Chapter 5
Dreams And Truth
Charles
Somehow, the French had held along the shoulders of the salient at Rheum near Soissons. Their artillery could reach Soissons, and there were few good roads in the salient. The Germans knew their flanks were open to counterattack, and their offensive turned west from Vaux. It quickly became obvious, both to the foot soldiers and the commanders far behind the lines, that the Second Division must counterattack.
The main objective would be Belleau Wood, which was a hilly region commanding the surrounding countryside. To the east of the wood lay the small village of Bouresches. Between there and the American lines, there were open fields certain to be covered by German machine guns.
All during the night hours, the ground trembled under the power of the American artillery. No one in the forward trenches knew precisely what was happening or what to expect as the timid light of day broke on the horizon. It only revealed a landscape that had become more scared during the night and was an ever more vivid reminder to the weary soldiers, staring into the morning mist with bloodshot eyes, they could be seeing their last sunrise.
All during the day, the waiting and uncertainty was near unbearable. Surely the enemy would not attempt another frontal assault after the disaster that followed their last attempt, and the expectation was it would soon be the Americans who found themselves rushing towards the German lines. Such a thought sent a trauma of fear through everyone's body that possessed every moment of the ominous day. As the lingering anticipation wore on through the hours that became progressively longer, fear reluctantly released men's minds to treasured memories of their past lives, and some could find their way to reckon with dreams of what they hoped their future lives might hold. There were visions of happy times, of loved ones and things that had never seemed especially important. Only then were they identified as objects and dreams that might well be lost forever to the cruel hand of fate that might reach out at any moment across the field of corpses and claim yet another soul. There were regrets for misspent lives and the unrelenting fear that any chance to set them straight would be lost in that ghastly place of death and suffering.
Charles's eyes were set on the disputed landscape as David quietly asked, "What are you thinking about?"
"I was thinking about back home," Charles answered without looking at him.
Frank interjected, "You'd better be thinking about our little frankfurter-eaters out there in the woods, Charles, or have you suddenly become so strong-willed you don't have to worry about such trivialities any more?"
No one said anything for a few minutes.
Presently, David slowly went on, "I was thinking of all the things you've told me about your wife and family. I never had anything like that. Now I wish I had."
Charles was surprised. David had been such a friend to him, and he admired what seemed an unexplained kindness that had been unshaken by the same events that had put many doubts about himself into his own mind.
"Knowing someone loves you is something some people never have," David wistfully said as his eyes turned towards Charles.
Charles looked straight at him and said, "It's strange you said that. I've been wondering what keeps you going and never thought you would be thinking of anything I've told you about myself."
"What keeps me going is hoping that someday, I'll have the happiness you already have," David said with a slight smile.
"You mean you want to be married?"
The smile slowly faded from David face as he said with a thoughtful accent, "Sometimes I think I might want that, but I've always had this dream that I could study to be a doctor. If I could just do that, I can't think of anything that would make me happier. It's just a dream I've always had, but I know I can never do it."
"What do you want, Arthur?" Charles asked, finding himself intrigued by anything that took his mind off the death that surrounded him.
Arthur shook his head and after a few moments, answered rather impatiently, "I don't know. I just want to be away from here. That's all I want."
Frank inched closer to the others and with a very earnest expression on his face, asked, "Aren't you going to ask me what I want?"
They were all surprised and could never recall seeing him appear so sincere. In unison, all their heads turned in his direction. With captivating anticipation, they all said, "What?"
Frank laid his rifle on the ground, sat up, leaned forward and places his elbows on his knees. A stern expression came over his face, as he began to speak in a mild tone, so uncommon to his normal temperament. "There's so many things I don't understand, and I'd like to be able to investigate them. For instance, there's this woman who worked with me in the shipping department at the plant back home. One day, when I was helping her pack some things, she rubbed her ass against me, and I got the strangest stiffening feeling just below my belt. What do you think that was?" Immediately, his presumed sincerity disappeared, and he leaned back on the ground, put his hand over his mouth and began to snicker before breaking out into a stifled laugh, as he glanced back out across the ground in the direction of the enemy. Abruptly, he regained his composure and rolled back into his place on the line. Arthur stared at him, and with a disapproving frown, exhaled with a disgusted sigh.
