Background Information: This story is based loosely on the Japanese story of the '47 loyal ronin' which is about the confict between justice and the law. I have tried to transpose this into a more familiar setting, decent people are involved in a crime of revenge but are redeemed by their actions that follow. Name: Stefan Setting: Somewhere on the Western Front c. 1916 Genre: Morality tale? I'm not entirely sure to be honest. Beaupelle “Thank you Sergeant,” the young officer, hardly audible over the whining of shells and crashing explosions, sounded as if the man had given him a light for his pipe rather than knocking him into a shell crater safe from the gunfire above. “Let’s keep pushing on eh Sergeant? Not far to go now.” The young man peered over the lip of the crater to see the flickering muzzle flash of a German machine gun firing at the men to his left. He could see two soldiers crouching behind a low stone wall whilst to his right, three other soldiers lay in long grass that had survived the shelling but twitched and flexed in the maelstrom of led and shrapnel that whirled overhead. Men crouched in whatever cover they could find, the lucky ones sheltered in craters, others behind walls, the unlucky scratched at bare ground, digging with their fingernails for even the smallest shelter from the barrage that tore through the morning air. During a short lull in the shellfire the peel of a whistle was accompanied by a cry of “fall back!” “Tha’s the Cap’in sir, let’s get the boys out of here!” “Fall back Sergeant, cover us and we’ll follow shortly, retreat in good order eh?” The officer tried to sound brave but felt more that he came across as stupid. The Sergeant didn’t seem to notice and led half the platoon back towards the trenches whilst the rest of the platoon fired in the general direction of the German MG. They soon followed whilst the Sergeants group covered their retreat, before the barrage could re-start the survivors had tumbled into the trench, muddy, tired and many wounded. “Sergeant Caulkin, who have we lost?” “It doesn’t look good Mister Gordon, Jones 27 and Jones 41 are missing, so is Dai three’s, James is gone and so is Corporal Gregory. It’ll take a few minutes to check on the rest, some came back with other Platoons.” “Ok Sergeant, I’ll tell Captain Owen, where is he?” Almost on queue a man rolled over the parapet falling in a heap on the trench floor, he rose to his feet, brushed the flecks of dirt and dry grass from his uniform and turned to Lieutenant Gordon “Perfect timing, what, Mister Gordon?” Ignoring the Lieutenants confused look he carried on, “Looks like everyone is back who is coming back, where is the Sarn’t Major?” “Not sin ‘im Sir,” the Sergeant responded, “probably further down the line.” “Thank you, Sergeant. You look after things here. Mister Gordon; come to the dugout with me.” The two men moved along the shallow trench, Captain Owen standing up despite the shellfire that still sporadically filled the air overhead, Lieutenant Gordon trying to emulate his example but still ducking with each explosion and wishing the trench was deeper. Before long he was sitting in the shelter of the company HQ dugout, one of only two that had been dug so far, whilst Captain Owen and Company Sergeant Major Forster assessed the state of the company. There were just 50 men left of the company, their attack on the German trench had been repelled as had the units attacking to their flanks. There was a commotion outside making the men look up from their maps as a major with the red tabs of a staff officer burst into the dugout, “what’s going on here Owen? Cowering in a dugout rather than getting to grips with the enemy?” “I’m sorry sir? What was that?” For the first time since Gordon had known him, Owen looked stunned. “You heard me, why are you cowering in here rather than leading your men?” “Sir, we tried, we lost almost half of the company before we were half way to the bosh line, They have machine guns, artillery, wire and snipers, what can we do?” “You can advance!” The major was red in the face with frustration, “Get out there and lead your men before I do!” “Sir, with all due respect,” the Captains temper was beginning to fray, “we can not advance against that kind of resistance and I will not kill my men for no bloody reason!” “You men will bear witness to Owen's cowardice,” the Major turned to the CSM and Lieutenant Gordon for the first time, “now get to your men!” Not waiting for a response the Major stormed out of the dugout, followed seconds later by Captain Owen. Gordon emerged into daylight just in time to see the Major stalking along the trench shouting “Up! Up! Up!” Tired men looked up at him and rose to their feet, except for one boy who stayed curled up on the fire step sobbing. “You there! Get up boy!” The Major flexed his cane as if to strike the boy making him flinch, “get