Connecticut western news. [volume] (Salisbury, Litchfield Co., Conn.) 1871-1970, 1918-05-23

and simple that 1t took my breath
away. This is what he proposed:
eff the Boches should use that road
again, to send by the tap system the
target and range. I had previously
told him about our captain talking out
loud as If he were sending through
orders. Well, If this happened, was
to send the dope to Cassell and he
would transmit 1t to the battery COM
mander as officially coming through
the observation post. Then the bat
terry would open up. Afterwards, dur
ing the investigation, Cassell would
swear he received 1t direct. They
would have to relieve him, because 1t
was impossible from his post in the
battery dugout to know that the road
was being used at that time by the
Germans. And also 1t was impossible
for him TO give the target, range and
degrees. You know a battery chart Is
not passed around among the men like
a newspaper from Blighty. From him
the investigation would go to the OBJ
servation post, and the observing off,
Ger could truthfully swear that / had
| not sent the message by phone, and
! that no orders to fire had been issued
by him. The investigators would then
be up In the air, we would be safe, the
Boches would receive a good bashing,
and we would get our own back on Old
Pepper. 1t was too good to be true.
I gleefully fell in with the scheme,
and told Cassell was his meat.
= ~
and watched the captain like a hawk.
"He was beginning to fidget again
and was drumming on the sandbags
with his feet. At last, turning to me,
he said:
Wilson, this army is a blankety
blank washout. What's the use Of hav-
ing artillery If 1t is not allowed to fire?
The government at home ought to be
hanged with some of their red tape.
It's through them that we have no
Shells
\ 81 answered, Yes, sir and started
sending this opinion over the wire to
Cassell, but the captain interrupted
me with:
"Keep those internal fingers still.
What's the matter, getting the nerves?
When Pm talking to you, pay atten-
tion.'
my heart sank. Surprising he had
rumbled that tapping, then all would
! be up with our plan. I stopped drum
ming with my fingers and said:
"'Beg your pardon, sir, just habit
with me-
"'And q ID silly one, too he an
swered, turning to his glasses again,
and knew was safe. He had not
tumbled to the meaning of that tap
ping.
"AIl at once, without turning round,
he exclaimed:
"'Well, of all the nerve I've ever run
across, this takes the cake. Those
! - Boches are using that road
again. Blind my eyes, this time 1t is a
whole brigade of them, transports and
all. What a pretty target for our
ass The beggars know that we
won't fire. A ID shame, call it.
Oh, just for a chance to turn D 238
loose on them
st was trembling with excitement.
From repeated stolen glances at the
! captains range chart, that road with
its range was burned into my mind.
"Over the wire tapped, ID 238 bat
terry, Target IT, Range 5000, 8 degrees
80 minutes, left, salvo, fire. Cassell
o. KID my message, and with the re-
ceiver pressed against my ear, wait
ed and listened. In a couple of min
utes very family over the wire came
the voice of our battery commander
issuing the order: d 238 battery.
Salvol Firer
"Then a roar through the receiver
as the four guns belched forth, a
screaming and whistling overhead, and
the shells were on their way. .,
"The captain jumped as If he were
shot. and let out great big expressive
d|n, and eagerly turned his glasses
in the direction. of the German road.
/ also strained my eyes watching that
target. Four black clouds of dust rose
up right in the middle of the German
column. Four direct hits-another
record for D 238.
1.-THE shells kept on whistling over
head, and I had counted twenty-four
of them when the firing suddenly
ceased. When the smoke and dust
clouds lifted the destruction on that
road was awful. Overturned limbers
and guns, wagons smashed up, troops
fleeing in all directions. The road and
roadside were spotted all over with
little field gray dots, the toll of our
guns.
"The captain in his excitement, had
slipped off the sandbag, and was on
his knees in the mud, the glass still at
his eye. He was muttering to himself
and slapping his thigh with his olsen
gagged hand. At every slap a big
round juicy cuss word would escape
from his lips followed by:
"'Good! Finel Marvellous! Pretty
Work! Direct hits ALL
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