As the afternoon lingered on, another friendly artillery bombardment began. It appeared to be falling in the direction of the village of Bouresches, some distance to the east of the regiment's positions. A gentle wind stirred across the ground bringing the odor of decaying flesh, which by then was the only token of men not so different from Charles, Arthur, David and Frank. No doubt, just a few short days ago, they all had dreams and hopes not unlike those of the men who then covered their noses to escape the foul scent of all that remained of them in this world. What dreams were locked in their hearts had died with them.
The artillery rumbled and as Charles's body began to tremble, he thought of what his friends had said about their dreams. Arthur still seemed so unsure of himself – so much so he did not even speculate on any hope or dream. David's dream was one that even he realized he was unlikely to achieve, yet it gave him a goal that might at least lead him to something, although less celebrated, might well offer the fulfillment that seemed so important to him. Frank was so difficult to comprehend. He seemed to have no objectives, no fears and a contentment to continue to make a mockery with nearly everything and everyone that attempted to reach out to him. And then, Charles thought of himself. His dreams were simply to again have what he had left back on Euclid Avenue and to be with those he loved. What he had seen in those past few days had given him a new dimension of appreciation for the simple things in life that are attainable by most anyone, if only that person will allow himself to be loved and understood before his heart becomes hardened by disappointments in matters not nearly as important.
The sun sank in the sky, and the artillery diminished, allowing only a momentary serenity that must have consigned men's minds to hundreds of hopes and dreams that seemed more unreachable with each passing hour. There seemed no escape from the nightmare that became more threatening each time another soldier was claimed by the hand of an unkind fate.
Somewhere to the east, whistles sounded and the sounds of shouting voices were heard. This could only mean the Americans had begun an advance across the ground just forward of the Marne River, an objective not gained by the German offensive. At that moment, no one knew that after what proved to be an ineffective artillery preparation, at 1700 hours on June 6, 1918, a brigade of American marines climbed out of their trenches and advanced across the open ground. The Germans must have been amazed to see such a bold maneuver after four years of war, which had proven such suicidal risks to be predictably unproductive, unless the attackers had an overpowering manpower advantage. Such a tactic was even less intelligible when considering the German losses in the open ground such a short while before. The marines were cut down by interlocking machine gun fire, and only a few of them reached the village of Bouresches, which might not have even been the primary objective. Except for the few who reached the village, what remained of the brigade lay dead on the battlefield or were forced back to the attack's starting point. Such an outcome could have only been viewed as an experiment that failed, which left the lingering intuition that the American command was intent on making the same mistakes both sides had made during the preceding four years of war.
The subdued artillery shelling murmured somewhere forward of the trenches, and a macabre parade of litters passed behind the regiment's positions for several days. Again, there seemed a prevalent indecision as to what to do next. The savor of the earlier victory was short-lived and was quickly replaced by a new order of fear, then even more vivid with the growing embellishments of the dead and dying in their blood-tainted brown uniforms.
Again, the infantry lost all concepts of date and time. On what must have been one of the last days of June, his only concern was as far as he could see, which on that morning was an old hunting preserve, irregularly shaped and covering about one square mile. The ground was covered by forests and was rocky and boulder strewn – ideal for nesting machine guns. Every forest lane was an ideal fire lane for riflemen who were naturally concealed by the dark, long shadows of what in another time must have been a very peaceful setting. Barbed wire entanglements had been erected parallel to the slopes. Fewer such obstacles existed in the flat ground, which was a sadistic invitation to drawn any advance into the certain interlocking machine gun fire everyone knew was there. Belleau Wood had no relative value to the fronts of the contending forces. The Germans could not use it for marshaling, and the Americans did not really need it. For reasons not obvious or explained to the doughboys, they were simply committed to take it.
The company advanced in single file behind the high ground that generally tapered off to the dreaded flat ground, now feared by all after witnessing the mass death that such terrain inevitably produced. As the company cautiously crept behind the concealing slope, each man silently deliberated over the mission, which was to destroy the machine gun emplacements at the mouth of the forest, preparatory to an assault by the main force. The fear that his mission again contained a measure of experimentation was present in everyone's mind.
Captain Dickerson crouched at the end of the rise and studied the ground before him. It by no means was reassuring when he shook his head and began conferring with the platoon leaders who were a short distance behind him. There was a protracted discussion which precipitated the opinion it had not ended in complete agreement as to the perfection of the plan for the mission.
