THE NIGHT HORSEMAN, SELECTION three from Part 3, July-september, 1918 [chapter 21]
The men on the train and the ground were shouting something. I think it was "Aufklärer!" -- "Spotter!"
"SPOTTER!"
"SPOTTER!"
Some of them were pointing up in the air. Everything went quiet. The faint sound of a droning motor could be heard from somewhere in the sky above. More men were pointing.
It was too high to shoot at, but then we saw it, a small aeroplane making a wide turn and swooping down low. A fast French biplane of some kind. There was a blast of rifle and machine-gun fire, but the plane was too fast.
We could see some field guns on the embankment positioning themselves to fire up into the air, everyone hoping the craft would make another close run. Then an eerie silence as all eyes and ears were straining.
The aeroplane was circling again but arcing higher, its droning fainter.
"SPOTTER!"
"SPOTTER!"
Some of them were pointing up in the air. Everything went quiet. The faint sound of a droning motor could be heard from somewhere in the sky above. More men were pointing.
It was too high to shoot at, but then we saw it, a small aeroplane making a wide turn and swooping down low. A fast French biplane of some kind. There was a blast of rifle and machine-gun fire, but the plane was too fast.
We could see some field guns on the embankment positioning themselves to fire up into the air, everyone hoping the craft would make another close run. Then an eerie silence as all eyes and ears were straining.
The aeroplane was circling again but arcing higher, its droning fainter.
The klaxon came on again.
"ATTACK!" someone shrieked.
"ATTACK!"
"ATTACK!"
"ATTACK!"
The word was repeated everywhere, as if the whole world were screaming. Men were scampering to their positions in every direction like so many ants. The helmeted officer could be seen waving his arms and shouting to the train engineers to move the train forward -- the munitions train -- still with much ammunition unloaded -- move it forward -- forward -- as far as it could go toward the break in the embankment -- forward, you fools -- go forward -- go on -- on -- damn you -- away from the entrenchment -- if it's hit -- God!
"ATTACK!" someone shrieked.
"ATTACK!"
"ATTACK!"
"ATTACK!"
The word was repeated everywhere, as if the whole world were screaming. Men were scampering to their positions in every direction like so many ants. The helmeted officer could be seen waving his arms and shouting to the train engineers to move the train forward -- the munitions train -- still with much ammunition unloaded -- move it forward -- forward -- as far as it could go toward the break in the embankment -- forward, you fools -- go forward -- go on -- on -- damn you -- away from the entrenchment -- if it's hit -- God!
Finally, the clumsy old wreck of a choo-choo and started to clank forward a little, only a few centimeters. O God. Chug . . . Puff . . . Chug . . . Puff. It managed to pull a little further. Maybe five meters.
Togo had already reached into the front seat of the taxi and taken Bonbon into his arms. We all ran for cover on the other side of the rail berm, scrambling down into the high grass of the meadow, hugging close to the skimpy shelter of the berm ridge.
A whistle somewhere in the air. Piercing. Inhuman. And then . . .
If you'll forgive me, I think I should take just a second here to say there is really no way to describe or mimic the sights and sounds of combat in a real war, and I suppose I am childish and ridiculous to try. But, anyway, out of nowhere there was this ungodly whine in the air and suddenly:
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
Togo had already reached into the front seat of the taxi and taken Bonbon into his arms. We all ran for cover on the other side of the rail berm, scrambling down into the high grass of the meadow, hugging close to the skimpy shelter of the berm ridge.
A whistle somewhere in the air. Piercing. Inhuman. And then . . .
If you'll forgive me, I think I should take just a second here to say there is really no way to describe or mimic the sights and sounds of combat in a real war, and I suppose I am childish and ridiculous to try. But, anyway, out of nowhere there was this ungodly whine in the air and suddenly:
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
A series of rapid explosions -- so loud, louder than anything I had ever heard -- east to west parallel to our perimeter, clumps of dirt and pebbles showering over us and rolling over everything along the line from behind us to the canal embankment. Long-range artillery.
But it had fallen short.
Not for long.
We must flee. But where? How?
Togo gave Bonbon to me for a moment and clambered up onto the track atop the berm. She was obviously frightened, but not shaking the way I was. Even from our crouching positions, we could see the train -- the train full of explosive armaments of every kind that could obliterate everything around us if it were hit. It had pulled forward a little more, but only a little.
But it had fallen short.
Not for long.
We must flee. But where? How?
Togo gave Bonbon to me for a moment and clambered up onto the track atop the berm. She was obviously frightened, but not shaking the way I was. Even from our crouching positions, we could see the train -- the train full of explosive armaments of every kind that could obliterate everything around us if it were hit. It had pulled forward a little more, but only a little.
"See there!" Togo hooted, pointing toward the train and then extending his gesture southward.
We stood and looked. The train had passed a little crossing that extended to what appeared to be a path which led to a sort of causeway raised five meters or so above the grassy land stretching out over the meadow which we could see, now that the smoke and dust were clearing, was part of a vast, unfarmed area -- a flat heath traversed by the causeway that was raised with packed earth and stone high enough to keep it above the sodden plain of soil and low, wild vegetation.
