Now, there was another attack building – in the open, entirely visible as there was no cover in the flat marshalling yard that ran for three hundred yards in front of their position. Infantry were lining up in blocks by the railway lines, not fewer than five full battalions of new, unblooded troops – keen and enthusiastic still. This onslaught would not be stopped.
“What’s the ammunition state, Ekins?”
“Just shared out, sir. Twenty rounds apiece.”
“Abbott?”
“Same, sir.”
Richard turned to Captain Platt.
“Five rounds as they show, sir, then fall back?”
The exhausted, lean figure blinked, stared at Richard and tried to formulate a response.
“Do so, Mr Baker.”
Captain Platt was no longer capable of making any decisions. He had effectively stopped eating days before – a mouthful and the acid in his belly overcame him, left him hacking and retching and spitting blood. He made a show of listening to suggestions and then did as he was told. Sergeant Grace did his best to cover for him and supported Richard in every way he could. The sergeant was starting to look his age, well into his forties and pushing his body harder every day to keep to the standards he demanded of himself. Richard glanced at the lined face and prayed that he might last a few days longer; he needed the sergeant’s knowledge.
“Sergeant Grace!”
“Sir!”
Grace snapped to attention, the effort obvious, and then marched to Richard’s side.
“What have you seen behind us, Sergeant?”
“Fusiliers are a quarter of a mile back, sir. On the far edge of a canal. They’ve got one of those narrow boats, sir, and pushed it at an angle so it makes a bridge. Burn it out when we’ve crossed and it will hold Fritz back for a good few hours, sir. If they’ve got ammunition, sir, it’s a line to hold.”
“Good. Is there an easy way down off the slagheap?”
“Yes, sir. Not too steep. The men can just run down.”
“Good. Abbott, Ekins, fire the five rounds when I give the order and then keep low, out of sight and down from this position and back to the canal, at the double. Sergeant Grace, lead the way, go to the canal and act as marker. Go now.”
Sergeant Grace stiffened, showed almost offended then nodded.
“Thank you, sir.”
He slipped and slid his way down the slagheap and walked slowly back, admitting his tiredness.
“Will you show the men the way, sir?”
Captain Platt stared at Richard and shook his head. He seemed suddenly both alert and broken, bent over and weary.
“No. You will go, Baker. I still have twenty rounds. I shall shift from one firing point to the next and make it seem that we are still here. Corporal Abbott! Corporal Ekins! Five aimed rounds. Now!”
Thirty seconds and the men had all fired and had dropped at least a score of German soldiers at three hundred yards and caused another three thousand to dive for cover.
“Well done. Withdraw now. Heads down!”
Platt watched them go, settled down at the end of the line, rifle to shoulder.
“Go, Mr Baker. I haven’t got another mile in me. You have done very well and will do even better without me to slow you down. I am finished. Go!”
Richard saluted and trotted down from the crest. He heard the single rifle fire as he ran. The shots continued for several minutes, then there was a burst of fire from a company, eighty or ninety rifles together. After that, the slagheap was silent.
The Fusiliers had a strong position behind the canal, would be able to hold until the German guns came up. Major Higgins-Hall was quite chipper about their placement, showed optimistic.
“Take a while to bring artillery around those slagheaps, Baker. The two nearest bridges, left and right, have been broken. Only a matter of time before we are flanked, of course, but it might be days rather than hours this time. I’ve sent runners back to try to locate Brigade. We are short of rounds.”
“We are down to fifteen per man, sir.”
“Best you should pull back, Mr Baker. Too few of you left to make a great difference now. You have done your work, sir. My messengers have reported your presence and your actions over the last weeks, by the way. I know your Captain Platt did the same.”
Richard could not discover any significance to that comment, merely nodded his appreciation.
“Thank you, Major. Southwest or due west would you recommend, sir?”
“There’s a made road a hundred yards or so south of here. Easier to march on and leading almost west. I would follow that, towards the sea. I shall bring my men that way if we have to fall back.”
“Not a great deal of cover, sir.”
“No. Not ideal country for a retreat.”
The low hills were open, bare grazing land, empty of animals now.
“D Company will march, Sergeant Grace!”
Richard saluted Major Higgins-Hall and followed the attenuated company as Sergeant Grace called the march.
Two hours later, five weary miles down the road, they met a troop of cavalry, dragoons with straight swords and carbines.
“Who are you?”
The captain was dressed very fine, still in his peacetime uniform, all lace and braid.
“D Company, Third Bedfordshires.”
“Which platoon?”
“We are the whole company, sir. Lieutenant Baker in command.”
The captain scowled as he realised the implications of Richard’s statement.
“What’s behind you?”
“Lancashire Fusiliers are holding a canal, maybe five miles distant. They are short of ammunition and have lost three hundred men. German infantry is in massive strength to their front. Major Higgins-Hall ordered us back as we are down to fifteen rounds.”
“Too few of you to make a difference as well. How did you get separated from your battalion?”
“The battalion was pushed southeast, sir. We held a sunken lane and a small copse while they shifted position.”
“Did you, by God! Well done. There is no line hereabouts. You are no more than ten miles from the sea and the bulk of the BEF. Your best course might be to continue on this road. There is a battalion making its way towards you and they will be able to provide for you. I shall take my troop to the support of the Fusiliers.”
“Thank you, sir. There is at least a division of German infantry pushing through the slagheaps to the north. We held for some days there but there are too many of them and they seem willing to take huge losses to gain ground.”
“Bloody Huns for you! You have done all you can, Mr Baker. Go back now.”
Not a boast and nothing but the most precise truth, Richard reflected, but it had done his name no harm at all. He hoped the captain survived to tell the tale.
Another hour and they met a battalion of Devons marching north hopefully. They were newly landed within the previous two days and were anxious to meet the Hun. Richard wished them luck. Their colonel was shocked at the condition of Richard’s company and amazed that he was carrying a rifle.
“Not quite the thing for an officer, old boy!”
“We needed the extra rifle, sir. Lost so many men that every one of us counted.”
“Oh! I see! Where did you say the rest of the company was?”
“Dead, sir.”
“All of them?”
“I believe so, sir. A few walking wounded were sent south, but we have heard nothing of them.”
He repeated the story that the remainder of the battalion had been pushed southeast, implying again that they had stood rearguard. He comforted himself that, in effect, they had.
“Divisional HQ is about eight miles southwest of here, Baker. We have a wagon going back this afternoon, as soon as its stores are used up… Steam lorry, in fact, one of the Fodens. Best thing will be for you and your men to go on that – you don’t seem to have a lot of marching left in in you.”