The platoon leaders returned to their units behind the cover of the high ground. Lieutenant Brannon did not exactly radiate confidence as he explained the plan was to position the machine guns at the top of the incline and lay down covering fire on the enemy positions, while one platoon fanned out along the boundaries of the flat ground, hopefully to infiltrate close enough to bring the enemy positions within hand grenade range. Such an idea was straight out of the manual. The setting sun, if it chose to reveal itself on that hazy day, would be in the eyes of the enemy, who hopefully would be absorbed in an effort to avoid the volley of automatic weapons fire, while the platoon of riflemen crept across the ground. Concerned looks seized everyone's faces – especially after the revelation the Second Platoon had been selected as the infiltrators.
In the hours of waiting, Charles watched the machine crews set up their weapons and was tormented by the sounds of war all around him. There was echoing small arms fire, hand grenade explosions and short bursts of machine gun fire. He was not even sure if the sounds were from the enemy lines or from the friendly lines. As the time of the attack approached, his hands began to shake and his voice became course and muted.
Arthur kept asking, "Where is our artillery?"
Finally, Frank blated, "They're firing on other targets, Arthur. Do you think everything's supposed to follow you around like some damn pet dog or something?"
While Frank and Arthur continued to bicker among themselves, Charles looked at David and said, "I think the worst part of fear is uncertainty. All this has been even more horrible than I imagined. I keep seeing those men I've killed. I'm afraid for myself. Everyone wants to live. Even in the short time we've been under fire, my whole outlook on life has changed. Now, I only want the things I already had and a chance to give back the kindness others have given to me."
David nodded. "I've found my outlook on certain things has changed. Remember I told you I wanted to study to be a doctor. I've always known that isn't possible and everyone's dreams should be realistic. Otherwise, when you don't get what you think you want, a person can become embittered." He looked down at the ground, and a very thoughtful cast came over his face. "As self-righteous as it may sound, I hope I can do a small amount of good – make someone happy. I know now that doesn't take many of the things I thought were so important. Only a consoling smile or some small expression of understanding can be more appreciated than anything else." He paused a moment and in an even more serious tone, added, "I still want things for myself but I hope I won't let them overshadow everything else."
Frank exhaled and said, "Damn! You sound like two old women that have never been fucked. As soon as you get away from this, all these lofty standards you've suddenly developed because your asses are scared off will vanish, and you'll be right back to the ungrateful fuckers you now find so vile and revolting."
David looked back out into no man's land and quietly uttered, "You may be right."
In the late afternoon, men from ordnance followed by mule-drawn supply carts came up the narrow, winding road behind the defense perimeter. As extra ammunition and hand grenades were passed out among the company, the hesitant men loaded their field packs and assembled to the rear. Arthur's face was sheet-white – quite the contrast to Frank's, who stood beside him, adorned with an indifferent smile. Everyone looked rather grim as they shook hands and patted each other's shoulders.
As if to imply some degree of favoritism, the sun had come out by the time the platoon moved to what the lieutenant had described as "the line of departure." The terrain did not appear as menacing as before, as it had some large rocks and gullies that would offer some cover. Lieutenant Brannon pointed out the enemy machine gun emplacements, which appeared about 25 yards apart and extended across the edge of the forest for some one hundred and fifty yards. He turned to the platoon and said, "We're going in groups of four along the lines of those gullies to the left. Try to make it to that group of rocks one hundred yards forward of the machine gun positions. We'll wait until darkness and infiltrate in pairs close enough to get into hand grenade range. Each pair is going to be on its own. Whatever happens, after you've thrown your grenades, move as far away from their perimeter as you can and wait for the attack of the main body, which will begin just after dawn."
Arthur immediately protested, "Why not wait until after dark to start?"
The lieutenant seemed annoyed. He continued to gape at the objective and said, "We need to get as close as possible during the light and get our bearings."
Charles broke out into a cold sweat and glanced at the other men in the platoon, all of whom except Frank, outwardly appeared just as afraid as he was.
Everyone huddled close to the embankment, which offered a secure barrier but a soon to disappear mode of concealment. The lieutenant lifted his hand and dropped it. The covering machine gun fire burst out, and the Germans could be seen running for cover, as the ground all around them spit up dirt from the hail of projectiles. A few of the emplacements began to return the fire, but it wasn't especially accurate. The startled enemy soldiers seemed to be just firing wildly with no distance estimation or adjusted aiming points.
With a gasp, the lieutenant shouted, "Now!"
