The Diary of a U-boat Commander | Page 3

which surround Verdun, and we are
attacking the place from three directions. On the north we are slowly
forcing the French back on either river bank--a very costly proceeding,
as each wing must advance an equal amount, or the one that advances
is enfiladed from across the river.
We are also slowly creeping forward from the east and north-east in the
direction of Douaumont.
I am attached to a 105-cm. battery, a young Major von Markel in
command, a most charming fellow. I spent all to-day in the advanced
observing position with a young subaltern called Grabel, also a nice
young fellow. I was in position at 6 a.m., and, as apparently is common
here, mist hides everything from view until the sun attains a certain
strength. Our battery was supporting the attack on the north side of the
river, though the battery itself was on the south side, and firing over a
hill called L'Homme Mort.
Von Markel told me that the fighting here has not been previously
equalled in the war, such is the intensity of the combat and the price
each side is paying.
I could see for myself that this was so, and the whole atmosphere of the
place is pregnant with the supreme importance of this struggle, which
may well be the dying convulsions of decadent France.
His Imperial Majesty himself has arrived on the scene to witness the
final triumph of our arms, and all agree that the end is imminent.
Once we get Verdun, it is the general opinion that this portion of the
French front will break completely, carrying with it the adjacent sectors,
and the French Armies in the Vosges and Argonne will be committed
to a general retreat on converging lines.
But, favourable as this would be to us, it is generally considered here
that the fall of Verdun will break the moral resistance of the French

nation.
The feeling is, that infinitely more is involved than the capture of a
French town, or even the destruction of a French Army; it is a question
of stamina; it is the climax of the world war, the focal point of the
colossal struggle between the Latin and the Teuton, and on the
battlefields of Verdun the gods will decide the destinies of nations.
When I got to the forward observing position, which was situated
among the ruins of a house, a most amazing noise made conversation
difficult.
The orchestra was in full blast and something approaching 12,000
pieces of all sizes were in action on our side alone, this being the
greatest artillery concentration yet effected during the war.
We were situated on one side of a valley which ran up at right angles to
the river, whose actual course was hidden by mist, which also obscured
the bottom of our valley. The front line was down in this little valley,
and as I arrived we lifted our barrage on to the far hill-side to cover an
attack which we were delivering at dawn.
Nothing could be seen of the conflict down below, but after half an
hour we received orders to bring back our barrage again, and Grabel
informed me that the attack had evidently failed. This afternoon I heard
that it was indeed so, and that one division (the 58th), which had tried
to work along the river bank and outflank the hill, had been caught by a
concentration of six batteries of French 75's, which were situated across
the river. The unfortunate 58th, forced back from the river-side, had
heroically fought their way up the side of the hill, only to encounter our
barrage, which, owing to the mist, we thought was well above and
ahead of where they would be.
Under this fresh blow the 58th had retired to their trenches at the
bottom of the small valley. As the day warmed up the mist disappeared,
and, like a theatre curtain, the lifting of this veil revealed the whole
scene in its terrible and yet mechanical splendour.

I say mechanical, for it all seemed unreal to me. I knew I should not see
cavalry charges, guns in the open, and all the old-world panoply of war,
but I was not prepared for this barren and shell-torn circle of hills,
continually being freshly, and, to an uninformed observer, aimlessly
lashed by shell fire.
Not a man in sight, though below us the ground was thickly strewn
with corpses. Overhead a few aeroplanes circled round amidst balls of
white shell bursts.
During the day the slow-circling aeroplanes (which were artillery
observing machines) were galvanized into frightful activity by the
sudden appearance of a fighting machine on one side or the other; this
happened several times; it reminded me of a pike amongst young trout.
After lunch I saw a Spad shot