23rd September 1914, Flobecq
It started in an aid post, an Unteroffizier came in leading another NCO who had been hit in the face, the wound was bleeding profusely. A shrapnel ball having struck the man on the cheek, shattering the zygomatic bone, it had then transferred some kinetic energy to his left eye which ruptured, as the ball then passed laterally through his skull, severing his tongue and then pulverising the jaw. Despite this permanently disfiguring injury the man was otherwise unharmed, the Unteroffizier and he, had been friends for years and the sight of his comrade so gruesomely injured had caused him to disobey the order that the wounded were to be left were they feel for the ambulance service to recover. Instead, this NCO had led his blinded and bleeding comrade back towards the town and the aid post.
None of the men who were marching towards the guns tried to stop him, or any of the other walking wounded or their “helpers” who were heading in the opposite direction.
All the men were hungry, they had been on short rations for a few days now, never plentiful with the damage to the Belgian railways the food situation had worsened dramatically. There was some meat, wounded and exhausted horses, any livestock not already gleaned by the advancing army all of them were butchered for stew by the commissary units. But it was not enough so the men tightened their belts and marched on. Even the savaging they had taken attacking at Ath, Sottegem and Leuze-en-Hainaut had only dented their morale, they retained their pride as German soldiers and had faith in their leadership.
The advance to contact was going badly, with no artillery support available. Few of the heavy guns had managed the retreat, with the tractors running out of fuel and the horses exhausted by the labour of hauling their burdens on little or no feed. Many guns had simply been abandoned often after desultory attempts to disable them. The gunners who had lost their guns or drivers whose wagons were empty were now being gathered by the officers into ersatz battalions, they would join the attack on the British line. Their only hope of staying out of a prison camp was to brave the British guns and their deadly riflemen.
Whilst the infantry were still operating under orders without demur, the specialists often older men with more training and in their minds more value were less biddable at this point. These men were still gathering at Flobecq, the First Army command was also keen to preserve their skills for future employment when the encirclement was broken and First Army could be withdrawn through the gap.
As the unteroffizier lead his sobbing, retching comrade towards the aid post at Flobecq he noticed that the scene was changing, the Feldgendamarie were present in greater numbers. He had never been a fan of the “chained dogs” with their medieval gorgets indicating their role as the armies police, he had had run ins with them in the past and he was keen to avoid contact now. Especially as he was aware that technically he was now a deserter, the penalty for which was savage.
He finally made it into the aid post, his comrade now more than anything, a burden, the man having collapsed from the pain and blood loss and the unteroffizier carrying him on his own back for the last few hundred metres. He was filthy, covered in blood and who knew what other horrors had coated him as the British shells had turned so many men into bloody gruel.
It was at the entrance to the aid post, where the first shocking indignity occurred, the surgeon performing triage on seeing the head wound, snapped don’t bother bringing him in here, he is dead man already, the unteroffizier tried to argue protesting “he is my friend”. The doctor exhausted by his own endless labour over the harvest of men maimed and mutilated by shot, shell, bayonet and even for some poor souls who had been routed by a troop of hussars, swords, was unsympathetic “they are all someone’s friend, somebody’s son”. Then he noticed the unteroffizier was from an infantry unit, “what are you doing here, you should be at the front”. Raising his voice, he shouted “coward, you have used this man as an excuse to flee your duty” turning to the military policeman nearby he said “arrest this man”. This accusation of cowardice was the final straw, the unteroffizier had marched and fought across Belgium, he didn’t need some doctor sitting safe in a cellar thousands of metres back from the front line to call him a coward. It was clear that he was not alone, some of the wounded men shouted at the doctor that no man who faced the British rifles and lived should be called a coward.
It was at this moment that the military policeman blundered, he drew his pistol and told the unteroffizier he was under arrest for desertion and cowardice. The wounded men shouted at the chain dog, “leave him be” “he is one of us” there were many men crammed into that cellar, most were badly wounded but enough were able to shout, the situation was getting out of hand, the military policeman was already nervous. He looked at the soldier, he looked at the wounded men, he had his orders “you come with me, I don’t care what these bastards call me, you are a deserter and you will drop that man now and come to the guardhouse, the Oberst will deal with you pig”, one of the more lightly wounded men, an older NCO a Feldwebel by his rank badges, stood up he spoke “you chain dog, put that pistol down before I feed it to you”, then speaking to the unteroffizier he said “your mate is dead or will die, the surgeons are swamped they can do nothing, put him over there and go back to the front boy”. The policeman was a stubborn man, a reservist from Prussia he was not going to let anyone speak to him like that, they would respect his authority, he turned on the Feldwebel, “you can join the unteroffizier, you are under arrest” it was at this point that things went badly wrong.
Another soldier, half maddened with the pain of his own wound, a missing foot that would doom him to a life of poverty, struck the policeman with the butt of a rifle he had been using as crutch, the policeman convulsively pulled the trigger. A bullet stuck the feldwebel in the head, the enraged soldier with the rifle then shot the chain dog.
Pandemonium ensued, men shouting and shooting in the dark, the walking wounded immediately began streaming out of the cellar, shouting they are shooting the wounded they shouted. One soldier nearby, a socialist agitator who was unhappily attached to an ersatz battalion, shouted “down with the war, let us not die under British guns”, he was shot down by an officer trying to nip the incipient anarchy in the bud, the officer was in turn was shot by another man. The chaos spread rapidly, many men taking the opportunity to slip away from Flobecq to surrender, but gradually military discipline and habits of obedience restored order. The First Army was shaken and much of it was unwilling, but it was not yet ready to yield.