The first four men ran frantically towards the row of gullies, but were immediately cut down. Obviously, the initial shock of the advance was not sufficient to cause the Germans to completely forget their marksmanship training, as their composure had quite rapidly returned. The clattering reports from their weapons foretold their fate and in only moments, they had fallen only a few feet from the sanctum of the gullies.
Captain Dickerson looked at Lieutenant Brannon and shouted, "We'll never make it in small numbers. We'll have to go all at once after dark."
Thus, another experiment had failed. Days later, it would be learned that darkness had been the first choice but the idea of getting close to the objective in the daylight prevailed with little concern being given to the enemy's reaction to such a forthright maneuver. After having seen the four men cut down so easily, it seemed incredible that the element of surprise was also sacrificed for a tactic that had been proven such an immediate failure. The alternate scheme of maneuver would prevail under the burden of yet another failed experiment. Captain Dickerson raised his hand to order a halt to the covering fire. The men they were covering all lay dead.
The sky was very cloudy, and it seemed the dim rays of the sun had forsaken the foredoomed strategy, as it offered only an indecisive witness to the faulted idea. Nightfall soon came. It was black and mercifully tendered a welcome degree of security as the squads sneaked in single file out into the night and disappeared into total obscurity only a few steps from the company's position. The new plan was to cling to the tree line to the left flank of the objective, and when Lieutenant Brannon estimated the platoon was within two 200 yards of the German positions, small groups of men would move laterally in front of them and crawl within hand grenade range. In Charles's mind, they seemed too few in numbers to counteract the numerous weapons emplacements.
In the first few minutes, everything progressed according to plan but then, somewhere towards the front of the column, someone fell. The sound carried well in the cool night air. Immediately, small arms fire erupted. Some men cried out in pain, while others clamored out in disapproving profanity.
The sounds of death and fear had given the German riflemen in the forest an easy beacon on which to fire, and the cracking sounds of their weapons intensified with growing accuracy. Abrupt thuds were heard as men's bodies fell to the ground.
Brannon shouted, "On the ground. Move out, right now!"
What remained of the platoon clung to the ground and crawled out into the open ground. The small arms fire stopped and the machine gunners began spitting out prolonged volleys that whistled over the heads of the trapped preys who had only a provisional idea of where they were in relation to the objective, which had become a secondary concern to their immediate destiny.
Somewhere ahead, Lieutenant Brannon could be heard beckoning, "Assemble on me! Assemble on me!"
Thankfully, the angle of fire from the machine guns was traversing just above the gully in which Charles, David, Arthur and Frank had quite by accident found themselves. Frank mumbled disesteeming filth in perfect time with the sounds of his elbows and knees as they dragged themselves closer to the sound of the lieutenant's voice. In a short time, they were laying in a convenient hole in the ground with the lieutenant and about 20 other men of the platoon.
Brannon whispered, "Watch for the flashes of their weapons."
They all glared across the field at the distinct glints that could be seen all along what seemed a one hundred yard front an indefinite distance ahead. Without realizing it, the Germans had given them the needed disclosure of the objective and slowly, Charles could remember the appearance of the terrain during the daylight.
The men were dispatched in pairs and told how far to go. The Germans in the emplacements must have been just as afraid and fantasized all sorts of things in the darkness, because there were regular bursts from their weapons, and the flashes helped the men prowling about in the darkness maintain their bearings. Even so, the indistinct detail had all the semblance of an adolescent during his first sexual encounter.
In what was probably one of the most serious mistakes of the war, Frank and Arthur were sent out together, and Charles was relieved when the lieutenant placed him with David as he simply said, "Go out one hundred yards."
The two men bent low to the ground and moved very slowly and as quietly as possible. Charles glanced back at David and tripped over something. As he extended his arm to break his fall, he immediately felt hardened human flesh, and he knew he had stumbled over a corpse. He fell so his head rested directly in front of the dead man's face; and even in the darkness, Charles could see his eyes were still open. His face was expressionless, and his cold eyes were locked directly into Charles's eyes. For an instant, Charles was stunned and just lay there beside him before quietly confiding to David, "I lost my rifle."
For several minutes, both of them crawled about, dragging their hands across the ground before David triumphantly announced, "I found it!"
Charles felt relieved as he reached out and clutched the rifle with an affection he never thought he could have for a lifeless object and under his breath asked, "How far do you think we've gone?"
