The Little Lead Soldier by Hugh D. Wise

Author:Hugh D. Wise
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781594166174
Publisher: Westholme Publishing

30 July 18

That particular neck of the woods down in the valley where the Moyenmoutier–Senones Road crosses the trenches seems scheduled for the interesting scenes of the last few days and this afternoon the Stokes mortars had their turn.

Salome and Korman have both been recording lately that some work was going on in a little copse just back of the Boche front line. Wheelbarrows loaded with sacks of sand and concrete have been going in there and working parties go in and out every day. The Colonel has had it carefully watched, not only to learn what they are up to but also to decide upon the best time and method to go after them. They seem to be building pill boxes behind the trees which they would cut down after their pill boxes were complete leaving them dominating several of our GC’s.

Beyond all doubt we did know that in that little copse large working parties were busily engaged and that, whatever they were doing, it was not for our health nor comfort.

As soon as he had definitely located the place where they were working and learned the time when they were thickest in there, the old man sent for the Stokes mortar platoon commander—“Stokes” he said, “you know where the Boche is working, out there in the copse in the Senon road?” “Yes sir, I do.” “Well, don’t you think you could touch ’em up a little?” “I can indeed!” the lieutenant fairly shouted with joy, “My men are itching for the chance—we can burn ’em up.” “All right,” said the Colonel in as matter of fact a way as though he had been telling Stokes to police his billets, “Clean’em up. I think 4 p.m. will be a good time. Send ’em about half and half—gas and H.E.’s (high explosive shells).”

Stokes had been longing for this chance for days—he bounced out of the PC and fairly ran to his platoon to give glad tidings to his men. In an incredibly short time, his platoon was setting up the guns and laying up piles of shells beside them in an old quarry behind our lines opposite the copse.

Long before the appointed hour, they were ready and impatiently waiting. On the tick of 4 p.m.—“BLUIE”! went all the mortars in unison and then a steady roar as they each sent 15 shells a minute over into that little half-acre of woods where 200 unsuspecting Boche had been at work. The quarry hole belched up a perfect stream of tumbling shells which, glistening in the sunlight, formed a shining arc, like a rainbow with one foot at the guns and the other in the copse from which drifted the nasty yellow mist of gas.

Five hundred shells, half of them gas shells, in that little copse, in 3 minutes, must have made it a deadly place to be in and we feel pretty sure that the building enterprise of that locality suffered a serious set back.

Our plan was to do our work quick and clear out before the Boche artillery could get busy.

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