Coppermine (47 page)

“Even in the midst of all this, there were ways to survive. But I had lost a lot of men. Far too many for what land we had gained and then often lost again. With each operation I found myself more hardened to the losses. My emotions were bulletproof and unreachable. I knew that this would be a challenge in the future, but after Ypres and Kitcheners’ Wood it had become my means of survival. Like Blackborough with his opiates and Banes with his hockey, we had all found some means to live day to day.”

Angi listened in studied silence, catching most of the story, trying to make sense of it, trying to place him in this bizarre world. He was deeply wounded, she knew, and she was staying quiet, trying to assess the best treatment, letting him continue so she could understand.

“Just before another barrage was scheduled to start, I walked the trench to see how the men were doing. Some jokes, some encouragement. I told Banes to give the order to fix bayonets. That night I estimated fifteen to twenty percent casualties. I was confident my men would go over the top at the appropriate time. The French had begun to shoot their men for refusing orders. The British too executed their deserters. Whether too stupid, too scared, or too eager, the Canadians hadn’t recorded any executions yet for ‘failure to obey.’ So I could count on them to carry out orders, but still I felt I had to maintain their confidence in me, to keep the casualties as low as possible, if not for emotional reasons then for practical ones.

“I remember the mortars were positioned two hundred yards behind us and the shelling began. We’d press our bodies against the wall of the trench, feeling the impact eighty yards away through the earth. I remember thinking at least we had thirty minutes before we went over the top. Thirty minutes to remember the life lived, the girls kissed. But Captain Blackborough had other plans.

“Twenty minutes into the barrage, down the line, the new captain called out the order to prepare to attack. I turned toward him and checked my watch. Blackborough shouted his order to advance! No one moved. I ran down the line to where Blackborough stood in the widest section of the trench. I shouted at him over the pounding of the mortars.

“‘We’ve got another ten minutes of this, sir! Then we go.’

“I remember the captain’s eyes were wild and he had his revolver out and it worried me the way he waved it around. His adjutant McFee stood defensively beside him as if used to this dangerous behaviour.

“‘That’s what they expect! We go now! Surprise them!’ he yelled at me.

“The accuracy of the British and Canadian mortars had improved in recent months, but the German trenches were only eighty yards away and often shells would land far short.

“I told him, ‘Sir, it’s a bad idea.’

“‘Are you questioning an order, Sergeant MacKay?’

“‘It’s almost over, sir. Wait a few more minutes or we’ll lose men to our own barrage.’

“‘Are you a coward, Sergeant? All right, men! Advance!’

“Not a man moved. They looked at me. I remember Blackborough’s angry, glistening face.

“‘Do you hear me? I said attack!
Attack!’

“His face was red. And again I waited and my men did not move.

“The mortars were firing so fast, a ‘short’ was inevitable. A shell fell forty yards from our forward trench and right behind it another at less than thirty. We would have lost half a dozen men to them alone if I had obeyed Blackborough’s initial order. But still the fool screamed his order to advance.

“At that point there were two ways for it to go: Blackborough would back down until the end of the bombardment or the confrontation between us would escalate. Blackborough made his choice. He pointed his heavy revolver at me and yelled, ‘Order your men to attack!’

“‘No, sir.’

“The pistol trembled. ‘You will do what I say!’

“I figured there were only a few more minutes until the shelling stopped. I closed my eyes for a moment, willing the big mortars to silence and all this would go away. But they didn’t stop.

“I opened my eyes again and Blackborough had turned the revolver away from me and grabbed a young private by the name of McEwen, a good kid who got letters every week from a girl in Sudbury. He put his pistol to McEwen’s head and looked at me. ‘Order the raid!’

“‘Yes, sir! Please be careful!’ I shouted at him.

“Private McEwen was terrified. I remember he had closed his eyes, his lips moved in prayer. I turned to my men and commanded, ‘All ready!’ Each of my men knew what was being asked, but they would do it for me.

“‘I’ll order it, sir! Let McEwen go.’

“‘No, Sergeant! First … attack!’

“‘Please, sir. Be careful with that—’

“‘I said attack!’