Forthwith, two or three of the machine gun nests erupted with a deafening clatter, and the ground all around them was pelted under the rain of automatic weapons fire. Small particles of earth stung their faces, which could only mean the rounds were coming frightfully close to them. They both lay there, scared to move.
David inched up beside Charles, put his mouth directly to his ear and said, "I think we've been moving towards them and not parallel to them. Those shots sounded only about fifty yards away."
Only then did they remember the original idea was for the teams of men to crawl at assigned distances parallel to the objective and then, move in straight towards it. Simultaneously, something else occurred to them both. What would become of them when the sun began to rise, and the enemy could see them sprawled out on the ground fifty yards from their positions? The possibilities were dumbfounding. Charles looked at his watch and could barely make out it was 2417 hours, so daylight did not seem nearly as immediate a menace as the adventurous conditions of the moment.
With a muffled voice that somehow seemed deceptively amused, Charles whispered, "How far can you throw a hand grenade?"
David responded, "Standing up or lying down?"
"Lying down," Charles prompted.
"About 25 yards."
Without another word, both of them began to slowly and cautiously crawl across the ground, still not knowing exactly where they were in relation to the remainder of the platoon and not completely sure how far they had crawled parallel before they realized they might well be crawling away from the objective rather than towards it. After several minutes, they heard faint voices from both left and right and were relieved to know they were facing the objective. David motioned to Charles to continue to the left, as he continued to the right.
Charles felt as though he and David we alone in the world as they slid every so slowly in the direction of the voices. An alarming thought suddenly entered his mind. How would he know when David was in position? If he threw his grenades too soon, surely the Germans would release a volley of fire that would, in all likelihood, mean David's death and perhaps his own as well, if his throws were not accurate. For quite a few minutes, he debated until abruptly there was the sound of several hand grenade explosions somewhere to the right. Every German machine gun crew along their perimeter spontaneously began to spit out fire at what must have been unseen targets.
He surmised that David had not thrown the grenades and they could have only been thrown from the others on the mission. Now, he could clearly see the flashes from the emplacements closest to him as they traversed fire directly over his head. Amid this confusion, he inched a little closer and rolled over on his back when he was sure he was close enough. Quietly, he pulled the pins of two hand grenades, held the safety levers in and waited for the regular interval when he could not hear the rounds whistling overhead. He rose to his knees and threw one after the other, straight at the flashes that betrayed the German gunners and rendered them a quite easy target. The explosions rang out through the night, and there was an immediate silence. Then there was nothing for a few moments until there were several other such explosions both to his left and right. After throwing the rest of his grenades and without any forethought to what he was doing, he stood up and began to run as fast as he could back in what he hoped was the direction from which he had come.
In the distance, the machine gun fire resumed, and he recognized the diminished sound of the Model 1917 rifles. Some of the infiltrators must not have been as lucky and had become helpless prey of the machine gun crews that had survived the rather ambitious attempt at surprise and destruction. He ran until he was breathing quite heavily and finally stumbled over his own feet. He lay on the ground panting, not knowing where he was. Eventually, he turned around and gaped behind him, crawled in one direction and then the other before realizing he had no reason of direction and no idea in which ways were the enemy and friendly lines. All he could do was to lie there and wait for morning. When his labored breathing subsided, he began to hear painful moans all around him but he did not know if they were Germans or Americans. The sounds of someone near death are all the same. Through the night and one by one, the moans stopped until again there was complete silence – no artillery, no small arms fire and he was struck with the sobering fear he was the only one left alive. With all reasonable alternatives closed, he lay there until the faint glimmers of daylight appeared to his left, which immediately told him he was facing the enemy and not the friendly lines.
He began to hear the sounds of what seemed a large number of men behind him just as a massive artillery barrage began to saturate the German lines. At first, he asked himself, if such firepower was available, why had his platoon even been sent out on such a mission but then, he noticed the rounds were falling deep into the forest. The targets seemed the marshaling areas and supply stations behind the forward positions.
When he stood up and began to run towards the voices, he saw David, Arthur, Frank and a few others sprinting at top speed in the same direction. All the German positions had not been destroyed, because gunfire ran out to the rear. He turned around just in time to see two wounded men holding each other up and staggering across the open ground, just before they were cut down. Killing someone already wounded, from a practical standpoint, wasn't especially smart, because it took several men to care for a single wounded soldier. From a purely analytical viewpoint, it made much more sense to kill those not already wounded and tie up as many support troops as possible caring for the wounded. Aside from that, it was much more demoralizing to see a wounded soldier crying out in pain that a dead one possessed by whatever peace comes after death.
