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$Unique_ID{how04516}
$Pretitle{}
$Title{True Stories Of The Great War
IX - Story Of 'Minnie - The Most Unpleasant Of Her Sex'}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{Beith, Captain Ian Hay}
$Affiliation{}
$Subject{minnie
}
$Date{1916}
$Log{}
Title: True Stories Of The Great War
Book: The First Hundred Thousand - With Kitchener's Army In France
Author: Beith, Captain Ian Hay
Date: 1916
Translation: Dewalterstorff, H. G.
IX - Story Of "Minnie - The Most Unpleasant Of Her Sex"
(Perhaps, at this point, it would be as well to introduce Minnie a
little more formally. She is the most unpleasant of her sex, and her full
name is Minenwerfer, or German trench-mortar. She resides, spasmodically,
in Unter den Linden. Her extreme range is about two hundred yards, so she
confines her attentions to frontline trenches. Her modus operandi is to
discharge a large cylindrical bomb into the air. The bomb, which is about
fifteen inches long and some eight inches in diameter, describes a leisurely
parabola, performing grotesque somersaults on the way, and finally falls with
a soft thud into the trench or against the parapet. There, after an interval
of ten seconds, Minnie's offspring explodes; and as she contains about thirty
pounds of dynamite, no dug-out or parapet can stand against her.)
"Did she do much damage?" inquires the Gunner.
"Killed two men and buried another. They were in a dugout."
The Gunner shakes his head.
"No good taking cover against Minnie," he says. "The only way is to
come out into the open trench, and dodge her."
"So we found," replies Blaikie. "But they pulled our legs badly the
first time. They started off with three 'whizz-bangs'" - a whizz-bang is a
particularly offensive form of shell which bursts two or three times over,
like a Chinese cracker - "so we all took cover and lay low. The consequence
was that Minnie was able to send her little contribution along unobserved.
The filthy thing fell short of the trench, and exploded just as we were all
getting up again. It smashed up three or four yards of parapet, and
scuppered the three poor chaps I mentioned."
"Have you located her?"
"Yes. Just behind that stunted willow, on our left front. I fancy they
bring her along there to do her bit, and then trot her back to billets, our
of harm's way. She is their two o'clock turn - two A.M. and two P.M."
"Two o'clock turn - h'm!" says the Gunner major meditatively. "What
about our chipping in with a one-fifty-five turn - half a dozen H E shells
into Minnie's dressingroom - eh? I must think this over."
"Do!" said Blaikie cordially. "Minnie is Willie's Worst Werfer, and the
sooner she is put out of action the better for all of us. To-day, for some
reason, she failed to appear, but previous to that she has not failed for
five mornings in succession to batter down the same bit of our parapet."
"Where's that?" asks the major, getting out a trench-map.
"P 7 - a most unhealthy spot. Minnie pushes it over about two every
morning. The result is that we have to mount guard over the breach all day.
We build everything up again at night, and Minnie sits there as good as gold,
and never dreams of interfering. You can almost hear her cooing over us.
Then, as I say, at two o'clock, just as the working party comes in and gets
under cover, she lets slip one of her disgusting bombs, and undoes the work
of about four hours. It was a joke at first, but we are getting fed up now.
That's the worst of the Boche. He starts by being playful; but if not
suppressed at once, he gets rough; and that, of course, spoils all the
harmony of the proceedings. So I cordially commend your idea of the
one-fifty-five turn, sir."
"I'll see what can be done," says the major. "I think the best plan
would be a couple of hours' solid frightfulness, from every battery we can
switch on. To-morrow afternoon, perhaps, but I'll let you know. You'll have
to clear out of this bit of trench altogether, as we shall shoot pretty low.
So long!"