Wilmshurst of the Frontier Force Part 15

The natural features of the face of the plateau made the ascent a difficult one. Often the Haussas had to climb upon their comrades'

shoulders, and in return help them to surmount an awkward terrace; yet everything considered the triple line was well maintained, the blacks needing no encouragement from their white officers, who, perspiring freely in every pore, were well ahead of their men.

The summit at last. Well-nigh breathless, Wilmshurst, although by no means the first, drew himself over the rocky edge of the table-land to find the ground plentifully sprinkled with barbed wire entanglements.

Although this form of defence had been badly knocked about by sh.e.l.l-fire there was still sufficient wire, either in tension or else in snake-like coils, to offer serious impediment to the advance.

Suddenly the opening shot of a ragged, ill-aimed fusillade burst from a line of zig-zagged trenches a hundred yards from the edge of the plateau. A Haussa, in the act of a.s.sisting a comrade, sprang high in the air, and fell, his hands in his death-agony clutching at Wilmshurst's ankles.

Without knowing what trapped him the subaltern measured his length on the ground. Probably the fall saved his life, for a corporal immediately behind him was shot through the chest.

"p.r.o.ne position--independent firing," shouted the major, realising that it was a forlorn hope for a few men to charge. Until a sufficient number of bayonets was on the plateau a forward movement was out of the question.

Coolly the Haussas threw themselves on the ground, taking advantage of every sc.r.a.p of cover. To the accompaniment of the constant whip-like cracks of the rifles other blacks clambered upon the fairly level ground until three companies were in readiness to continue the advance.

Again the whistle sounded. The crowd of prostrate Haussas rose to their feet, yelling and shouting as they lurched forward with levelled bayonets. Men fell almost unheeded as the Waffs forced their way through the gaps in the barbed wire, and swept right and left to avoid the sh.e.l.l craters. By this means platoons became intermingled, while companies overlapped each other, but steadily the onward rush continued.

The Askaris in the first line of trenches did not wait. The sight of the tips of the glittering bayonets was too much for their courage.

Their fire ceased; they turned and scurried over the parados, followed by bullets from the Haussas and met by bullets from their German task-masters, who had taken the precaution of stiffening their native levies with a lead ration should they show signs of weakening.

In this predicament the Askaris halted and faced about. Already the Haussas were astride the first trench and interlocked with the nearmost of their foes, the while a German machine gun was playing on the combatants with the delightful impartiality that a Hun displays to save his own hide.

Temporarily the Haussas' charge was checked. The machine gun was playing havoc with them. Then, suddenly, the ominous tic-tac ceased, while overhead came the pop-pop-pop of the seaplane's automatic gun.

It was more than the Huns had bargained for. Some dived into underground retreats, others bolted, showing a clean pair of heels to the Askaris, who were now resisting valiantly.

In the melee Wilmshurst found himself attacked by three muscular natives, who for some reason did not attempt to fire, but fought with their rifles and bayonets.

One the subaltern shot with the last cartridge in his revolver.

Hurling the empty weapon at the head of the second--which the Askari avoided by adroitly stepping aside--Dudley parried a bayonet-thrust with the sole weapon at his disposal, a "loaded" trench-stick. As he did so the second native closed, delivering a thrust that drove the bayonet through the left sleeve of the subaltern's tunic. Before the man could recover his weapon, Wilmshurst brought the heavy stick down upon his fingers.

Dropping his rifle the Askari gripped the subaltern's wrist with his uninjured right hand, while a third native ran in to drive his bayonet through the young officer's chest.

A deafening report sounded close to Wilmshurst's ear; he felt the blast of a rifle shot on his cheek, but he had the satisfaction of seeing the Askari topple forward and bite the dust.

Wilmshurst settled the third antagonist very effectively by delivering a cras.h.i.+ng blow with his left upon the point of the Askari's chin. The man relaxed his grip and dropped.

"Thanks, Bela Mos.h.i.+!" exclaimed Wilmshurst, catching sight of the sergeant as the latter thrust a fresh clip of cartridges into his magazine.

The struggle in this part of the line was now over. The Haussas were engaged in firing shots into the dug-outs to intimidate their German occupants. Fifty or sixty prisoners were being disarmed and rounded up, while the wounded had to be given attention.

