Our Great Hearted Men Read online

  Contents

  List of Maps

  Chapter 1Michael

  Chapter 2Sharpening the tools

  Chapter 3An enormous intellect

  Chapter 4The physical audacity

  Chapter 5. . . so I drove over them

  Chapter 6. . . the finest fighting day I have yet had

  Chapter 7. . . the enemy’s inevitable reaction

  Chapter 8Our horses hated it and whimpered

  Chapter 9. . . an ignorant, wonderful lot of fools

  Chapter 10. . . a stunning achievement

  Chapter 11. . . some damn good men amongst them

  Chapter 12. . . one dead man to every 2 yards of trench

  Chapter 13The equal of any

  Chapter 14. . . great-hearted men

  Photo Section

  Acknowledgements

  Bibliography

  Appendix I: Classification of BEF Field Artillery

  Appendix II: Conference of 31st July, 1918

  Appendix III: Letter, Bean to White, 28 June 1918

  Abbreviations

  Endnotes

  Index

  About the Author

  Copyright

  List of Maps

  The Western Front, March 1918

  Operation Michael

  Hamel, 4 July 1918

  Battle of Amiens, 8 August 1918

  Amiens, 9–11 August 1918

  The Pursuit, 22–29 August 1918

  Frontal Attack, 29 August 1918

  Mont St Quentin, 31 August 1918

  Mont St Quentin—Péronne, 1 September 1918

  Mont St Quentin—Péronne, 1–5 September 1918

  The Hindenburg Line

  The Outpost Line Attack, 18 September 1918

  The Hindenburg Line, 29 September 1918

  The Australian Corps—Ground Captured

  CHAPTER 1

  Michael

  Lieutenant George Mitchell, 48th Battalion, Saturday 23 March 1918:

  Order to prepare to move. I stand in the sun. A stout, old Frenchman sows his field, broadcasting steadily up and down. All with us is activity. What matter the personal shock of combat to him. I anticipate it all. The roar of shells, the wounds, the stink of explosives, and the eternal yabbering of machine guns. The farmer steadily goes on with his sowing. We go to the reaping.1

  By March 1918 Lieutenant George Mitchell and many veterans of the First AIF had, during a succession of bloody and costly battles, confronted their ‘reaping’ for nearly three devastating years. Mitchell, and many like him, had despaired of their chances of seeing home again. And yet as volunteers they had a quiet, resigned acceptance of their fate:

  England is England . . . I want something that I have not got . . . The return to Australia is unreal, and, after all, do we really desire to go back without the laurel crowning of Victory? Better death than final defeat . . . You may never know what home is unless you pay the price of the learning . . . Great battles that we fought through are forgotten in the stormy host. Our pals went under. ‘And the old days never will come again.’ . . . New battles came. We lived. Yet more battles. We still live. And the future holds visions of more and more strife . . . We will meet our fates with good grace, for it is written in the Book of Eternity.2

  As Mitchell left for the front on 23 March 1918, he was destined to face a part of the final major German offensive of the war—and a near calamity. He could not have contemplated that later, within a mere 100 days, the Allies would turn a desperate defence of the British Expeditionary Force’s (BEF) very survival on the Western Front into a comprehensive victory.

  This is the story of arguably the First AIF’s finest hour—five elite divisions together at last as a united corps, under its own experienced, astute leadership and commanded by an Australian general whose considerable appreciation of the science of war, coupled with studied innovation, an understanding of logistics, and minute planning, would prove brilliant.

  ***

  At the onset of the winter of 1917–18, as both sides considered the future of the Great War, one concept, embodied in one word, dominated their thoughts—manpower.

  Since late August 1916 General Erich Ludendorff had, as Field Marshal Hindenburg’s Chief of Staff, exerted the prime influence upon the German conduct of the war. Tall, red-faced, with cropped hair and a monocle, and possessing a heavy physique, Ludendorff had a typical Prussian officer appearance that belied his humble background: he had not risen through the ranks by the accident of birth or the cultivation of influence, but by hard work and merit.

