Hello readers
This is a stand alone about Jack's participation in the Battle of Passchendaele (pronounced Pa-shun-dale) 1917. There are a number of references that those of you who read my first fic Providential Heart will recognise but it won't be a problem if you've never read it.
Warning: This is a war story and though I've tried not to make it too graphic (I don't personally like blood and guts) there are some chilling moments that may upset some readers.
If you're wondering about the pic attached to this fanfic; it's a photoshopped picture of a young Nathan Page.
I hope you like it. Please leave a review, they are more important than you realise.
PS sorry to all the people who have been really hating Rosie. Remember, Jack once loved her very much. That's why he married her.
xxxx
12th October 1917
Front line outside Passchendaele
Jack Robinson was hunched in the tiny dugout, ankle deep in muddy water (despite the hard working pump) and ignoring the steady drip running down his back. He had become so accustomed to the smell of the dank mud, rotting human waste and unwashed bodies that he hardly noticed them and struggled to read his letter in the flickering light of a small lantern.
29 September 1917
Mr Darling Jack
After not hearing from you for so many months, three of your letters arrived this morning. I love the way you write a little every day. It was such a relief to know that you are thinking of me so often. Dearest, I think of you every moment of every day too, especially as I fall asleep at night wishing that I could hear the sound of your breathing and feel your arms around me.
I think though, that one of your letters may have gone astray between the one dated 29th June and the one you wrote on 14th July, because you say nothing of your promotion. It was reported in 'The Argus' last week as "To be Lieutenant-2nd Lieutenant J.D. Robinson". I am so proud of you my darling and now Bettina Sims can stop boasting about her husband the Temporary Lieutenant. She said congratulations very prettily but I think she was a little green. You must write again soon and tell me all about it so that I can tell all our friends.
I have shut up the house and gone to stay with Father. I have been very lonely lately and he needs me to act as hostess -Sylvia was as usual, making a mess of it. We hosted a dinner for the new Deputy Chief Commissioner last week. You remember Howard Roach don't you, from Russell St. His wife is a charming little thing, she was most complimentary about my table.
I am so lonely without you my sweet husband, I wish we had been able to start our family before you left, it would have been a great comfort to me. Imagine how proud I would have been to introduce you to our handsome son or pretty daughter when you finally arrived home. I am sure that I will be a wonderful mother. All my friend's babies simply adore me and I can get Hilda Jenson's little boy to mind me when no one else can.
The weeping cherry that you planted in the front garden has just started to...
The lantern's light was starting to flicker. Jack checked his pocket watch; thirty-five minutes past three o'clock. Less than two hours before dawn. He carefully tucked the timepiece away before patting his pockets to check that his whistle and flash light were secure. The lantern gave its last as he tenderly kissed his wife's adieu (Your ever loving Rosie), folded it and slid the paper back into his top pocket to sit safely with the letter that he'd written earlier.
Jack settled back against the wall of the dugout, angling his tin hat to shield his face from the dripping water. Last night they had received word from HQ; there was to be a big push at dawn. Lt. Robinson was ordered to capture the Western end of the village of Passchendaele though, in the quiet, intelligent back of his mind, Jack knew it was a fool's errand. No-man's-land was a thick and muddy morass, knee deep in many places with very little in the way of cover. The rise that had once stood in front of where they we're dug in, had long since been blown apart by the heavy artillery.
Idly, the young lieutenant let himself become aware of the heavy barrage that had been going over his head off and on all night. His ears were pretty much deaf to the growl and boom and the shaking ground seemed almost natural. It had been raining almost constantly in recent weeks... or was it months? Supplies were having trouble getting through. Ammunition was running low, he hoped there would be enough for the morning. Jack himself was down to the last box and a half of bullets for his Webley, a situation that was making him distinctly uneasy.