“When Blackborough spoke the word, the Webley in his hand gave a kick, the shot unheard by most of us against the shellfire. McEwen’s thin body fell down onto the muddy duckboards, blood flowing from a hole in his temple, dead before his knees touched the ground. I remember Blackborough staring down at the crumpled body as if the boy had offended him.

“The truth is, in that time since Charlie’s death, I had been a little worried about myself. Sometimes my mind would go completely blank. Other times I found I had to resist impulses to poke my head up above the trench for a while, or take off all my clothes and stand facing the German snipers. Sometimes I had the impulse to pull pins from grenades and put them back in my pocket. I resisted these irrational behaviours for the most part, but I didn’t resist the sudden and satisfying impulse to kill Blackborough. Before he knew it, I had knocked the revolver away and my hands were around his throat. I had him head down beside McEwen in the mud and I was squeezing the life out of this man with everything I had. I’ve never made a clearer choice. I killed Blackborough. It was the right thing to do.”

CREED SHIVERED.
His eyes were moist and his hands trembled. Angituk put her arms around him to keep him warm and calm because she knew he had to get the story out, like a bad spirit inside him. She nodded and hugged him for a silent moment. Then she told him, “Go on.”

“I was surprised that I could kill a man like that. Also that Blackborough died so quickly. And also that no one stopped me. No one even tried.

“Well, that’s not true. The Irish corporal, McFee, the adjutant, he tried. When I attacked his officer, he screamed and attempted to grab a rifle, but Banes disarmed him. I guess other soldiers helped because, when I was finished with Blackborough, McFee’s hands were tied behind him and my soldiers held him there, on his knees.

“I remember McFee shouting at me, ‘You killed him!’ I remember we all stood there for a moment like a tableau, the big mortars still sending shells from behind us, the illumination from the hits so close along the German trenches that we were silhouetted. Then, as we stared down at the dead officer, Corporal Banes told me, ‘Look, John, it’s not a problem. We just drag the body with us when we go over the top. Just another body. No one’ll know.’

“But I remember looking at McFee. He was terrified. Banes came closer, gestured to McFee, and told me, ‘Same thing.’ McFee knew what was up. He was whimpering loud enough to hear between the exploding shells. I shook my head at Banes.

“‘No,’ I told him.

“Banes moved closer to me and said, ‘Look, John. Every soldier here is behind you. That bastard had it coming, and that’s what we’d all say. But on the books, with this guy testifying, it’s you killing an officer, and they won’t take it kindly. They’ll shoot you for it, John, sure as a pussy’s a cat. So I figure in a couple minutes, when the bullets start, we just hold him up, right? Hold him up till he takes a couple. Problem solved. We get through the penalty.’

“But I told him I couldn’t do it. I told him to let him go.

“Banes was very disappointed. ‘Really? Don’t you want to think about this?’

“I told him to let him go. The soldiers released McFee. Banes cut the rope around his wrists. I told McFee to get out of there. He was panicked, looking down at Blackborough’s body, his eyes wild, then at me. He asked if I would shoot him and I told him again to run. The Irishman finally got it and ran like a maniac down the supply trench heading southwest. I knew he’d make a left at the St. Catherine’s trench and head straight toward the high command. It was at that moment the mortars fell chillingly silent. Up and down the front lines came the orders as men lined up to attack.

“I shouted out for them to get ready. The bodies of Blackborough and McEwen still lay crumpled on the duckboards. I remember Banes was watching me. He asked if I was all right and I told him, ‘No, Frank. I’m fucked. But maybe it won’t matter.’ Then I ordered the advance.

“When we scrambled over the top, there was no opposing gunfire. The shelling had had the desired effect. I had my revolver drawn. We started on our hands and knees, but then I quickly rose to my feet and led them at a full run. I remember wondering what fate would bring. The gods of the battlefield would be more benevolent than an army court martial for murder of an officer. We covered most of the eighty yards to the German line with my men behind me, without losing a single one. I wondered if the shelling could have been this effective. I knew the German trenches would be deep and give good cover, but for a moment I wanted to believe, as all soldiers want to believe, that either the enemy was dead or the objective had been abandoned.

