A STORY
of
THE 305th MACHINE GUN BATTALION
77th DIVISION
A.E.F.
By
HENRY W. SMITH
Chapter 10
We Relieve the Fourth Division
CHAPTER X
WE RELIEVE THE FOURTH DIVISION
LATE in the afternoon the order to roll packs was issued
and not long thereafter the companies were formed and
stolidly the men awaited further orders. Company
commanders faced their men and the seriousness of the
move we were about to make could be read in the faces of
those officers. Gone was the barrier of rank and it was
just man to man. One captain I have in mind spoke
substantially as follows: "Unsling equipment a
minute, men, I want to talk to you. I have just returned
from a tour of inspection, going over the positions we
are about to take over and I can assure you that in this
sector it is real war. Every outfit that ever went into
the lines has had its losses and without doubt we will
have ours. We are going up into what is really the river
bottom in the valley of the Vesle River and the enemy
occupies strong positions in the hills across the river,
completely dominating the area. There is no system of
trenches and it will be a case of every man digging a
hole for himself and keeping down well concealed by
daylight. Those of you who become careless or take
chances will be pretty sure to be hit, so be sure to keep
your heads down and we will come out in good shape. We
will go up there and do our best. What do you say?"
The men were
standing in tense, silence but when that question was put
to them, there roared forth from those throats one lusty
shout, "Let's go!"
Blanket rolls,
guns, tripods and ammunition were loaded aboard trucks
and in light marching order, the companies started
forward across fields in column of twos to that Hell Hole
of the Vesle, where we suffered the tortures of the
damned. In the gray and purple haze as the daylight faded
that eleventh day of August, 1918, we stumbled forward
across that shell-torn countryside with the forms of
lifeless men and horses to be seen on every hand. We
finally swung into a road and were brought from a column
of twos to single file with a five-pace interval between
men. Off to one side in the woods, amid a shower of
sparks and a deafening roar, a heavy artillery gun
belched forth its deadly cargo. Little suspecting a gun
so close at hand, there was a tendency to duck but an M.
P. stationed in the road assured us that it was one of
our own artillery batteries firing. As we proceeded, the
interval between men was increased to ten paces, then
fifteen, and later to twenty-five, so that in the
darkness it was almost impossible to see the man ahead. A
motorcycle courier sped by, shouting: "Gas
ahead", and presently the shout of "Gas!"
came back from the head of the column. Gas masks were
adjusted and as we approached a crossroad the order was
passed back to "Double time, they are shelling the
road." The heat and dampness of our faces steamed up
the eye-pieces of the masks as we ran blindly forward and
it was with the greatest difficulty that we managed to
keep to the road, to say nothing of being able to keep
the masks on under those unbearable conditions. After a
few minutes that seemed like hours, we slowed down to a
walk and we heard those welcome words from somewhere
ahead, "Gas masks may be removed."
On toward the front
we trudged in the darkness, through Chery Chartreuve
until at last a stop was made at La Press Farm. The
trucks carrying our equipment had arrived and as it was
impossible for a man to recognize his own pack, it was a
case of grabbing any pack with the hope of getting the
right one the next day.
La Press Farm was
as near as motor trucks dared to venture to the line and
as the place was likely to be shelled at any moment, we
had to work fast to unload so as to be clear of the place
as quickly as possible. Then, too, there were worn,
weary, battle-scarred troops of the 4th Division waiting
for us to come up. From La Press Farm up through Mont St.
Martin and down that long, gradual slope to Ville-Savoye
under full pack with guns, tripods and ammunition boring
into us, were long, heart-breaking miles and no doubt are
still vivid in the memories of the men of the old
Battalion. There were the usual rest periods but after
each rest it seemed harder to get started again. Falling
in after one of the rests, one of the boys shook the
fellow at his side, who it was thought had fallen asleep,
but to the consternation of our man after closer
inspection, he discovered that he had been shaking a dead
German soldier. And so it went. We had become
case-hardened, like our guns and death did not mean much
to us in those days.
That long stretch
of road winding so peacefully down from Mont St. Martin
to Ville-Savoye was in plain view of the German lines. It
was certain death to venture on it during the daytime and
we were to learn more about it later on but at the time
we were making our way toward the river the lines were
remarkably quiet. Of course, the Germans were still
sending up their blue star signal, which, for the want of
a better name we came to call their "All's well
Rockets." Occasionally the sharp, spiteful cracking
of a German machinegun would be heard and in response the
usual slow pump of a Chau Chau gun. At times some
infantryman would let go with his rifle but in general,
as will be recalled, things were decidedly quiet. We
entered Ville-Savoye which had been pretty well riddled,
in fact, was in ruins, and a halt was made to await
orders. The street we were on ran toward the river and if
Jerry had opened up, there would have been the worst
imaginable slaughter, as troops lay all over the place
resting from the arduous hike. However, it was just a
case of "Where ignorance is bliss", and we
continued to rest comfortably on the stones. The Germans
had a gun trained up that street from the hill across the
river and the following night it was almost continually
swept by a hail of bullets. A number of the boys of the
305th Infantry were killed as they attempted to get water
from a pump at the head of the street. Why the enemy did
not fire on that street the first night has always been
somewhat of a mystery. They knew every inch of the
territory and as fast as bridges were constructed they
were blown down.