  On 11 November 1917 at a conference at Mons, Ludendorff had to make a critical decision. Although Russia had been knocked out of the war and German troops and equipment were being rapidly transferred to the Western Front at a rate of some two divisions a week, that encouraging news was counter-balanced by a number of grim realities: 1917 had seen the German Army suffer over 1 million killed;3 the strategy of unrestricted submarine warfare had failed, and failed to such an extent that it had brought the United States into the war; and the ongoing British blockade of Germany had been far more effective, and had resulted in acute food and fuel shortages that were undermining morale at home, and as a consequence, political discontent and strikes were becoming more prevalent.

  Time was the key. Ludendorff understood that other than the injection of divisions currently arriving from Russia to the Western Front, his only other source of manpower would be those males reaching military age in 1918. Late in 1917 Ludendorff had possessed around 150 divisions against the Allies’ 175. By March 1918, using his divisions arriving from the Eastern Front, he anticipated that he could deploy 192 divisions to the Allies’ 173 on the Western Front.4 Any German offensive in 1918 would therefore have to be delivered in the spring, before the American build-up of troops would eventually overpower his army. This sudden and rapid accumulation of German troops would facilitate one, and only one, substantial offensive—there would be no second chances. Knowing that he could now concentrate his force, and having determined the timing of the offensive, Ludendorff was then faced with a key strategic and tactical challenge.

  He had always considered the British to be the ‘driving force of the Entente, and the offensive must therefore be directed against them’.5 Thus, three plans to attack the BEF were examined: the first was against its junction with the French near the German-occupied town of St Quentin (codenamed Michael); the second was at Arras (codenamed Mars); and the third envisaged an attack in the Ypres area to the north (codenamed George). Despite differing opinions of some members of both his staff and those commanders about to undertake the operation, Ludendorff chose Michael, because he rightly believed that this was where the British front was stretched, undermanned and therefore most vulnerable, and that the ground on which that operation was to be fought might dry out quicker than the other two options. His strategic aim was to break through the British front, swing in a north-westerly direction and either destroy the BEF in battle or force its evacuation to the Channel ports. He ordered plans for all three alternatives to be made, so as to conceal his intention from the British, but also to facilitate other options should the operation become stalled. If, by Great War standards, Operation Michael was an ambitious strategic plan, its tactical execution would fly in the face of all previous doctrine—of either side.

  Ludendorff’s choice of his three army commanders was astute. In the north, General Otto von Below and his Seventeenth Army were tasked with the capture of Bapaume; in the centre General von Marwitz’s Second Army was to capture Péronne; and General von Hutier’s Eighteenth Army was to penetrate the British line at St Quentin, capture the town of Ham, and then provide flank protection as von Below and von Marwitz’s armies thrust right (t
owards the north-west). All three had earnt Ludendorff’s trust: von Below had served under him in 1914 and had—among other notable successes—only a month before the conference at Mons, been the victor against the Italians at Caporetto (October–November 1917); von Marwitz had planned and executed the brilliant counter-attack against the British at Cambrai; and von Hutier, after a most impressive Western Front record, had further enhanced his reputation with the capture of Riga on the Eastern Front (3 September 1917). Thus, all three German Army commanders possessed not only sound long-term records, but highly impressive recent ones.

  As with any Western Front offensive, a vital component of the operation would be the artillery. To plan that support for Michael, Ludendorff chose Oberst (Colonel) Georg Bruchmüller, whose skills had been first recognised prior to the German attack on Verdun in 1916, and had, since that time, been the artillery advisor to the Supreme Commander on the Western Front. The first prerequisite for success would be surprise, and that meant there must be studied staff work to disguise both the build-up of men and matériel, and, importantly, there could be no preliminary artillery bombardment. Bruchmüller and Ludendorff decided that the artillery barrage for Michael would have five main features: it would have to cover the breadth of the front; they then had to decide upon the duration, concentration and accuracy of the barrage; and they had to be prepared to be innovative in the use of gas.

