Free Blood and Thunder by Alexandra J Churchill Page B

‘steady your firing boys we have got them beaten,’ before a bullet cut his revolver in two and ricocheted into his head, killing him instantly.
    Four miles to the west the 2nd Grenadier Guards, led by Ma Jeffreys, were edging their way down an eerie canal towpath shrouded by fog in a relentless downpour. Tentatively they began to cross a makeshift bridge over the Aisne at 8.30 a.m. Nothing happened. The British were expecting some sort of opposition, but none came. ‘Had some German officer blundered or did the enemy not intend to defend the passage of the Aisne?’ The fog was in fact providing a protective curtain for the BEF, masking their movements from the German gunners. Edging forward into the town of Soupir, Ma had been given instructions to pass through the town, climb the hill on the other side and secure the high ground above a place called La Coeur de Soupir where there was a substantial farmhouse. Beyond that he knew nothing about where he was or whom he might run in to. ‘I was given no information,’ he complained, ‘… either about our own forces or the enemy.’
    Thus far they had not set eyes on a German in their wet progress but Ma was cautious. No.1 Company had been selected as the vanguard and now the decision was made to select bright, young Jack Pickersgill-Cunliffe and his platoon to press on up the road and into the shrouded woods ahead. Jack collected his men and set off. The woods were eerily quiet, with nothing but the sound of the rain coming through the trees. As well as dense foliage, the mist still hid any concentrations of enemy troops from view. Slowly, blindly they made the steep climb up the narrow road, a wall of greenery on either side of them. Robbed of peripheral vision they disappeared from Ma Jeffrey’s view. Jack reached the farm. All remained strangely quiet. Around the perimeter of the compound there was no sign of the enemy. They probed cautiously towards a crossroads beyond their final destination.
    Jack’s platoon was 100 yards past the farm when it came under fire. The enemy came from the north in a surprise attack. The small group of Grenadiers fell in with outposts of Connaught Rangers lurking nearby and together they found themselves on the back foot, being driven back towards the farm where they were overwhelmed and taken prisoner. Further down the road, Ma Jeffreys heard shooting and began sending up reinforcements. His troops were in danger of being outflanked. By mid morning he had almost no men left in reserve and not a clue what was going on in front of him.
    Back at the farm, Jack Cunliffe was lying with a badly wounded leg on the floor. Nearly half the battalion had now arrived and the Connaught Rangers had emerged from the farm buildings, which unknown to the Guards they had occupied the night before. The tables had turned. Jack and his men had been saved and their captors were outnumbered and about to become prisoners themselves. The Germans had two choices: fall into British hands or turn and flee. They cut their losses and went with the latter, but not before a despicable act was committed that would send shockwaves through the ranks of Old Etonians at the front and at home. The Germans had an officer among their number. As he was preparing to make his getaway he pulled out a revolver, marched over to where Jack lay hurt on the floor and executed him with a single gunshot wound to the head in front of his men. He was 19 years old.
    There were conflicting stories about the fate of the man that murdered him. Some of the men swore blind that they had recognised the officer being led away from the farm at the end of the day with other prisoners. Another story which held weight at the time was that an OE in the 3rd Coldstream had arrived with his company just in time to witness the incident and that his men had taken it upon themselves to bayonet the German on the spot. The Coldstream were, however, still further down the