We were now but a
very short distance from the actual front line and as we
started forward ' instructions were issued to pass back
commands in whispers. I believe it was just C Company
that entered the lines through Ville-Savoye and we will
always remember that stretch of ground from the village
to the railroad in the cut beyond the river. There was no
shelling at that particular time but there was something
about the blackness, the stillness and the damp, stale
gas smell of the woods that took hold of one. To my mind
a line that seems to describe it was contained in a short
poem of about eight lines printed on a scrap of paper
that I had picked up from the road some distance back. It
had to do with a no-report patrol and while I do not
remember it all, one line ran, "It's the silence and
the night and the smell of the dead that shakes a man to
his soul."
It wasn't always
the noise of a bombardment that was unbearable but that
tomb-like silence that would settle over the lines,
especially at night. It created a feeling that something
was about to break at any moment. At the end of the
street in Ville-Savoye a water pipe had been broken by
shelling and for several yards we plodded through the
soft ooze. In my mind's eye, it seems, that I can almost
see every step of the way with every now and then a
warning passed back from ahead, "Shell-hole on the
right," "Ditch on the left," and so on.
We carried on down
a spur of railroad track on which there were standing two
old freight cars and finally, deep in a patch of woods,
amid an entangled mass of barbed wire, we stood on the
bank of the Vesle River. It was not very wide at this
point and we started across on two planks that reached
from each bank to a barrel anchored in the middle of the
stream. Due to the spring in the planks we went shoetop
deep in the water at each step and when almost across the
stream, Lockwood, who had been carrying the trail end of
a tripod, slipped off the plank and stood up to his
arm-pits in the river. Lieut. Duddy reached down from the
bank and assisted in pulling him out.
So far as the
machine-gunners were concerned there was excellent
discipline with instructions obeyed to the letter, and
they were making a very good job of slipping quietly into
the line but before long the Infantrymen were coming
across the planks and there was a good deal of confusion
for a few minutes. They did not seem to realize how close
they were to the enemy and as it was almost impossible to
distinguish anybody in the darkness, they just sang out
at the tops of their lungs, "Hey, 5th Squad! Hey,
2nd Platoon! Hey, 4th Squad!" or whatever it
happened to be. Just plain dizzy, we called them, but
they were a great bunch, just the same.
Duddy was just
about ready to eat someone and so was Lieut. Ed Gorham,
wherever he was at the moment. Duddy ripped out an oath
and said: "Let's get out of this quickly, men, or we
will all be shelled out of here."
We continued on
through the woods, stepping over a dead Jerry who lay
across our path. Some of us stumbled over him and at last
we came out into an open space; that is, open country on
our left but to our right there was a patch of woods,
which shielded us from the German lines. We followed the
edge of the woods for perhaps a hundred yards to where it
abruptly ended and turning sharply to the right we
started directly for the railroad cut about fifty yards
dead ahead. Just short of the cut, about six feet, there
was a good-sized shell hole in which we stopped, a couple
at a time, to catch our breath before making a leap over
that last remaining six feet to go slipping and sprawling
down the loose sand of the embankment to the tracks, some
thirty feet below. We crossed the tracks to the forward
bank and were a welcome sight to the handful of men
waiting for us. Some of us were sitting on the rails to
rest and one of the 4th Divi-sion men told Duddy to get
his men off the tracks into the holes in the embankment.
We soon found the reason for that a few minutes later
when there was a burst of German machine-gun fire down
the track to our left and the bullets whistled by with
that familiar Zip! Zip! Zing! We questioned the 4th
Division men as to where the enemy was located but the
answer was "Dunno, buddy, we just got in this far
and we haven't had time to get patrols out. We figure
though, that it's all machine guns out there about three
hundred yards."
Duddy ordered the
guns set up at battle sight and said he would have more
information in the morning. There was just a bare handful
left of the company we relieved. After a few moments more
to settle a few details, one of the 4th men said,
"All set, men? Let's go!" and with a shout of
"Best o' luck", they sped across those tracks
and up the embankment with equipment consisting only of a
very light combat pack, gas masks and helmets. We
ourselves, learned something about travelling light in
due course. It did not take long to effect the relief,
the 4th Division men wasting no time in getting out of
that hole, and then-it was our job.