IN A “TANK.”

Hokitika Guardian, 3 February 1917, Page 4

IN A “TANK.”

(By One Who Was There.)

The following vivid article by a French gunner was printed in the French magazine “ Lecture Pour Tous.”

Our “Tanks” have made their debut, and a startling debut it was. Heavens, what a warm daj’s work ! I can speak of it, for I was there. There were only a few privileged penile “in the know”—— he mechanic? h ft of all, and 'he machine gnnn ’:kfi Tftvx-1-' —br-eah-m it w*B very ti ■ U> -X ■‘■fin —.f l l >\:l) “ v ki” uei-.if: 'ieiHmtt . urn, into bar-I-, a-id to teach each one of us the part he wonid be called upon to play. It would be a graat nrstake to suppose that this apprenticeship was a “soft job.” It ia exceedingly uncomfortable in a “Tank”; and, as my friend Charlie said to me (be 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 turret.” But tbese were only minor troubles which we exaggerated during our traming, and for which we ware amply repaid 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 a battleship had seemed to ns so striking that we had named our “Tanks” of our own accord. There was the crew of the “Creme de Menthe,” of the “Diplodocus,” and of one ironically styled “The Boches’ Victory.” Indeed, the name of some prehistoric animal was very appropriate to this kind pf machine. The enormoas silhouette of outs amid the mins of Pozieres——where it had been quartered waiting to be brought np 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 North* umberland, Scotsmen, Canadians and New Zealanders —who were presently to march into the firing-line with us—stariDg at my maohine with curiosity and respect.

But the hour is approaching. Dawn will soon be here. I smoke my last pipe, because, once inside the tank, farewell to any other chance of smoking ! My good old pipe, though 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. How will it behave if 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 what happens. Here comes our officer. There is a quick rally and a short address. He reminds us of our respective roles and of what Sir Douglas Haig expects both of us and of the " Tanks,” and compliments us on our courage, our coolheadness. A manhole is opened in the side of the “ Tank ” and one by one we enter 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 machine gun, whose muzzle is pointing outside the steel plate sides of the tank, ana fix my eye to the loophole, “ How hot it is! said my neighbor. “It will be worse in an hour !” Through my loophole I can see just a strip of sky, which looks light tc me, although the day has not yet fully dawned. In frout of me I see undulating fields which have been ploughed up by guns of every calibre. Farther on, the Fourreaux "Wood, where we are to operate. 44 SEA LJCGS ” 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 the objective of the “ Tank ” on our left. At the right of the wood there is a redoubt described to us as extraordinarily powerful; walls, interminable barbed wire chevaux de frise, a formidable entanglement of all sorts of vile contrivances. A real “ nest " of vile bea9ts! This is tc be our job. By Jove, how stifling it is ! Suddenly the glare of a rocket lights up the sky, followed by ten, twenty, thirty others. A sharp whistle sounds strangely in our 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 stifling it is, and how iufernally far away the ifourrearx Wood seems to be !

Our “Tank” rolls down the slope of *» exploded mi . e, hr tv .king through „ i.„ n «* pi, toe t). A*! tr- e- weU.

Now wo arrive at the bottom. Without apparent trouble wa climb up the other aide. Once more the strip of sky shows itseif, and the jagged trunks of the trees of the Fourreaux Wood are appreciably nearer. Bing ! A shell has bit us “head on” and the noise of the impact and bursting of the shell makes the whole carcase vibrate, bat otherwise no damage is done and we go calmly on onr way. A heavy thud, then a flish over my head. Our “Tank” is trembling from top to bottom, and has stopped for ths eighth of aeecond' We have just fired. This perpetual rumbling over my head has ft disturbing effect ; the machine resounds, the air vibrates. They are getting it, these Boches. Tock, lock, took! Thousands of “tock ! took !” re-echo on the steel sides of our “Tank.” It sounds Ike a myriad of hailstones beating against the window-panes of a moving train. The German gnus hive opened fire on us. But, in faith they are wasted shots. They have as much effect on our machine us pelluti ot bread against a wall.

GIGANTIC IKON WEDGE.

At last we are near the “ nest ” we are to destroy. I can distinguish the Bandbags heaped up and tqe walla pierced with holes. Little white flakes are coming from these holes, as though they were safety valves for tne escape of steam These are the guns of the enemy. Our “ Tank " advances steadiy and inexorably. A ditch—we clear It; an incline—we scale it; a heap of rubbish from a demolished house—we passed over it. And then we come to the first barbed wire entanglements. Onr “ Tank ” does not even make an effort: everything breaks everything ia crushed and is torn up. Splinters of wood jump up on all sides of us, the chevaux de frise are beaten down. I have the sensation of being in the interior of a gigantic iron wedge which is cutting through something like batter. As for ns, we fire without ceasing, hand on gun and 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 imperceptible stop! The nose of our tank scatters sand and cement bags and throws them right and left, as if it were ploughing np a field. Another violent shook, a heavy blow and a crashing. We are going straight through a wall. We are pulverising machine guns. Grenades burst upon one armour. We are in the midst of the “ nest.” All at once, ugly German heads with terror on their faces appear on both to us 1 To work! Now it ia my turn and that of my comrades I Our machine guns crackle; our bullets whistle in the German trenches, taken ihu3 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 whioh remains.