up you coward! You see? It’s like a contagion! See Owen, you’re men are cowards too! Get up and attack, any man that stays will be shot!” “Major Gilbert?” Captain Owen spoke calmly, the artillery had stopped and a strange hush had filled the morning air, the Major stopped, “Major Gilbert?” The captain spoke again. The Major turned slowly towards the Captain then shrieked as Owens fist flew through the air cracking him on the jaw and knocking him flat on his back. He lay at the bottom of the trench, no one spoke, no one moved, the sun rose and the wind rustled through the long grass. * * * “Witnessed in this court today is the case of The Crown versus Owen, His Worship Advocate General Sir Michael Hugh Jackson DSO presiding. The court is now in session” Lieutenant Gordon stood outside the courtroom inspecting his uniform in a mirror, the evening before it had been filthy but he and his batman had spent the night brushing and polishing, shining brass and buffing leather so that now he stood as clean, tidy and smart as any subaltern in the army. His Grandmother's words flitted through his mind, “even if the liberals are in government, we can at least look respectable.” Moving to sit in one of the arm chairs that stood around the walls of the waiting room he sprang back to his feet standing smartly to attention as Colonel Allen entered the room. “Good morning sir, they can’t go through with it can they?” “I’m sorry Lieutenant,” the Colonel removed his cap, “Major Ayres has some very important friends and Captain Owen is facing some very serious charges. The cowardice will never stand but no one can deny assaulting a senior officer.” “The boys are in a bad way too sir,” Lieutenant Gordon tried to change the subject, “a few of my lads took their leave to be in town tonight, Sergeant Caulkin is going to keep an eye on them.” “They deserve a rest, you chaps fought hard that day,” the Colonel sighed, “it’s a shame this has to come of it.” As he finished speaking Major Ayres entered the room. “Good morning Sir,” he greeted Colonel Allen warily. “Good morning Major Ayres,” Colonel Allen replied not bothering to turn to face the newcomer, “how is life in the staff?” “Dull as always Colonel.” “Well Major, you’ll be happy to know that I’ve requested your transfer to my command.” The Colonel smiled as he turned to see the look of panic cross the Major’s face, “You’re not the only one with friends in high places. If you’ll excuse me, Lieutenant, would you care to join me for a coffee?” The court martial was a formality, the Captain was found guilty and Lieutenant Gordon found himself ordered to stand as a witness when he was shot the next morning. The men were selected from Captain Owen’s company, the Lieutenant looked along the line as the sentence was read, spotting Private Williams 54, the boy who the Major had berated a few days before. He had a tear in his eye which it took all his young willpower to hold back the anger and sadness that gripped him. The other men all looked equally grim, they always selected troops from the prisoner’s own unit as a warning, to repair what damage their supposed cowardice had done. Other members of the platoon had managed to get a pass to spend the night in the town, Sergeant Caulkin dozed in a chair next to Corporal Maynes, they had spent the night in an estaminet trying to drown the problems of the last few days. Squinting in the bright dawn the Sergeant twitched as a single volley rang out through the cold morning air. * * * “Sir!” The young soldier saluted as he stood hunched in the dugout, “Lieutenants Gordon and Munroe to see you.” “Well show them in Hall,” Major Ayres didn’t bother to return the salute, only looking up from the papers spread across the rickety table as the two officers entered. “Ahh, I wondered where you two had got to.” “Sir?” Gordon asked as the pair saluted, “we came as fast as we could.” “Sorry Major, but we were with our platoons,” Munroe spoke with a definite slur in his voice, “why is the Company HQ so far from our trench?” “Are you drunk Mister Munroe?” Major Ayres ignored he insubordinate question, “are you drunk?” “No sir, I’m on duty sir.” Gordon watched as his friend told the lie, he had been worrying about Munroe since Captain Owen was shot. He had been drinking more and more, never enough that he couldn’t look after his men but it still worried him. The Major wanted to talk about the morale of the company, what it was like, how the men were holding up. “If you actually spent some time with the lads you’d know” Gordon thought, “The men aren’t happy Sir,” he said instead, “but they’ll do their job. How long is the Colonel going to hold us in reserve? “Until he trusts you Lieutenant.” The subalterns noticed he never referred to himself as part of the company. He had kept his staff collar tabs until he realised it made him a target, not that he