A Rifleman Went to War by H. W. McBride

Author:H. W. McBride
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Technology & Engineering, Military Science, General
ISBN: 9781623580292
Publisher: Tales End Press
Published: 2012-08-07T14:00:00+00:00

Well, there were we, safe enough for the moment, but the sergeant was doing some heavy thinking. It was something like this; “If we just stay here and wait, it won’t be long until Fritz brings up a bunch of supports and bombs hell out of us. On the other hand, the chances are that those fellows in the crater are pretty much demoralized right now and it ought to be easy to stampede them clean out of the place. Yep, that’s the dope.” Turning to the bunch and getting their heads close enough so that his words could be understood above the din of the bombardment, he shouted, “It’s up to us to get into that crater. How many grenades you fellows got left in your pockets?” A canvass revealed six, in all. “Hum, not enough, better get a few off those Dutchmen.” So we searched around and found quite a lot of the potato-mashers. We all knew how they worked, having used them on previous occasions. We got about a dozen of them, altogether. By this time Simpson was pretty groggy from a bad cut on the head (that was before we had tin hats) and Dan McGuire was having a lot of trouble, stopping the bleeding from a nasty, slashing cut in his side, made by a splinter of shell. Otherwise we were unhurt and those two said they could carry on for a while longer.

When we were all fixed up with the grenades, the sergeant got us together again. “Have you all got your rifles?” he asked. All had, excepting the Kid. “Oh-ho,” says the sergeant, “threw it away again, did you? An’ I know damn well why you did it, laddie. Want to use that pistol, do you? All right, get it out and see does the slide work nice and easy, for this night you are sure going to have a chance to try it.” It was a standing joke among us about that pistol which had been sent from Canada by the Kid’s mother—engraved with his initials and everything. It was a regulation Colt ·45 automatic, but he had had no chance to do any practicing with it as it had been received since we came into the line. He kept it, oiled and carefully wrapped up in a cloth and stowed inside his tunic. “Ahhum,” continued the sergeant, “well, here’s where you find out how good you are. Get all your extra magazines in your left- hand pocket. Remember to throw out and reload after every seventh shot—Oh, hell, no, nobody ever remembered that much in a fight. Well, guess that’s about all there is to it. All set? Now, when I give the word, heave over all the grenades and then follow me. When we go over the bank you all start shooting and keep it up as long as there is a German left on his feet. Let’s go.”

Working fast, it took but a few seconds to throw all the grenades and but a few more seconds for all of them to explode.

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