The Big Fight (Gallipoli To The Somme - free ebook by David Fallon

THE BIG FIGHT

THE BIG FIGHT ( Gallipoli to the Somme ) BY Capt. DAVID FALLON, M.C. New York W. J. Watt &amp; Company PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1918, by W. J. WATT &amp; COMPANY PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH &amp; CO. BOOK MANUFACTURERS BROOKLYN, N. Y....

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CHAPTER I From Australia to the Fray

When great historians with their learned pens shall come to set forth the complete story of the most sweeping and horrible war the world has ever known, I figure they may perhaps have need of such evidence, information and material as a man like myself can give. I mean a man who has been through the red hell of the vast conflict in places where it has flamed most fiercely, a soldier who has been eye-witness of its superb heroisms, its stupendous tragedies, scientific marvels, has undergone its t

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CHAPTER II From Australia to the Fray (Continued)

That carrier-pigeon soldier had my sympathy for I had undergone his same sensation of exasperation at the very beginning of things. This was when I heard back in August, 1914, that because of proficiency as physical instructor and drill master, it was the intention of my superiors to keep me at post at the Royal Military College at Dunstroon in New South Wales—keep me there to fit other men to go into the fight. I am no bloodthirsty demon and I am no brother to the Hun, but having been a profess

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CHAPTER III Gallipoli

Today all is quiet at Gallipoli Peninsula. The rows on rows of wooden crosses at Anzac and Helles, at Nibrunsei Point and Brighton Beach, look out over the Ægean Sea, doubtless blue as it ever was. The dead who lie beneath these little monuments of great deeds—the crosses amid the dwarf holly bushes that clothe the western slopes—have reached their rest. In the scrub Lee-Enfields lie rusting alongside shattered Mausers. The pebbles on the long bleak beaches are mixed with shrapnel bullets, and i

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CHAPTER IV The Ghastly Landing

There was a swift, sharp lightening of the sky back of the gaunt, black cliffs and our boats seemed thrown out of the water, thrown up into the air by the rocking thunder of the heavy guns of the Turkish batteries behind those cliffs. The water that had been so smooth an instant before, that was, in fact, so treacherously smooth, as had been the silence, was stabbed and chopped and sent into wild spume by a great rain of shells. Blinding blasts flared as suddenly as here and there a boat with it

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CHAPTER V Holding On

Our little fortress or “sangar” could be likened to a cauldron for it was constantly surrounded by fire—the bursting, flaming shells, and the pepper of snipers’ bullets like the sharp bubbling of boiling water to “carry on” the likeness of a cauldron. Down on the beach at the first ridge of rocky embankment the engineers had most bravely under a frightful fire blasted great dug-outs for the establishment of headquarters, a hospital, and the first station for the storing of supplies. There never

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CHAPTER VI Giving Up Gallipoli

In looking over the notes and papers I have collected to aid me in the preparation of this book, memory is vigorously stirred by a clipping of an article from the Sydney Mail of October 31, 1917, written by a fellow officer who prefers to remain anonymous. He wrote well of the familiar scenes of the famous battlefield as they would appear today. Following is an extract: “The ‘Vineyard’ has blossomed and the small green grapes cluster on the vine. The well by the fisherman’s hut has run sweet onc

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CHAPTER VII Compliments of the King

“Official documents”—the words convey the impression of dry reading—but I do not think those will be so found which have to do with the historic episodes of the landing at Gallipoli and its evacuation. There is Lord Kitchener’s message to the Anzacs and in addition to its nobility and eloquence and the dignified State diction in which it was couched, there is the little addition of Gen. Birdwood, informal and affectionate, which touched us as deeply, made us feel as proud as did the message of h

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CHAPTER VIII An Intermission

In the evacuation of “Anzac,” I had the honor, reserved for the men who had first landed, of being with those who left the tragic strip of territory the last. I was not a passenger on the very last barge, but if I recall correctly, about the third from the last. We went aboard the transport, Andrines . I still had sixty men in my charge, but as I looked over them as they filed up the gangplank into the Andrines , the thought suddenly came to me—it really had not occurred to me before—that of all

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CHAPTER IX No Quarter

I was soon to find out the difference between fighting Turks and fighting Germans. The Turk will fight you like the devil, but he is a sportsman. He is incapable of the treacheries and ghoulish tricks of the German. He abhors attacking the helpless. I say this with full knowledge of the Armenian cruelties and outrages. I can only speak of my own knowledge. I am writing of how the Turks behaved in Gallipoli. Within two months—yes, less—as far as I was concerned in my capacity of lieutenant I had

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Appendix 1

From all parts of the Army suggestions have been submitted to Army H. Q. for weakening the force or even entirely neutralizing the effects of a hostile gas attack, apart from the use of respirators and oxygen breathing apparatus. These suggestions show what trouble the commanders of all ranks have taken to advise means of protection for our troops against the effects of the enemy’s gas. Many of the suggested devices are theoretically practical. In many cases actual experiments have given success

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Appendix 1A

Headquarters VI Army. IV B No. 19388 (1) A hostile gas attack is only possible when the wind is blowing toward our trenches and then only in cloudy weather or darkness. A gas attack cannot be carried out when the wind is blowing in the other direction. (2) None need fear a gas attack. The fire of our artillery which in its retired position remains unaffected by the combined fire of our infantry machine guns and hand grenades, breaks up the clouds and prevents the enemy from following it up. Furt

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Appendix 2

H. Q. 2nd Foot Artillery Brigade No. 4 B 430 Secret In the case of a hostile gas attack, in addition to opening the heaviest possible fire, the main effort must be directed toward preventing the gas cloud from reaching our lines, or at any rate breaking it up to such an extent that it is harmless. This result is best obtained by creating upward currents of air which are most easily produced by means of highly inflammable material placed close in front of our position. The most suitable materials

