A STORY
of
THE 305th MACHINE GUN BATTALION
77th DIVISION
A.E.F.
By
HENRY W. SMITH
Chapter 12
A Royal Reception and a Short Rest
CHAPTER XII
A ROYAL RECEPTION AND A SHORT REST
IT WAS not long before things commenced to stir and we
noticed soldiers making their way among us. They proved
to be men of our own outfit who had not been in the line
with us. It seems that when we had decided to stop the
previous night it was at a point not more than about half
a mile from where the remainder of the Battalion was
encamped in the Dole Woods. As soon as we found that the
companies were so close at hand there was a general move
to be up and going as we were all anxious for a hot meal.
We could not understand why restraining hands were laid
on our shoulders and we were told to wait for the G.S.
wagons which were said to be on their way to pick us up.
It seemed somewhat ridiculous not to be permitted to walk
such a short distance. What was a half a mile to us?
Still every man who came out of the line had assigned to
him one of the men who had not been up for the sole
purpose of seeing to it that we did not move. We were not
even permitted to lift a pack. Those old Packs had come
to be regarded as part of us and when we moved it was
only natural that they moved too. It was all quite
strange but We did not have long to wait for the
explanation. Reports were to the effect that we had
experienced the most intense gas concentration in the
history of the A.E.F. up to that time and as it was not
known just how we had been affected the orders were that
men just out of the line were to be kept as quiet as
possible. I recall how engineers Working on the roads
paused to have a look at us and we must have Presented
quite a sight what with the dirt and growth of beards we
were carrying.
Upon arriving in
the woods where the kitchens were located there was
general hand-shaking and congratulations from the boys
waiting for us and the welcome warmed a man's heart. It
was like Coming home. It was the 305th spirit, esprit de
corps, if you will, that was there without our having
realized its presence. Little did 'We know how much we
had been hurt. Reporting to the Battalion Infirmary, I
can still see Captain Preston actually with tears in his
eyes as he ordered man after man evacuated for hospital
treatment.
It was almost unbelievable to see men who had come out of
the line, apparently in good condition, lying in
stretchers with eyes bandaged with wads of cotton. It is
also unbelievable that anyone would stoop so low as to
take advantage of a man in that condition but that is
what happened to Corporal Montgomery. Lying in the
hospital, blinded by the gas, what little money he had
with him was taken from under his pillow. There was a
mere handful of men who came out of that hell hole of the
Vesle who escaped that gassing.
A hot meal was
served in borrowed mess-kits while our packs were opened
and aired by men wearing rubber gloves. Twenty-four hours
absolute rest was ordered and we didn't need a second
invitation to stretch out on a blanket under a tree to
inhale some fresh air. After that first hitch in the line
on a really busy front. For a period of six or eight days
we were quite comfortable, living in pup tents in the
Dole Woods just out of range of the enemy's long range
guns. Of course we had lots of flies to contend with.
They were quite determined to make away with the food but
they did not stand much chance against hungry soldiers.
Well, there has to
be an end to everything and around the twenty-fourth of
August our sojourn in the woods was terminated and once
again we took up that long march back to the Vesle. We
had the benefit of daylight for a while but darkness soon
overtook us and another session of groping around in the
woods and under-brush in the darkness was upon us. We
would have given almost anything to be able to use a
flashlight. It seemed that from every throat came the
roar, "Put out that light!", when anyone tried
to steal a smoke and a match flared for an instant.
Recollect the night when the Italian division relieved us
and we met them coming up with lanterns swinging under
the limbers? That's getting ahead of the story, however,
and we will come to that later on. During the time we
were waiting in the woods for orders to go forward, Jerry
got the range of some guns of the 304th Artillery and the
gun crews had to abandon the guns temporarily. The men
came tearing back through the woods apparently regarding
it as a good joke or sporting event. The shrapnel started
dropping from the sky and Pete Windolph of C Company
received a nasty wound in the hand sufficient to send him
to a hospital. The time arrived for us to move forward
and we again faced the tedious task of feeling our way
over shell holes and ruts to a position along the edge of
woods which afforded a fine field of fire across the
valley that sloped gently down to the river with the
towns of St. Thibaut near the river and Bazoches further
back up the opposite slope. There was nothing to do
during the daylight hours but keep under cover and some
of the squads constructed dug-outs which, perhaps,
represented the most pretentious effort that we made in
that direction. The less ambitious were satisfied with
funk holes covered with boughs and a thick layer of dirt
as protection from shrapnel. A direct hit meant over the
hill anyway, so why waste energy? As it turned out later
we were never in one spot long enough to give much time
or thought to dug-outs.
Doing a little
reconnaissance work or, which is more understandable,
just plain snooping around to see what we could see, a
party of us ran across the body of a 4th Division man who
had probably been hit by a shell. We could only guess how
long he had been there and suffice it to say we could not
move him. He was directly across the valley but we had to
make a long trip following the edge of the woods in a
wide horseshoe curve, always keeping well in among the
trees and underbrush. Picks and shovels were carried
around and the task of covering the body was started but
before we had gone very far the enemy, ever watchful,
shelled us out. When the shelling ceased we returned and
finished the job, which was not a pleasant one. Dog-tags,
papers and pictures, which were scattered around, were
gathered up and turned in to the company commander.