By strange coincidence, the big guns suddenly felt silent. In the dark, the sudden absence of noise was rather unsettling. Gradually, as Jack's eyes stared blindly around he picked up reassuring signs of the other inhabitants of the dugout. Two or three heavy breathers; that would be his fellow Lieutenants, Hanson and West and probably one of the new chum 2nd Lieutenants. Sinclair? It was hard to keep up with the new names. He was fairly sure that the person coughing and mumbling in his sleep was the other new chum, Brooks. The weary Lieutenant envied them the oblivion of their sleep.
A match strike and brilliant flare opposite him, caught Jack's empty gaze and he discovered he wasn't the only one unable to sleep. In silence he watched Captain Young lighting the bowl of his pipe. The sweet scent of good tobacco filled the tiny space, fought the omnipresent stench and was quickly defeated; but for the briefest of moments, Jack felt safe and warm in the embrace of that dark space. Then the Artillery started up again and the moment was lost.
Casually scratching at a festering louse bite behind his ear, Jack focused his mind on a more agreeable subject.
When Rosie's parcel had arrived yesterday it had been a double cause for celebration. Not only was there her letter, warm and loving in its ordinariness; something precious to be hoarded close to his heart. It was a also a link to home, to be jealously guarded as he memorised each passage and shared it (in bite sized pieces) with his fellow Lieutenants. Equally as cherished were the welcome comforts the parcel had supplied (mercifully intact and unmolested).
Straight away Jack had handed over two packets of plain chocolate to one of the Battalion medics; an anonymous gift to some of the young men who were suffering the most in their separation from home. He had rather guilty kept the third packet himself and had already allowed himself a small nibble at one corner. One of the pairs of thick woollen socks had instantly replaced his last rotting pair and the other pair... Jack's fingers slipped inside his shirt to stroke the warm wool... was secure for another day.
The last two items were also pure luxury; a tin of Dudgeon and Arnell's plug tobacco for his pipe and (most precious of all) a bottle of Heinz Tomato Relish. Any man who has lived for weeks on bully beef, corned meat and hard biscuit knows the value of a strong relish. Jack was prepared to protect that particular item with his life and he felt no compunction to share it with anyone else.
The short time before assembly drifted by as Jack concentrated on thoughts of his wife. Pretty Rosie, with her glossy curls, soft eyes and bubbling laugh, she was so far removed from this hell, untainted by the memories and the stench of death. Jack's mind automatically shied away from the knowledge that he had little hope of seeing his Rosie again and instead thought longingly of the sweet oblivion to be found in her arms.
Fumbling for his flash light, Jack checked his pocket watch again for the hundredth time. Eleven minutes before five o'clock. The men around him were beginning to stir. Captain Young lit a lantern and Jack flinched as the light assaulted his eyes. Jack quickly checked his pistol was loaded and ready and his long field knife was secure on his hip before standing to shake his mates' hands before moving, hunched over, to his trench at the end of the dugout. Just before he stepped out into the chill air, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to face the Captain.
"Go with God Lieutenant."
"Thank you Sir." Jack saluted quickly and received one return before he and 2nd Lieutenant Brooks moved out to rouse the Sergeant.
xxxx
The rain beat down on the miserable men as they lined the trench. Lieutenant Robinson was standing on the first rung of a ladder; watch in one hand whistle clenched between his lips, and pistol loaded and ready. He glanced quickly around him in both directions and saw exactly what he expected. Those men, the seasoned ones like him, who had accepted that their life was over (it was just a matter of where and when the end would come) were pale but resolute. The others, mainly the younger chaps, were various shades of green and shaking. Some praying, others standing in silence; checking their weapon, kissing photos of mothers, wives and sweetheart. Somewhere out of sight was the sound of someone being sick.
Lieutenant Robinson's eyes returned to the hands of his watch, minutes and seconds ticking down to the end. The rain continued as someone beside him tried to shield a match enough to light their cigarette. The barrage of Artillery ceased and silence rushed in. They may as well put a bloody sign up saying 'Attack Imminent'. Jack shook his head, as he had many times before, and cursed the elite British officers and their rules of engagement.