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Appendix 3

H. Q. 2nd Foot Artillery Brigade B No. 430 15 Secret Notes on the protective Measures to be taken in case of a gas attack. 1 PREPARATIONS. (1) Heaps of inflammable materials soaked with paraffin should be placed, if possible, at several points in front of the position. (2) A supply of the above materials should be kept stored in the shelters, so that the fire can be kept burning for about half an hour. (3) Every man should be supplied with special matches or other means of ignition which can be

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CHAPTER XI Spotting

I was to be a lucky man in that there were few branches of the war in which I did not have experience until a German bomb laid me low at Baupaume. I not only got an opportunity to do my country service in the air as a military observer, though it sent me on my first trip to a hospital, but not so very long afterward had the wildest and possibly more thrilling experience in command of one of his Majesty’s ground “dreadnoughts”—the famous tanks. Mind you, I wouldn’t paint myself as so brilliant an

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CHAPTER XII “Razzle Dazzle”

It was at Beaumont-Hamel, about September 16th, that I got my chance to command a “tank.” The dear girl was named “Razzle Dazzle.” She was very young, having been in service only three months, but rather portly. Matter of fact, she weighed something over thirty tons. And in no way could you call the dear little woman pretty. She was a pallid gray and mud-splashed when I got her and there was no grace in the bulging curves of her steel shape. Or of her conical top. Or her ponderous wheels. The fa

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CHAPTER XIII Moquet Farm

The name of Moquet Farm flashes vividly to my memory a night of the bitterest, bloodiest fighting I ever went through. It certainly was the hell of war in its most intensive degree. There were twenty-two hours of continuous fighting with never a minute’s let-up in the gales of deadly missiles. We were holding Orvilles in preparation for the great battle of the Somme and our immediate objective was Thiepval. This Moquet Farm, with its powerful batteries, presented a particular obstacle, for it wa

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CHAPTER XIV Spies

The thoroughness with which Germany in her plotting to conquer Europe, and later the world, had infested every country with spies, the Americas as well as Europe, had organized a system spreading to the antipodes, has been written history for some time. There is no doubt that they managed at the beginning of the war to honeycomb the armies of their opponents with these “informants”—Germany doesn’t like the designation “spies.” Well, in the first place, I can attest to the deftness with which the

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CHAPTER XV “Woodfighting”

If you should ask me what feature of warfare was harder and fiercer than going “over the top” in the lot of an infantryman, there would be no hesitation about my reply—“Woodfighting.” Some of the most deadly contests of the war have been held in the woodlands of the battlefields. And the worst of it was, the British soldier was all but an absolute novice at the game. There was lack of suitable training grounds in England and we had no time for training and preparation once we got into France. We

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CHAPTER XVI The Play Side of War

There has to be a play side. Human nerves could not stand the strain of this modern warfare without some chance to alternate the light and frivolous with the tragedy of the struggle. It is not only that all war and no play would make the soldier a dull boy, but the fact is it would finish him up in short order. Every general recognizes this. It is not a matter of sentiment. It is a matter of business—the business of war. Men cannot absolutely be made into machines and they cannot work well in th

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CHAPTER XVII The Rat in the Night

Butte de Walincourt! Butte de Walincourt on the way to Bapaume! What a great and thrilling story history will have to tell of Butte de Walincourt—merely a hill of one hundred and fifty feet altitude and round as the crown of a Derby hat! The days and days when the blood of fighting men streamed down both sides of that fiercely contested ridge. The Germans never fought more furiously than they did to hold Butte de Walincourt. They protected its flanks and held on to it against magnificent assault

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CHAPTER XVIII The Worst Ordeal

I am convinced that these two Germans I came upon were as greatly surprised as I was. I do not think I had been observed and they sent out after me. In that event, indeed, they would not have traveled together nor directly along the trench path, but would have stalked me and tried to meet me, one on either side. This is a natural plan in such hunts, for when the pursued turns to meet the attack of one man, the other has him at his mercy. But these Huns were together. And we faced one another not

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CHAPTER XIX Blighty

My body was battered, half-frozen, gone altogether helpless, but I am grateful that my mind remained faithful to its task. In fact, it seemed to scorn the state of my body and was extraordinarily clear and acute. Every fact, impression, knowledge of any sort that I had obtained on my venture into the German position arrayed itself neatly and precisely in my thoughts. The Canadians wanted to rush me off immediately on a stretcher, but after the refreshment of a drink of water, I felt quite able t

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CHAPTER XX Honored by the King

There would be little gratitude in me if I did not set down in this story of my experiences the delightful kindnesses and unremitting attentions which came to me after, on the score of a fighting man, I had become useless to my country. For the country certainly wasn’t ungrateful. Famous surgeons were giving attention constantly to the thorough healing and saving of my arm, there followed constant treatments to destroy the paralysis which afflicted it, treatments which promise in time I shall ha

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CHAPTER XXI The Gray Mother

I will close this book with words far nobler and more graceful than any I could pen which speak for the spirit which has brought to England, from East and South and North and West the hundreds of thousands, the millions who have taken up arms for her in this great trial of her future life, her prestige and her honor and for the humanity, democracy and civilization which history grants she has always championed. I got it from an Anzac private crippled for life, as he lay on a hospital cot in Lond

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XI

All through the night it had been touch and go with Brenda. She had undressed and gone to bed, but not to sleep. She had got up, half dressed again, and sat at her open window staring at the silent summer darkness of the garden. Suppose she did it! Suppose she stole out of the house with the few pounds she possessed and sent a telegram to her mother or left a note assuring her that she was alive and well, but could not marry Lothar. It had been done before, and still the world went round. But sh

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