Finally the inevitable happened.
Olaf Knudsen Strand was sweating profusely.
He wiped his nose, blinked his eyes a few times and looked again. He
knew that he had seen movement at the edge of the ditch just few hundred meters ahead. He was firmly aware of his orders - to lay low and wait for the enemy to get closer.
But just a few seconds later he saw a human figure dashing up from cover and darting forward. To his own surprise the old hunter reacted to the sight like he had just seen a roebuck rush out to the open in a good spot - he instinctively took aim, and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the valley, and after the distinctive "
plip-plop" sound of the bolt-action Krag-Jørgensen reload, there was a sudden, terrible moment of silence.
And then the Norwegian fire begun to pour down from the hillsides like a heavy autumn rain.
The
M/1901 field gun crews rushed their weapons to their prepared firing positions, and a lighting barrage of canister shots begun to rain down to the riverside, the shrapnel shells exploding amidst the panicking and tightly packed Swedish infantry, and to the opposing back where many Swedish artillery batteries were placed out in the open, with only flimsy parapets for cover. After the initial shock, the Swedish gun crews rushed forward and manned their own weapons.
The next phase of the battle consisted of an artillery duel fought across the river at late noon. The opposing weapon systems - the Norwegian
7,5cm feltkanon M/1901 and the Swedish
75mm Kanon m/02 - were virtually identical. Both guns were German-designed, modern, quick-firing artillery pieces with a recoil suspension system. But after the Norwegian artillery managed to initially suppress the exposed Swedish batteries and outright destroy one of them, the remaining Swedish guns withdrew to reverse slope positions, away from the direct sight of the Norwegian artillery.
Now the differences of the two artillery arms soon became apparent.
Generalstabsofficer of the
Fjärde Arméfördelningen,
Kapten Thomas Georg Nyström, begun to coordinate the Swedish artillery in an urgent attempt to salvage the situation. He had arrived to the area just a few hours ago, but had soon established his command post to the church of Grue. From the bell-tower his staff had an excellent view to the battlefield.
With a field phone connection to the battery commanders, Nyström was soon able to order the artillery officers to coordinate the fire of the Swedish guns based on a map and visual observation. When engaged by the Swedish batteries they could not spot, the artillery fire from Norwegian batteries withered, as the guns were forced to re-locate to new positions to avoid the increasingly accurate Swedish counterbattery fire.
The Swedish infantry poured out from the cover of the riverbank. Correctly realizing that the beach offered them no cover, the soldiers "fled to the front", and sought to seek better cover from the terrain ahead. But as they dashed forwards, the Swedish attack fell to the trap planned by the Norwegian commander,
Oberstløytnant Waldemar Lunde. The two Hotchkiss
mitraljøse teams, hiding at a separate entrenchment set up at the southern edge of the Norwegian position, begun to mow down the attacking infantry with enfilading fire, with horrifying efficiency.
Before the battle
Oberstløytnant Lunde had had little practical understanding of the new weapon system, and he had treated the "half-battery" hastily dispatched to his aid as a light field artillery unit. Thus he had placed both machine gun teams to provide harassment fire from the flank. Now the effect of two machine guns placed on higher ground, firing enfilading fire to the direction of the ditches where the desperate Swedes had sought cover astonished both sides.
The attack was stopped cold, and the Swedish battalion suffered devastating casualties. After the first 30 minutes of the battle, the second
Mitraljøse was temporarily put out of action when the gunner became nauseous, stopped firing, and suffered a mental breakdown, shocked from the scene of dozens of dead and wounded Swedish soldiers littered across the fields, moved down by their fire in mere minutes. The determined support fire from the surviving batteries of
Svea artilleriregemente was ultimately the factor that saved the Swedish attack from turning into a total disaster, but the inability to locate the mitraljøse position meant that the attack was effectively pinned down on nearly the entire length of the narrow frontline.
Most success came a bit further in the north. Here a small ravine shielded the Swedes from the mitraljøse fire that had devastated their attempts to advance elsewhere, and the men of the Södermansland Regiment slowly crawled forwards, positioning themselves to a small mound of rocks that enabled them to observe the terrain better, and control it by their own rifle fire.
The soldiers of this foremost Swedish platoon had sensibly opted to lay low and hide during the final hours of daylight, and soon their presence foiled the next phase of Oberstløytnant Lunde's battle plan. With the knowledge that he was badly outnumbered and forced to spread his forces thin to cover the western bank, Lunde had chosen to do the complete opposite what the Swedish leadership would expect - he had ordered a counterattack.
Noting the fact that that his reservists had been greatly impressed by the effectiveness of the artillery and mitraljøse fire had had against the Swedish ranks, Lunde sought a quick solution to the battle he could only lose by prolonging it. He ordered the
Søndmør Landværnsbataillon to move forward towards the Swedish bridgehead on a skirmish formation at the cover of the dark autumn night.
The Swedes hiding at the cover of the small stone mound and a nearby ditch heard them coming through the darkness. They were tired and hungry, but determined to avenge the bloodbath their comrades had suffered that afternoon. The low visibility meant that the Swedish ambush was virtually launched from the point-blank range, completely surprising the Norwegians who hastily took cover out in the open field. The resulting firefight was cut short when the Swedish artillery, once again controlled by the map and by field telephone rather than firing in the traditional manner, received information of a new target, and fired a short barrage to the general direction of the fighting in the middle of the night. The unfortunate infantrymen at the target area were among the first European soldiers to witness the devastating effect of modern artillery fire, and the firefight soon died out, as the surviving Norwegians fell back to their own lines. Their cheerful mood was dead and gone.
For the rest of the night both sides evacuated their wounded. The Swedish commanders, assembled in a war council at the cellar of a local mill, assessed the situation. Clearly the first day of the fighting had been a bloody and disappointing affair. But while inconclusive, the attack had been not without results, as
Överste Axel von Arbin was quick to point out to his superiors. The Swedish bridgehead had been successfully established, the Norwegian counterattack had been foiled, and by dawn the Swedish engineers of the
K. Svea Ingeniör-Kår were almost ready with their first makeshift bridges over Glomma. By dawn the ferries and the bridge had enabled the soldiers of the
K. Göta Lifgarde to cross over with the strength of two entire fresh battalions. Working their way north- and southwards along the river, the battalions spread out, and at the dawn of the following rainy day the guardsmen fixed bayonets, and marched out to the open in skirmish formation.
The engineers and signalmen of the
K. Fälttelegraf-Kåren had set up field telephone connections to the western bank through the bridge, and while they were cut of three times by Norwegian harassment fire, the ability to direct fire from the western bank as well greatly contributed to the eventual Swedish advance in the battle. As the Norwegian camouflaged parapets and entrenchments on the opposing hills were gradually spotted one after another, the defenders found themselves subjected to a remorseless artillery barrage from the eastern bank. By nightfall night Lunde gave an order to evacuate the foremost lines along the edges of the hills, but refused to give ground any more than necessary. During the following day fighting in the forests on the western hills became bloody and chaotic ordeal for both sides.
But here numbers begun to tell. The makeshift bridges over Glomma had by now been replaced by a proper pontoon bridge, and one Swedish marching column after another crossed the river, moving towards the hills and passing through scenes that shocked and demoralized each passing group of soldiers. The once idyllic countryside of Grue had turned into a macabre scene of carnage and devastation. The Swedish dead lay everywhere, as no one had yet had time to bury them. Södermanlanders in their gray uniforms and tricorner hats, and droves of dead glad in blue uniforms, the remains of the once-proud Lifgarde that had started the second day of the attack, only to be cut down
en masse by canister shots and rifle and mitraljøse fire.