wood jump up on all sides of us, the Chevauz de frise are beaten down. _ I have the sensation of being in the in'i?rior of a gigantic iron wedge which- is 'cutting -rough something, likb- butter. -- ; As -for. us, we fire without ceasing, hand on gun and r eye glued to the loophole pierced in the. steel, with the sweat pouring down our foreheads. A thud; . a powerful panting, a last and almost perceptible stop- The nose of our tank scatters sand ' and cement bags and throws them right and left, de if it were ploughing up a fields Another violent shock, a heavy- blow and a crashing. We are going straight through a wall. We are pulverising, machine-guns. Grenades burst upon our armour. We are in the midst of the “nest.” All at once, ugly, German heads with terror on their faces appear on both sides of us! To work 1 Now ■ it. is my turn and that of my comrades! Our machine-guns crackle; our bullets whistle in the German trenches, taken thus by enfilade, and , in the underground passages leading from the “nest” to the rear.

The Germans are in the greatest disorder. They throw themselves flat on their stomachs, they raise their arms to Heaven, some of them try to run away. A whistle sounds in the “Tank,” and it stops. Then wild’cheers come faintly to my ears, and I soon see the dear old uniforms of our boys who are taking possession of the “nest” and gathering up everything living which remains.'