Echoes from the Battlefield.

Taihape Daily Times, 1 June 1918, Page 6

Echoes from the Battlefield.

(Continued from yesterday) • Gradually tlie daylight slips away, and as the shades of evening descend, the sky in front is lit up at short intervals by the Hun flares, some white, others red, and blue. In our rear and on either side the flashes of our guns cut into the darkness occasionally. As •we pass along in the darkness we hear a short whistle, followed soon after by another, and immediately there is a -terrific roar as six sharp stabs of flame pierce the blackness and the ' screaming shells from one of our batteries set off to help smash up the Huns. Finally we reach the crest of a rise, and a little later reach Wattle Dump, where a short halt is made by various parties to pick up their Lewis guns, and panniers, and other gear. A little further down the road, and then we turn sharply to the right on to the duck-walks. Ho need to tell anyone to hurry, past experiences have told us not to waste anytime for the next half hour's walk, at the very least, For a little distance the duck-walks are in quite good order, but we know that is too good to last, and very soon the first big shellhole, with but recently broken duck walks scattered around, yawns at our feet. From here on there is scarcely more than two or three yards of unbroken duck-walk left, Fritz has recently been strafing them, evidently, and as we well know, may start again at any time. “Way for the stretchers" is passed down and we all stand aside to give the bearers a clear passage, so that no jolt or jar may come to the broken bodies they are carrying. We do not know but what that “Way for the Stretchers" may be to give our own shattered bodies a clear way in a few minutes. Then we go in haste again, the dark, shape of the Butte soon coming into view, that large shell-proof dug-out • which ! Fritz is ever seeking to destroy but scarcely makes any impression on. Over to the right is seen the body of an aeroplane, nose down and tail in the air, one of our own machines which has come to grief. Surely our luck is in to-night, another mile to the front line, and as yet we have not seen a shell down this way. Zip-zip-zip go the bullets the machine-guns rattling away, but the bullets are too high and go ) harmlessly over our heads. Another burst from the rattling machine-guns low, this time, and I imagine I see the broad smile on some faces as they think of what luck it would be to get a “buckshee" now —a leg wound, a Blighty at any rate, perhaps bad enough to take you home again. Shortly we diverge from the duckwalks and cross the open country, winding round the many shell holes tell we reach the reserve line. This time we do not go to front line for a while, we are in reserve for a few days. The preceding platoons have already. taken up their posts in the trench, so we hop in and are led by our sergeant to that part of the trench which we are to relieve. . Thanks to the dull day, the night is fairly quiet, due to absence of artillery observation. and cur mates going out have & fair chance of getting out quietly, “ Company out of the trench," and the boys we have relieved climb cut over the parados, and when all arc cut they disappear into the darkness. The trenches are now ours to hold and defend, but being a reserve line, no very great precautioary measures are taken to guard against attack. After a drink and a very sparing “supper.", the majority seek their “bivvies" and try their best to get a little sleep, a rather impossible feat, as the cold is so intense that the feet freeze in a few mlinutes;, .necessitating a wa'jk 1 every quarter of an hour to relieve the pain somewhat. But for the present, there is no work to do, so the inevitable cigarette is lit, and soothed by its fragancc we pass the night in alternate sleeping and waking, disturbed at intervals by the shriek and roar of the shells as Fritz sends over his salvoes in the hope of catching ration or working parties moving across the open.