Almost nothing was left of the platoon. The bodies of the fallen soldiers could clearly be seen lying motionless under the mist that hung over the ground, as if the night had left behind a waning gesture to watch over their bodies.
After the survivors of the mission plunged behind the slopes from where they had departed the night before in the company of those now lying dead behind them, they raised their sweating heads and saw several companies poised for the attack. One of the company commanders looked down at them and said, "You men stay here," just as he motioned his company forward.
The artillery seemed to have suddenly adjusted its firing patterns and was then striking trees at the tops and sending jagged splinters crashing to the ground. Charles deduced the targets were not the marshaling areas as he first thought. Somehow, the wrong firing patterns were probably given to the firing batteries. The foot soldiers were rested and quickly negotiated the terrain, which was still under the fire of the reduced number of machine gun emplacements that had endured the liquidated platoon's mission, which was never evaluated as a success or failure. Regardless, the superior number of advancing Americans overwhelmed the enemy positions.
The remnants of the platoon continued to watch and noticed some of the advancing units reached the enemy perimeter with near no losses, while others were decimated by the German gunners who remained in their positions until being overrun and bayoneted.
It was obvious the attack had been launched all along the front, as the morning was pervaded with shouting voices, rolling artillery and the shape cracks of rifle fire. Gradually, the sounds of the massive encounter abated, and then there was again a silence, which seemed to grant a final remembrance of those who lay dead on the unavailing ground.
After 18 days of attacks and counterattacks, experiments that both succeed and failed, much loss of life and countless wounded who only claim to their lives was reduced to a lingering residue of their former selves, Belleau Wood fell to the 2nd Division on June 25, 1918.
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Although not obvious at the time, Germany was depleted. Many units were beyond range of their own light artillery, morale was low and the Allies were taking more and more prisoners. It delayed any further offensive action in a desperate attempt to reorganize, but this only gave the British and French time to recover from the blows suffered earlier in the year. When the Germans finally began their Rheims Peace Offensive on July 15, it came as no surprise to anyone. Aerial photographs and the increasing number of German prisoners revealed where the next offensive would come. One German prisoner captured on July 14 broke down in tears when his gas mask was taken from him, because he knew a gas attack was to begin at 0100 hours the following day. Very little effort was required to extract all the details of the attack from him. It then became a simple matter to call in an intensive artillery barrage on the German assembly areas at the precise moment they were assuming their assault formations. After that, what remained of them had no artillery support and by daylight, their position was hopeless.
To the west of Rheims, the attack had been more successful due to hastily improvised French defensive positions that were not deep enough. The Germans crossed the Marne at Dormans and established a bridgehead four miles deep south of the river. Reserves were rushed forward, and the American 3rd Division withstood attacks from three directions. Its 38th Infantry Regiment was so unyielding that from that day, it was to be known as "The Rock of the Marne." Thus, the German advance was halted, and the decisive blow for which they had hoped was never delivered. The enemy's failure on the Marne had finally passed the initiative to the Allies whose overall plan was to reduce the 3 main German salients on the western front.
It was a rainy day on 18 July when the 2nd Division was one of a number of divisions that launched an attack south of Soissons in a bold attempt to cut the Chateau-Thierry Road, the vital artery of German communications within the salient. Before they completely withdrew from the salient on 19 July, 350 tanks had broken through the German front lines in the first such successful use of tanks in modern warfare. After that, the Allies launched a series of offensives to free railroad communications along the entire front. The first was the battle of Amiens, which began on 8 August and involved British, Australian and Canadian units. Having learned from past failed experiments, a rolling artillery barrage and tank assault greatly aided the infantry's progress by eliminating machine gun posts and helping exploit weak spots in the enemy defenses. By that time, it was clear to the ordinary German foot soldier their cause was lost. The retreating units began to shout, "You're prolonging the war!" as their unknowing replacements marched towards the front.
The St. Mihiel offensive began on 12 September and by that time, the Allied commanders had become so confident , they had already begun to plan the Argonne Offensive before the end of September.
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Charles's thoughts turned back to those Septembers along Euclid Avenue. The days were always clear and the nights were still and cool. In October, the leaves would gradually begin to turn but summer would linger on. He had met Mary in the fall, and it had always been such a happy time for both of them, but on that last day of September in 1918, all those reminiscences, which had become so treasured, were a world away.