Twenty-three minutes past the hour, he nodded to Sergeant Piggott. "Two minutes!" The men scrambled to secure their belongings.
Twenty-four minutes past the hour, he nodded again. "Fix Bayonets!" Piggott's shout was repeated along the trench and the metallic click of bayonets being fitted to their housings was like the rattle of a distant machine gun.
The men were ready, standing almost calm, lips mumbling their last prayers.
Seconds now;
14
13
12
11...
The rain stopped. Startled Jack looked at the sky, feeling as if time had somehow stopped. He was back to his watch in moments:
5
4
3
2
1
He blew the whistle as he pocketed his watch and started to climb the ladder. Men rose with him roaring their determination; other whistles were shrilling, echoing his as he rallied the men forward. Lt. Robinson was over the parapet in seconds, on his knees as the mud slowed him down but he quickly struggled free to stand, a clear target, whistle still blowing as rest of the men emerged to join him.
The Artillery resumed, falling only yards ahead of the line, just far enough ahead to shield them from the enemy. They struggled forward, straining to free their legs from the sucking mud. Jack was hardly aware of the men screaming and falling around him, desperate calls for the stretcher bearers and medic's simply blended together in the background. All Jack could only hear his laboured breathing, his heart pounding and the whistle screaming as he focused on the 1000 yards they had to cover. A soldier moved in front of him and his head literally exploded; Jack hardly noticed the near miss as he frantically wiped the blood from his eyes and continued to move towards their target.
But the mud was causing them to slow, the men could not keep up with the Artillery and they were being mowed down by the Kraut machine guns. Jack took to searching out craters where soldiers were pinned down or huddled in fear and physically dragging them up and out to continue on their way. More than once he found the soldier he was hauling was dead by the time they were in the open. It was only later that he thought to marvel that the bullets had come so near and yet had barely touched him.
He stumbled across a private, only his head just clear of the sucking quagmire, bubbling his fear as he started to drown. Jack, holstered his pistol and used both hands to release the man, straining to pull him free. The memory of the moment when he discovered that the black mud was the only thing holding the young man together, would haunt Jack's nightmares for the rest of his life; he was already moving forward again by the time the boy breathed his last.
The big English guns were silent now as the soldiers arrived at the point of their furthest reach and began to try and work their way through the rolls of barbed wire surrounding the town. The momentum of the Battalion had now slowed to a lethal pace, bodies were starting to pile up and ammo was running short. Lieutenant Robinson was desperately searching for a solution when the rain returned and began bucketing down.
xxxx
Note:
Passchendaele – rural Belgian village (West Flanders province).
Dugout – underground shelter or bunker usually connecting 2 trenches.
Letters from the front – these were notoriously unreliable. Not only was the post irregular, it had to pass the censors before it could be sent on. Parcels and letters from home would often go astray, especially as people often didn't know where their loved ones were. Rats were also a problem (the human kind). They would often steal the contents of the parcels before they reached the front line.
The Argus – Main Melbourne newspaper.
Lieutenant - In Australia we say Lef-ten-nant.
Long dates between Jack's letters to Rosie – often men tended to write their letters diary style (a little bit each day).
Rosie's table - Rosie was being complimented on her table decorations and the menu not the quality of the furniture.
Pocket watch – officers were gentlemen and had pocket watches (wrist watches were not in common use until the 1920's).
Webley Revolver – MkVI used a .455 calibre cartridge. They were a standard issue pistol during the Great War.
Tin Hat – tin soldiers helmet.
Dudgeon and Arnell's plug tobacco – most men smoked during the war. Cigarettes or tobacco for the officers were a basic part of rations. As an officer, Jack would have smoked a pipe. Plug tobacco is a large clump of tobacco that is sticky with natural resin.
1000 yards – Just under 1km