  Across a front of 31 miles, the Germans deployed 6473 guns—3965 field guns, 2435 howitzers (5.9 inch), and 73 super heavies6—which provided a density of one gun to every eleven yards. Charles Bean, The Australian Official Historian:

  Ludendorff increased the front of his offensive by making it discontinuous: the face of the new British salient at Flesquières, opposite Cambrai, on the right centre of the front of the offensive, was not to be attacked. The Seventeenth German Army [General von Below] would strike north-west of it . . . the Second and Eighteenth Armies [Generals von Marwitz and von Hutier] south of it . . . the salient itself would be pinched out by these attacks.7

  This ploy increased the front to 44 miles. This was the largest concentration of guns yet seen on the Western Front. The artillery would provide a ‘hurricane’ bombardment of some five hours’ duration; to give all possible depth to his artillery barrage, Bruchmüller brought his guns up as close as possible to the infantry start line; the heavy guns were to target key communication points such as road intersections, infantry assembly areas and enemy headquarters; and Ludendorff further added a comprehensive light and medium trench mortar barrage that would move with the infantry.

  But it was a new sophistication in the use of gas that added another dimension to the artillery plan. Bruchmüller decided against the use of mustard gas (Yellow Cross)8, as its tendency to remain in the ground for up to two days might well cause it to also affect German troops during a decisive break-through. He therefore chose a mixture of phosgene (Green Cross) and a new gas called ‘lacrymator’. Phosgene was a high-density gas that severely impacted on the lungs, but the new bromine-based lacrymator gas was an irritant to the eyes, which ‘made it impossible to carry on without wearing a mask . . . [particularly for] harassed troops engaged in close fighting or in manipulating guns’.9 Thus, while Bruchmüller’s artillery would employ a conventional and concentrated barrage of high-explosive (HE) shells to destroy wire, trenches, combatants, artillery batteries and communications, the new gas mixture would inhibit the efficiency and therefore the performance of the British gunners. And this in some significant way, it was hoped, would compensate for the short ‘hurricane’ bombardment and its lack of registration.

  If Ludendorff’s shrewd plans for the location of the break-in, for the concentration of his force, for a high degree of secrecy, and for his artillery innovation were impressive, then his infantry tactics for Michael were revolutionary for the times. Both German and Allied senior commanders on the Western Front had long experienced the initial exuberance of a break-in on an enemy line (usually at great cost). The next stage of success, repeatedly denied them, was a break-through, due to the perennial problem of ‘the diminishing power of the attack’. Following a heavy artillery bombardment, the infantry were usually able to occupy perhaps a mile or two—provided their flanks were secure—but the attack would then flounder as the enemy rallied in subsequent trench lines, enfiladed the attacker, concentrated and then committed his reserves, and brought his rearward artillery into play.

  To achieve a comprehensive break-through, Operation Michael foresaw the use of three distinct waves—and types—of infantry. The first were the elite Sturmtruppen, carrying a preponderance of light machine guns and some flamethrowers, who were trained to either quickly eliminate British posts or simply outflank them and move on. The Battle of Cambrai had been the first instance of them being used in significant numbers. Advancing under a creeping barrage of around 200 yards every four minutes, these troops were tasked to maintain momentum. The second wave formed the bulk of the offensive. These were orthodox battalions that were to surround and eliminate those enemy posts not dealt with by the Sturmtruppen. The third wave’s main task was to assist in the momentum of the operation by providing substantial reinforcements. Each German divisional commander was allotted a corridor in which his objective was to be gained with the utmost speed regardless of activity on his flanks.

  By following the surprise of his initial ‘hurricane’ artillery bombardment with a concentration of some 32 divisions with 25 in reserve, and an unconditional speed in movement, Ludendorff hoped to rapidly roll back the BEF’s lines and create havoc and confusion, with a consequent disruption to communications, command, artillery, reinforcement and supply. Michael was timed for 4.40 am on 21 March 1918.

  ***

  In late 1917 the issue of manpower was no less a concern for the French and British than it had been for the Germans. The problem was that the two nations’ political and military leaders held conflicting views as to where and how their manpower might be best deployed.