Wilmshurst, picking up his revolver and reloading it, looked around for his brother subalterns. There was big Jock Spofforth in the act of putting a first-aid dressing round a bullet wound in Danvers' arm, while Laxdale was sitting on the ground and nursing his left foot.

There was no time to make enquiries just then. It was satisfactory to learn that all the officers of "A" Company were alive; those who were wounded were making light of their hurts. On the right flank the struggle was still in progress, and until all resistance was at an end Wilmshurst had no time for other things.

Acting upon his company commander's orders the subaltern took charge of the task of clearing out the dug-outs, while the remaining platoons of "A" and "B" Companies re-formed, and hastened to the support of their comrades who were still hotly engaged.

"If we only had a supply of bombs!" thought Dudley as he watched the ineffectual attempt of his men to induce the occupants of a deep shelter to surrender.

Half a dozen Haussas were gathered round the entrance firing volleys into the cavernous depths, and punctuating the fusillade by quaintly-worded threats of what they would do if the Bosh-bosh didn't "show hand up one time bery much quick."

Bidding his men be silent, Wilmshurst demanded the surrender of the Germans in the dug-out. Hearing a British officer's voice one of the Huns replied defiantly:

"We no surrender make to a schweinhund Englander. We food haf for six week, an' you cannot hurt us."

"Can't we, by Jove!" replied Wilmshurst. "Sergeant, bring along that box of bombs."

"Bery good, sah," said Bela Mos.h.i.+, grinning as he hurried away a few steps on a phantom errand.

"Now, then," continued the subaltern. "I give you one minute to make up your minds; if you refuse to surrender we'll blow you to blazes. I take the time from now."

Half a minute pa.s.sed in absolute silence as far as the vicinity of the dug-out was concerned, although three or four hundred yards away the desultory firing still continued. Three quarters of a minute: there was a shuffling sound from the subterranean retreat and the guttural voice of several Huns engaged in excited debate.

"Fifty seconds!" announced Wilmshurst. "Ten seconds more."

"Do not t'row der pomb; we surrender make!" implored a voice.

"Out you come, then; one at a time," ordered Dudley.

With his revolver ready for instant action should the Huns display any signs of treachery the subaltern awaited the appearance of his captives, while the Haussas stood by to back up their young officer should necessity arise.

The first to appear was the junior lieutenant, looking very scared.

Finding that nothing occurred to cause him physical hurt he held his arms high above his head, at the same time saying something to his unseen companions.

Then came Hauptmann von Argerlich, pale-faced under his sun-burnt complexion. He had good cause to feel afraid, for he was by no means uncertain that the British possessed a record of his deeds--deeds that might be worthy of the German arms, but certainly would not be regarded with any degree of favour by nations with any respectable code of honour. Poisoning wells, for example, was quite a favourite and pleasant Hun trick when the perpetrators of the outrage were all able to place a safe distance between them and their foes; it was quite another matter when the officer responsible for the dastardly deeds was a prisoner of war.

Three more Germans followed, and then came a full-faced, double-chinned Prussian, wearing an order on his cotton drill uniform. In his hand he held a sheathed sword, the scabbard of which had already been unfastened from the slings.

"I am Commandant Hendrich von Lindenfelt," he announced as captor and captive exchanged salutes. "I make surrender and claim der treatment due to der brisoners of war."

"That'll be all right," rejoined Wilmshurst. "Please keep your sword until the colonel decides--I mean, until you are taken to Colonel Quarrier of the Nth Waffs. Are all the German officers here?"

"Yes," replied von Lindenfelt. "All except those who killed and wounded are."

"I am anxious to find a certain individual known as von Gobendorff,"

continued the British subaltern. "Can you give me any information concerning him?"

The oberst seemed considerably taken aback.

"I do not know any person so called," he replied after a slight hesitation.

"Think again, Herr von Lindenfelt," prompted Wilmshurst. "The man we want is von Gobendorff, otherwise known as Robert MacGregor, and is known to have belonged to the forces under your command."

Von Lindenfelt shook his head, this time resolutely and defiantly.

"I do know not," he declared.

It was practically useless to press the question. There were, Wilmshurst argued, other means of finding out.

Setting a guard over the prisoners Dudley sent a file of Haussas to explore the dug-out. In less than a minute the corporal returned.

"Number one big hole, sah," he reported. "Me no find no one time man in no place."