11th October 1914, Dion le Val.
The fighting had been going on since dawn, French infantry attacking the emplaced defenders of Dion le Val. The Germans were part of an ersatz brigade formed as a blocking force. This unit had been cobbled together from stragglers, line of communications troops and various others under the evacuation orders issued by General von Boehn. With the defeat at Mont Saint Guibert the Germans were just trying to hold open the neck of the sack to allow as many men out as possible. Formations were being created out of whatever manpower was available, with predictable results. Stragglers and deserters were roaming the countryside, units were getting lost, equipment was being abandoned and chaos was clearly winning.
All along the line of march southeast towards Second Army, there were French cavalry units trying to outflank the various blocking forces. The outmatched and outnumbered German Horse were trying and failing in most cases to blunt their penetrations.
The French cavalry was being used profligately, unlike their British counterparts they were still traditionally equipped and trained. They used sword or lance, their ranged weapon a carbine like their German enemies, this limited the effectiveness of their fire. In addition, they had the cavalry equivalent of the spirit of the bayonet, they viewed themselves as a shock arm, to close at the charge with lance and sword was their reason for existence.
When it worked it was devastating, a French Cavalry squadron tore apart a mixed force of Germans retreating on foot, by the time the massacre had ended scarcely one man in twenty was left alive. The Germans, a railway transport company caught in open ground, were exhausted, hungry and badly led, they broke almost immediately, fleeing from the onrushing horse. Each lancer was able to pick his quarry as they ran, lances couched they cantered after their prey, the French a long line of glittering spearpoints glinting in the sun, the Germans a panting line of older men, struggling, falling. The lances dipped, drove and came up bloodied, some lancers to their eternal shame missed the easiest of targets, but wheeling round they, tried again, where lances had been lost or broken, sabres were drawn. Little clots of men had survived the first strike, but not the second or third. Soon that road and the adjacent field was dotted with bodies. The cavalry paused, regrouped and continued their patrol.
For another cavalry unit the result differed, they were advancing down a narrow road, hedged in by trees on either side, the ambush was nearly perfectly conducted, the Germans had moved a machine gun into a farmhouse which commanded the lane, the rest of the German unit was positioned to cover the machine gun.
The machine gun opened fire, long sewing machine rips of fire cutting down men and horses alike. A few cavalrymen survived, recognising the trap they ran the gauntlet whilst their comrades died, the survivors did fulfil one small part of their mission. They had found the edge of the German defences, and that position was added to the map General Maunoury’s staff albeit at pyric cost.
The fight for Dion le Val was like the battle for Mont Saint Guibert but on a smaller scale, proceeded by artillery the French infantry attacked. The gunners were skilfully keeping a heavy fire on the ad hoc defences, suppressing the German infantry until their comrades had advanced to within 200m.
The Germans their morale weakened by the events of the past few days and lacking the cohesion of properly formed and trained units fought back but in a lacklustre way. Some men taking the opportunity to retire from the fight, leaking back towards the north in ones and twos. The unit’s leadership was no more elite than their troops, some of the officers were landwehr men who had served in the infantry in their youth, others were technical specialists pressed into command roles ill-suited to their temperaments.
The fight was sharp and disagreeable from the German perspective, they lacked any machine guns and the French had learnt some important lessons over the last few weeks. The artillery was shooting the French onto the front line, they were accepting the risks of rounds falling short to keep the defenders in cover longer. The other tactical innovation the French had developed was one pioneered by the Moroccans, they had opened their formation up, increasing the spacings between individuals.
The French buoyed by a rising confidence in victory washed over the defenders, the Germans did not remain to contest the line, some men merely threw down their arms. Others turned tail and fled, soon the fight for Dion le Val was over, the French disorganised by the battle paused briefly, before resuming their advance North. The Germans routed now, fled, some to the illusory safety of the Second Army. Others perhaps confused headed west back towards Brussels, some simply stumbled away heading headlong into closing jaws of the trap.
Disadvantaged by the local geography the German army plodded slowly east, behind it the detritus of a defeated force, guns, limbers anything that broke down was simply dumped. But as panic slowly set in, the discards started to include rifles ammunition, greatcoats, anything that slowed a man as he slowly made their way to the east. The poor roads hampered progress, and as the day wore on what had started out as a withdrawal gradually disintegrated into a collapse. Many men simply gave up, unwilling to march further, more than one officer was compelled to use force to induce compliance, as they ordered footsore and weary men to continue to march. By nightfall it no longer resembled an army it was merely a mob, in place of discipline came terror. Unable to resist the French, it recoiled from contact, the now rapidly closing stricture that was 6th army choking off further escape. Trapping many of the erstwhile escapees on the wrong side of the lines, General von Boehn’s scheme had only partially succeeded.
For those men who had escaped the clutches of the French and Belgian armies the rout continued, some would meekly surrender, others faced with collapse of military discipline became like than beasts, rapine, murder and worse. For those men on the wrong side of the French line, it was as above but worsened with the bitter knowledge that the future at best held a prison camp or at worst a grave. Footsore, weary and completely demoralised, some turned their heads to the west and marched back towards Brussels, some men made other choices.