Surprise effect was the watchword with machine gunners
and, therefore, we did not fire as much as we would have
liked to, always withholding our fire for a suitable
target. Most of the time we seemed to be just posing
around as targets for the enemy and he always had an eye
out for machine gunners. At times, however, we got in
some good licks that hurt plenty. While we were in those
positions within sight of St. Thibaut and Bazoches a
battery of guns from C Company did some effective night
firing. Two guns from the Third Platoon were mounted in
shell holes out in the open valley while four guns from
the Second Platoon went into action some distance away in
the hills. The guns were set by compass by the officers
and it was our understanding that we were all lined up on
a ration or ammunition dump over in the German lines. We
were set to go together at ten o'clock and if the Germans
made it too hot for us in retaliation the orders were to
abandon guns at two blasts from the lieutenant's whistle.
Sand bags had been filled and banked around the positions
as well as placed on the tripod legs for steadiness and
it was a real workman-like job. The Second Platoon guns
got going a little before those in the valley but we
opened up shortly after and we must have touched a soft
spot as Jerry sent up more distress signal rockets than
we had any idea he possessed. Burlap bags, soaking wet,
were stretched between two uprights in front of the gun
to hide the flash but the force of the bullets dragged
the uprights inward and they had be held by a man on
either side. It was the writer's job to hold one of the
sticks and as the muzzle of the gun was close to his ear
there was not much else, other than the gun, that could
be heard. In answer to the rockets that had been sent up,
the German artillery started a searching fire up the
valley. It was quite a thrill while it lasted, hanging on
to the support for the wet bags and keeping a wary eye on
the exploding shells creeping nearer. They raked the
valley with precision and our guns were kept going until
we knew that the next shell would be right on us and
indeed we could hear it screaming directly at us. I do
not know whether or not the lieutenant blew his whistle
but I did hear Corporal Gregory yell "Beat
it!", and beat it we did. Never in the big leagues
has there been seen more perfect fall-away slides. The
men scattered in all directions hitting the dirt wherever
there was anything that looked like a hollow, doing it in
nothing flat and less time than it is taking me to tell
it. Wham! went the shell right where we had been or so we
thought, and someone yelled, "There she goes!"
We got back to the regular position in the woods, soaked
from perspiration but none the worse for the wear and
nobody missing. About midnight Lieutenant Williams said,
"Let's go out and see what happened to the
guns." When we got out to the shell holes we found
the old Hotchkiss girls sitting there waiting for us to
come and get them. The shell had landed only a few feet
away. Sand bags were emptied, clips were gathered up and
the shell holes were put back the way they had been. In
the morning, bright and early, German planes came buzzing
around to find out where we had been and perhaps see what
their artillery fire had done. Our barrage had been short
but very sweet and somebody over in the German lines must
have gotten an awful jolt. The enemy had fine command of
the situation, however, as they were well hidden in the
hills across the river and it was exceedingly difficult
to root them out. The infantry boys did great work
patrolling no man's land and making occasional smashes
but it was almost a hopeless task to get across that
valley and up the opposite slope. It was a job for the
artillery to keep pounding away and they did just that.
One battery, in particular, I have in mind, situated on a
wooded hill behind us, kept up a steady fire all day long
until the incessant booming became so monotonous and
nerve racking that some of the fellows, looking back to
where the noise was coming from, would say, "Aw! for
the love of Pete, pipe down." If it bothered us what
could it have been doing to the Jerries? But it turned
the trick. Later in the day Captain Luce came striding
across the fields and issued orders to pack up as we were
going forward. The war wasn't over but Jerry decided that
things were too hot. It didn't seem possible that we were
going to be able to climb out of that hole that the 4th
Division boys had turned over to us.
Sprague, of C
Company, came up with a cart of hot chow. He was told
that it was the Captain's order that he drive across the
field to where the men were, but after taking a look at
the ground he would have to cross, he told the detail to
carry. He said he would not risk the horse across those
holes and ruts and that we could tell the skipper he
could go to hell and that, if we wanted the rations, the
only way we would get them would be to carry them.
Tilford said he would deliver the message and, to our
surprise, he did. The Captain bit his lip and pulled his
moustache and it looked bad for Sprague but the skipper
had too much on his mind and must have forgotten the
incident long before we got back to the picket line.
Down across the river we went and up the hills on the
other side, through St. Thibaut and Bozoches which were
just heaps of plaster and bricks with plenty of dead
Jerries lying about and finally the signal was wig-wagged
back that we had gained our objective. The land at the
brow of the hill stretched away in a broad plateau and we
started that advance that eventually brought us to the
heights overlooking the Aisne Canal and River.