Pushed and the Return Push

Pushed and the Return Push, by
Quex

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Title: Pushed and the Return Push
Author: Quex
Release Date: August 15, 2007 [EBook #22324]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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* * * * *

Pushed
AND
The Return Push

* * * * *

Pushed
AND
The Return Push
BY
QUEX
William Blackwood and Sons Edinburgh and London 1919

To the Memory of LIEUT.-COL. AUSTIN THORP, C.M.G., D.S.O.,
R.A., WHO COMMANDED THE 82ND BRIGADE, R.F.A., IN
FRANCE, FROM DECEMBER 1915 TO OCTOBER 1918.
KILLED IN ACTION AT BEAUSIES ON OCTOBER 30, 1918.

CONTENTS.
PUSHED. PAGE I. BEFORE THE ATTACK 3
II. "THE BOCHE IS THROUGH!" 13
III. THE END OF A BATTERY 24
IV. THE NIGHT OF MARCH 21 35
V. A GUNNER'S V.C. 42
VI. BEHIND VILLEQUIER AUMONT 49
VII. STILL IN RETREAT 60
VIII. A LAST FIFTY ROUNDS 65
IX. FASTER AND FASTER 71
X. THE SCRAMBLE AT VARESNES 83
XI. THE G IN GAP 93
XII. OUT OF THE WAY 101
THE RETURN PUSH.
I. THE DEFENCE OF AMIENS 111
II. THE RED-ROOFED HOUSE 119
III. AN AUSTRALIAN "HAND-OVER" 129
IV. HAPPY DAYS! 137
V. BEFORE THE GREAT ATTACK 146

VI. THE BATTLE OF AUGUST 8 153
VII. SHORT LEAVE TO PARIS 163
VIII. TRONES WOOD AGAIN 178
IX. DOWN THE ROAD TO COMBLES 188
X. A MASTERLY TURNING MOVEMENT 203
XI. ON THE HEELS OF THE BOCHE 211
XII. THE MAJOR'S LOST PIPE 221
XIII. NURLU AND LIERAMONT 227
XIV. THE FIGHT FOR RONSSOY 243
XV. "ERNEST" IS LOST 258
XVI. THE DECISIVE DAYS 274
XVII. WITH THE AMERICANS 283
XVIII. A LAST DAY AT THE O.P. 303
XIX. "THE COLONEL----" 326

PUSHED

I. BEFORE THE ATTACK.
By means of a lorry lift from railhead, and a horse borrowed from the
Divisional Ammunition Column, I found Brigade Headquarters in a
village that the Germans had occupied before their retreat in the spring
of 1917.

The huge, red-faced, grey-haired adjutant, best of ex-ranker officers,
welcomed me on the farmhouse steps with a hard handshake and a
bellowing "Cheerio!" followed by, "Now that you're back, I can go on
leave."
In the mess the colonel gave me kindly greeting, and told me
something of the Brigade's ups and downs since I had left France in
August 1917, wounded at Zillebeke: how all the old and well-tried
battery commanders became casualties before 1917 was out, but how,
under young, keen, and patiently selected leaders, the batteries were
working up towards real efficiency again. Then old "Swiffy," the
veterinary officer, came in, and the new American doctor, who
appeared armed with two copies of the 'Saturday Evening Post.' It was
all very pleasant; and the feeling that men who had got to know you
properly in the filthy turmoil and strain of Flanders were genuinely
pleased to see you again, produced a glow of real happiness. I had, of
course, to go out and inspect the adjutant's new charger--a big rattling
chestnut, conceded to him by an A.S.C. major. A mystery gift, if ever
there was one: for he was a handsome beast, and chargers are getting
very rare in France. "They say he bucks," explained the adjutant. "He'll
go for weeks as quiet as a lamb, and then put it across you when you
don't expect it. I'm going to put him under treatment."
"Where's my groom?" he roared. Following which there was elaborate
preparation of a weighted saddle--not up to the adjutant's 15 stone 5,
but enough to make the horse realise he was carrying something; then
an improvised lunging-rope was fashioned, and for twenty minutes the
new charger had to do a circus trot and canter, with the adjutant as a
critical and hopeful ringmaster. In the end the adjutant mounted and
rode off, shouting that he would be back in half an hour to report on the
mystery horse's preliminary behaviour.
Then the regimental