It appeared to be something of a divider, possibly between the heath and lower farmland reclaimed by damming the waterway. In any case, it formed not only a crude wall but a somewhat elevated pathway, rough and narrow but possibly wide enough to support two men side-by-side, perhaps a cart or wagon or . . . motorcar? No. Probably too tight, rounded, uneven. Whatever it was, it stretched far -- far to the left, that is. South by southwest. Toward the enemy.
We stood and looked. The train had passed a little crossing that extended to what appeared to be a path which led to a sort of causeway raised five meters or so above the grassy land stretching out over the meadow which we could see, now that the smoke and dust were clearing, was part of a vast, unfarmed area -- a flat heath traversed by the causeway that was raised with packed earth and stone high enough to keep it above the sodden plain of soil and low, wild vegetation.
It appeared to be something of a divider, possibly between the heath and lower farmland reclaimed by damming the waterway. In any case, it formed not only a crude wall but a somewhat elevated pathway, rough and narrow but possibly wide enough to support two men side-by-side, perhaps a cart or wagon or . . . motorcar? No. Probably too tight, rounded, uneven. Whatever it was, it stretched far -- far to the left, that is. South by southwest. Toward the enemy.
"Come! Come!" Togo called.
We went to him, up and across the narrow railtrack.
"We must go there!" he urged, pointing to the causeway again. "Go now! Now!"
"Toward the enemy?" Nesmuth objected. "But we don't have authority to cross here."
"Yes! Yes!" Kot insisted. "Before the gunners find their range."
That warning came none to soon, barely off Kot's lips when another whine tore through the air and he was barely able to shout "DOWN!" before a second series of blasts hit --
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
We went to him, up and across the narrow railtrack.
"We must go there!" he urged, pointing to the causeway again. "Go now! Now!"
"Toward the enemy?" Nesmuth objected. "But we don't have authority to cross here."
"Yes! Yes!" Kot insisted. "Before the gunners find their range."
That warning came none to soon, barely off Kot's lips when another whine tore through the air and he was barely able to shout "DOWN!" before a second series of blasts hit --
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
-- these so immense they knocked us sideways, numbing our heads and ears as if we'd been shoved underwater.
Maurice had lost his footing and stumbled backward into Nesmuth, whose fall had been broken by the cab of the taxi. Immediately everything was flayed with a hail of dirt and pebbles. Nesmuth, dazed, slid down into a sitting posture on the footboard of the car, holding fast to Bonbon whom he had tried to cover before impact. Togo took her again. Too shocked to cry or whimper, she did not appear to have been struck by anything, nor did any of us appear to have been injured. The black roof over the cab seemed cracked in one place, and there were small holes and dents in several places on the car's now dirt-smacked surface, but, almost miraculously, none of the glass panes on the vehicle were broken.
The shells had come down short once more? Just barely? Maurice was on his feet again. "Regardez," he said laconically, pointing to the canal embankment. The shells had hit part of it beyond and in front of us to the right and set an installation at the edge of the canal on fire. Behind us, one of the blasts had started a roar-up of flames in the forest trenches we had just passed. We could hear shouts and screams from various directions ahead and behind us along the line.
No. The shells had not fallen short. They had fallen a little long. The French cannoneers were obviously aiming for the ammunition train, the prime target to obliterate everything in one mammoth detonation. Now they had to shorten their arc.
Obviously, we could not turn around or back up -- that would not spare us from the next line of blasts, anyway, no less the big blast. And that infernal stalled train . . . it was blocking everything forward.
My God. We were trapped.
Maurice had lost his footing and stumbled backward into Nesmuth, whose fall had been broken by the cab of the taxi. Immediately everything was flayed with a hail of dirt and pebbles. Nesmuth, dazed, slid down into a sitting posture on the footboard of the car, holding fast to Bonbon whom he had tried to cover before impact. Togo took her again. Too shocked to cry or whimper, she did not appear to have been struck by anything, nor did any of us appear to have been injured. The black roof over the cab seemed cracked in one place, and there were small holes and dents in several places on the car's now dirt-smacked surface, but, almost miraculously, none of the glass panes on the vehicle were broken.
The shells had come down short once more? Just barely? Maurice was on his feet again. "Regardez," he said laconically, pointing to the canal embankment. The shells had hit part of it beyond and in front of us to the right and set an installation at the edge of the canal on fire. Behind us, one of the blasts had started a roar-up of flames in the forest trenches we had just passed. We could hear shouts and screams from various directions ahead and behind us along the line.
No. The shells had not fallen short. They had fallen a little long. The French cannoneers were obviously aiming for the ammunition train, the prime target to obliterate everything in one mammoth detonation. Now they had to shorten their arc.
Obviously, we could not turn around or back up -- that would not spare us from the next line of blasts, anyway, no less the big blast. And that infernal stalled train . . . it was blocking everything forward.
My God. We were trapped.