often went anywhere near the front trenches. “Maybe if you came to see the men it would improve their morale?” Munroe spoke again, “An impromptu inspection so to speak?” “If I want your advice…” Major Ayres paused to think for a second, there had been some talk amongst the officers about his setting up the company HQ in a dugout so far from the communication trench his troops were manning, the men were probably grousing too but he didn’t care what they thought. All the same it might help to actually visit his troop’s trench. He picked up his cap and simply told the junior officers to follow him as he left the dugout. The troops were manning a support trench whilst another company manned the front line trench in front of them; the troops were sullen as they manned their posts, rising to their feet as the Major moved along their trench. One or two of the men who stood safely in the cover of sandbags saluted the Major, they would never have singled out Captain Owen or their platoon commanders like by saluting them at the front but the idea of making the Major a target for the German snipers appealed to their fierce loyalty to their now dead commander. Lieutenant Munroe stopped at the edge of his platoon’s area saluting Major Ayres as he did so, leaving Lieutenant Gordon walking with him through his platoon’s trench. The company now stood at just 47 officers and other ranks split into two platoons, Major Ayres had only visited the trench once before and on that occasion he had banned the troops from putting up any personal items on the walls of the trench: no pictures of their families; no newspaper cuttings; nothing. Lieutenant Gordon had tried to raise morale but even Sergeant Caulkin was showing the strain. Worst of all, the man who was supposed to be their company commander was never anywhere to be seen, he was either in his dugout or back at the battalion command point. Eventually Major Ayres grew bored of his inspection, he had hardly spoken to any of the soldiers and hadn’t had anything useful to say other than to comment on how much smarter the trench looked since the men had followed his orders. He dismissed Lieutenant George before walking back to his dugout where he went to sleep. “Has the Major gone sir?” Sergeant Caulkin clambered down into the trench. “Yes Sergeant, where have you been?” “The field telephone to A company is out of action, they sent scaley's up to repair the line,” he smiled, “someone ‘ad to show ‘im where it is.” “I see sergeant. How are the boys doing? I seem to spend all my time running from here to the company HQ I hardly seem to see them.” “I know sir, so do the men. They don’t blame you, they blame it on Major Ayres.” He paused, “the colonel don’t trust us does he sir?” “I’m not sure what you mean Sergeant,” the question had caught Lieutenant George off guard. “The colonel hasn’t given us anything but fetching and carrying to do since Major Ayres took over, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen the troops want to get into the line!” His wry smile vanished, “not with Major Ayres though.” Gordon heard the tremor in his voice. they were a good platoon, part of a good company, until they had a leader who could stand before them and inspire their respect they wouldn’t do themselves justice. * * * Lieutenant Gordon was hurled from his bed in the small dugout as an explosion shook the trench. Shells crashed to ground all along the line ending the rest troops had managed to snatch in the cold night. A soldier stumbled through the entrance of the dugout clutching his scalp, Gordon scrambled over and tried to shelter the wound from the dirt that fell from the ceiling with each shell. Dragging the man under a small table that normally served as a desk he wrestled the soldiers hands aside and looked at the wound. A flap of skin the size of a saucer flopped away from his head and blood trickled down the soldiers face. “Stretchers!” Gordon tried to bellow over the din as he replaced the skin and wrapped a dressing over the wound, “stretchers!” He moved to the entrance of the dugout and peered through the ragged blanket, the flash of shells looked like a firework display over the trenches. For a few seconds he watched mesmerised, then he shuddered at the though of the maelstrom that whipped up the air above. Gordon turned back to the wounded man who sobbed under the table, his eyes stung as he tried to blink away the dust that filled the air, he rubbed at them with filthy hands but just made it worse, smearing blood across his cheek as a tear trickled through the grime. Major Ayres also sheltered under a table in the battalion HQ, he tried to spend as much time there as possible, he was more comfortable in the HQ atmosphere which was more like staff than with his men. As the bombardment subsided runners began t[o] appear and field telephones started ringing. “Sir, message