“There was a rise up to the trenches with a slight hollow just before. The barbed wire had been cut and blown open by the mortar rounds and there were several clear passages. I scrambled through the wire and up just below the lip of the trench and opened the sack on my belt to get the Mills bombs. I turned and gestured for my men to move up—they were still some distance behind. As I found the grenades and pulled the pins with my teeth, I heard a whispered German voice close by, just beyond the mound of earth. Then the clink of a bolt released in the magazine of a heavy machine gun. A flare ignited above us and there were explosions inches above my head: the German belt- fed Maxim was in place and firing. I had been too slow with the Mills. Too slow.

“I had one bomb in each hand and lobbed them into the trench on either side of the gun. I heard my men screaming. I buried my face in the dirt and waited the three seconds while the German gun fired over me. I could see it passing across the field and returning to finish. How many would die in those three seconds because I had been late?

“My two grenade detonations sounded flat by artillery standards, but they were directly on target. The gun stopped and the screams came then from the German side. I remember standing up and climbing to the lip to look down. Two dozen German soldiers had been massing behind the machine gun crew for a counterattack. My grenades had killed most in the packed trench, the Mills cutting through them, shredding limbs and bodies with their arcs of razor-sharp shrapnel. I stood there for a moment staring down at the carnage of shattered bodies I had created. I checked up and down the German line, where there was the sound of other battles under way But here now, in this place, it was quiet. Peaceful.

“I turned around and looked down on my own men behind me. They lay across the rise in a uniform line. All fourteen shot. What were the chances of me leading them point-blank into a new machine gun nest? The first pass of the Maxim had wounded or killed most of them. The second pass had finished them off. The impressive efficiency of the Maxim had been no less than that of the Mills bombs. I remember thinking that we had, both sides, brought killing to an art form.

“I checked each man. Bailey … Cassidy … Caravaggio … Schmidt … young Mallory, only a week with us … the older Preston, too old really for infantry. Now it didn’t matter. When I found Banes, his lips were still moving. He had taken two heavy bullets in the stomach—they had passed through, opening up his back. I knelt down beside him, put my face close to his, and told him I was there. He said to me in a whisper, ‘You know something, John, I don’t want to kill people anymore. I’ve had enough of it.’

“And I said, ‘Okay. That’s fine, Frank.’

“He couldn’t focus his eyes, but he gripped my arm and tried to speak. He said, ‘John? Listen …’ He licked his bloody lips and concentrated on forming the words for me. He said, ‘You … gotta get away from here. Get as far away as you can. It’s enough.’ I told him okay, but he continued. ‘No, John, I mean it,’ he struggled to tell me. ‘Game misconduct … You’re out of the game. Don’t even look back. Far away as you can imagine … far as you can dream. Promise it.’

“I promised him. Moments later he was gone. I remember standing and walking back up to the edge of the trench. There had been other successful Allied raids by Canadians and British farther up, at least where I could see. In front of me, fighting was still under way. A bullet whizzed by my ear. I looked down at the German dead, studied them a moment, then back at my own men. I felt alone. I wanted to join them. But Frank’s words kept repeating themselves: ‘Get away. Far as you can dream.’

“The truth was, there was no reason to stay. No more men to lead. No more enemy to fight. And then I was suddenly taken by one of my old impulses, and this time I did not resist. It just made all the sense. I took off my helmet first, then my webbing, belt, and jacket. I bent down to unlace my boots and unravel my puttees. I slid out of my suspenders, dropped my pants, and stepped out of them. When I was finished, I stood there naked, my fish-belly body glowing in the light from a lone phosphorous flare that still drifted above the carnage of the battlefield. I was a translucent target without any takers.

“Then I heard my brother’s voice as clear as if he was standing beside me: ‘Come on, Johnny. This way! Let’s go see.’ And I began to walk through no man’s land toward the northwest with a sense of freedom … of impunity. There were pockets of fighting, exchanges of gunfire. Further on, a dozen Allied soldiers passed in front of me on a raid. As I watched, German riflemen began to fire on them. They fell back and began to return fire within a few yards of me. I simply walked through the battle.

“A few soldiers stared at me as I passed. A few raised their rifles, but they couldn’t tell what side I was on and I was obviously not armed. They all let me pass.