  After their protracted and costly defence of Verdun during the period February–December 1916, in which they had suffered some 410 000 casualties, the French Government and Army spent much of 1917 in upheaval. During the later stages of the fighting at Verdun, General Robert Nivelle had enhanced his reputation by leading counter-offensives that had largely rolled back the earlier German gains. In December 1916 Nivelle succeeded General Joffre as Commander-in-Chief (C-in-C) of the French Army. Fluent in English, Nivelle had the ability to charm political leaders in Paris and London alike. A fierce opponent of both General Sir Douglas Haig and Joffre’s ‘wearing-out’ or ‘attrition’ strategy on the Western Front, Nivelle devised a sweeping plan to force a break-through of the German lines and end the war. Its chief attributes were a concentration of some 27 divisions for the breakthrough and a creeping barrage, which would allow the French Army to both break in and subsequently break through—within an ambitious time frame of some 48 hours. Nivelle’s proposed plan was not universally accepted. Within a divided government, Premier Briand’s support of the offensive cost him his leadership on 17 March 1917. His successor was Alexandre Ribot.

  To a number of politicians who had been the distraught witnesses to the grinding and costly battles of the Somme and Verdun, Nivelle’s recent success at Verdun and the promise of such a break-through were irresistible. The British Prime Minister, David Lloyd George, was greatly impressed by Nivelle and ordered Haig to subordinate himself to the French plan: Haig would attack the Germans at Arras.

  The French attempts to mask their coming assault were pedestrian: thoroughly aware of the impending attack, the Germans reinforced their front, both in terms of men and guns; and, by employing their defences in depth, were able to exact a heavy penalty upon the French. In what has become known as the Second Battle of the Aisne (April 1917), Nivelle actually made some reasonable initial ground, but all this was lost in a sea of despair over his promise of victory within 48 hours.

  The morale of the F
rench infantry—and confidence in their leaders—was severely shaken by General Nivelle’s failed offensive. Mutinies occurred during May–June 1917, which saw units adopt varying methods of non-compliance: these included attacking officers on occasion; massing for demonstrations; drunkenness; and, primarily, refusing to conduct attacks. They were still prepared to defend, to hold the line, but participation in what they perceived as futile slaughter was another matter. Inevitably, on 15 May 1917, General Nivelle was replaced by General Philippe Pétain, and in early September Paul Painlev became the third premier of France for that year. In mid-November, Georges Clemenceau became the fourth.

  By the end of 1917 the French had lost 1.28 million men killed during the Great War; the morale of the Army was at a low ebb, and there was obvious political instability. Pétain, who now had General Foch as his Chief of Staff, quickly instituted changes. First, there was the urgent need to restore the morale of the French Army. This was done by allowing a degree of leniency towards many charged over desertions and the mid-year mutinies, and the improvement of leave in terms of both its frequency and conditions. Pétain, Foch and the government then decided that major French offensives would have to wait, as the Army was in no condition psychologically or materially to mount them. However, a strong defence of the line would be maintained, coupled with any necessary limited attacks in the support of the BEF. They awaited what they believed would be two telling advantages in the coming year. The first was the projected build-up of manpower on the Western Front by the arrival of the American Expeditionary Force, and the second was to be the mass manufacture of specific implements of war: there was to be a significant increase in the production of their heavy artillery, smoke and gas shells, an improved and more numerous air arm, and, finally, the manufacture of some 3000 tanks.

  ***

  David Lloyd George had had a long history of opposition to the Great War being decided on the Western Front. Small in stature, sharp-witted and shrewd, a persuasive, often inspiring speaker—and sometimes happy to bend the truth—he wanted to ‘knock away the props’ (defeat Germany’s less powerful allies), which he believed would be far less costly in casualties. As Minister of Munitions (1915–16) he had advocated sending British troops to the Balkans; from June 1916 as Secretary of State for War, he was appalled by the ongoing losses on the Somme (around 620 000 British, Dominion and French casualties); and as Prime Minister of the UK from 7 December 1916, he had been equally horrified by the bloodbaths and seeming futility of 1917 (the Third Battle of Ypres and the Battle of Cambrai totalled 346 712 British and Dominion casualties).