from Captain Loseby.” “Colonel, the bosh are attacking A and B companies.” “Captain Griffiths reports that his company can’t hold sir.” “Sir, Captain Loseby is wounded, Lieutenant Camberwell is taking over the company.” “Sir, A company are falling back, C company are managing to hold for now. “Major Lawrence, send a runner. We need re-enforcements now.” The colonel barked, “get a message to Major Ayres. Major Ayres shook himself from his stupor, “I’m here sir.” “What in the blazes are you doing here?” The colonel didn’t give him a chance to reply, “get back to your company and counter attack, we need you to buy time for re-enforcements to arrive.” * * * Men threw themselves into the reserve trench, the survivors of A company shaken and dirty were being gathered at one end of the trench by Sergeant Caulkin and Lieutenant Camberwell. Lieutenant Gordon moved up and down behind his men as they tried to keep the Germans pinned in the front line trench. An entire section manned the communications trench, holding back the German attempts to advance as best they could. On the right Lieutenant Munroe was struggling to stop the enemy from outflanking B Company. Major Ayres appeared from a communications trench where Sergeant Major Forster had been trying to direct survivors towards Lieutenant Camberwell. “Get the officers here, Forster,” he bawled. “Sir?” Forster turned to a man who crouched next to him, “Get Mister Gordon and Munroe over here.” The officers assembled before Major Ayres as he crouched in the trench. “On my order you will lead your men out of the trench and counter attack the enemy in A company’s trench.” “Sir?” Munroe looked up at his commander. “Just get on with it, re-enforcements are on the way, get back to your men.” Gordon ran a little way down the trench, “get ready,” he called, “we are going to counterattack.” He stopped by the support trench and briefed Corporal Harris and the other section commanders, Major Ayres moved down the line and stood between the two platoons. “Company will fix bayonets,” men pulled the fearsome blades from their scabbards. Major Ayres watched the men prepare to move, gunfire cracked overhead, “company will advance,” Major Ayres bellowed, “charge!” No on moved, the soldiers looked to their platoon commanders who looked across at Major Ayres, as machine gun bullets flew overhead and the wounded screamed in no-mans-land. Lieutenant Gordon caught sight of Private Williams lying in front of Major Ayres who was slowly turning red. “Come on, charge, get up you cowards! He yelled, “Gordon, Munroe, lead your men!” Lieutenant Gordon moved to the side of his trench, Munroe did the same and both men drew their pistols. Ayres looked down at Private Williams, “You again? Get up coward, come on, move!” He swung his cane at the young soldier who fell back on the floor, Gordon ran over as the boy jumped to his feed and turned his bayonet on the Major. All the men had turned to watch as the two subalterns ran over, “Williams, stop now!” Gordon shouted. Munroe stood quietly for a second as Ayres trembled, “how dare you threaten me?” The bayonet pressed against his chest, “lower your rifle now boy!” A shot rang out and Major Ayres sank to the floor of the trench, Munroe lowered his smoking pistol and looked up at Lieutenant Gordon. Sergeant Caulkin stepped around his officer and lifted the body.Williams trembled as he helped to heave the body over the side of the trench, the Sergeant turned to Lieutenant Gordon, “the men are ready to go, sir.” “What? Oh, yes Sergeant.” He looked up in a daze, “Mister Munroe, would you care to lead your platoon on the right?” “Of course Mister Gordon,” Munroe smiled slightly, “see you over there, eh?” Gordon moved down the line, his men were still returning the enemies fire and he had to shout to be heard, “Sergeant Caulkin, prepare to advance!” He turned to his men, “We need to get to that trench boys! If we don’t, the bosh will outflank B company and break through.” He checked his pistol, drew his whistle from his pocket, “come on lads, for Captain Owen, charge!” * * * London Gazette February 1915, citation for the award of a Victoria Cross to Lieutenant Arthur Gordon, citation reads: On the 18th February 1915 in the Beaupelle sector, France, the enemy attacked our line and the situation was extremely critical. The company commander being killed Lieutenant Gordon took command of his company and led them through a heavy barrage in a counterattack. They drove the enemy back at least 200 yards causing numerous casualties despite numbering just 47 officers and men. The only officer to survive this counter attack Lieutenant Gordon rallied the company despite being seriously injured and held the enemy back in the face of aggressive attacks until re-enforcements were able to secure the line. He later succumbed to his wounds and died the following morning.