He looked out across the barren terrain. His eyes carefully examined the gaping artillery ruptures in the earth, the splintered trees and winding trenches where how many thousands of men had passed from this world. He looked down at his hands and slowly turned the palms up and down, wondering how many men those hands had killed. He raised his head, looked back out across the ruined land, and it occurred to him in time, the landscape would recover but some of the men who would survive this hell would not. The changes were quite observable in some. Gradually, Arthur had seemed to find himself and become quieter and more self-confident. The opposite was true of Frank who had become more withdrawn. He no longer joked about the war and "fucking everything that walked on both sides of the ocean" and stayed mostly to himself. David was the same – friendly and always doing what he was told as best he could. Although he made no obvious effort at self-promotion, everyone in the company respected him.
For himself, Charles only wanted to return to Euclid Avenue. There were so many things in his life he wanted to set straight. He wanted so much to be with his wife and sister and the son he had never seen. The past year had revealed so many things about him, and he was not at all gratified in at last realizing what type of person he truly was.
The days of that September passed so slowly. As the nights began to bring a threatening chill, a new pattern of fear began to possess him. More and more supplies were being moved forward. All knew without being told a major offensive was only a few days away, but what was especially frightening was they all knew the Germans were defeated and they could not conceive why the war was permitted to drag on. To be killed then would seem almost for nothing.
The 2nd Division had been attached to the 1st Army under General Pershing. Only about half of the men remained in the platoon that were on that winding road the night the massive artillery barrage proceeded the German offensive. That seemed such a long time ago. Charles was no longer the man he had been on that night and wanted so much to live the rest of his life as the man he had become. He glanced at his friends. Frank was sitting on a small incline, aimlessly gazing out into no man's land. Arthur was cleaning his equipment. In the past months, he had come to give quite a bit of attention to detail and was constantly mentioning "the army way" and "what they told us in training." David was sitting not far from Charles, and both of them were debating whether to attempt to consume any more of the rations, which were becoming more unpalatable by the day.
Captain Dickerson's command post was some 50 yards to the rear. He had been meeting with the platoon leaders for about an hour. Charles's heart skipped a beat as he saw Dickerson shake hands with each of the platoon leaders before they headed back towards the line. He knew some type of action was imminent. Lieutenant Crowley had replaced Lieutenant Brannon when he was killed a few weeks earlier, and he would be entering his first action. He was unsure of himself when he asked the platoon to gather around him. Charles's body ached as he stood up and slowly walked towards the lieutenant. He no longer experience the fear he felt during those first nights on the Paris-Metz Road. That fear was more latent in not knowing what to expect. Now, he knew full well what to expect, and it terrified him that this could be the action that would claim him as one of the countless victims lying in bleak graves all over France.
Lieutenant Crowley was noticeably shaken. His hands trembled and his voice stammered as he fumbled with his map. Charles paid little attention to the details of the attack and only noted times and places. He heard little except the mission of the division was to dislodge the enemy from the Argonne Forest and the attack would begin at 0530 the next morning.
The men of the platoon seemed almost complacent as they returned to their pup tents. Charles looked down at his mud-caked boots and with a measure of intolerance asked, "How much longer is this going on? Our luck can't last forever."
David patted him on the shoulder and with his normal reassurance replied, "Come on Charles. You've still got several of your nine lives left."
The newer men reminded Charles so much of himself just before his first action. They exchanged tentative glances and stood with long, questioning glares into no man's land. Strangely, the transformation of Arthur and Frank had become even more evident. Frank sat in front of his tent with his arms folder over his knees, staring at the ground with glassy eyes that could not conceal the fear that was consuming him. Arthur was routinely checking his ammunition and sorting his rations as though he were taking inventory. The last few months had made him and entirely different man and might well have been the only chance he had ever known to develop from the sniveling, unsure person he had been. Charles had come to admire him instead of simply tolerating his irresolute and overly dependent nature that had slowly disappeared.
No one ever slept before an assault. Charles lay flat on his back and rested his head against his field pack. He stared at the stars in the clear September sky and listened to the formidable sounds of war in the distance. He saw the faces of Mary and Blanche and remembered some of the things his mother and father had told him about the type of man they wanted him to be. He knew he was a much better person now, and his only dream was that fate would give him the chance to apply his cleared comprehension of this world and his place in it. These thoughts momentarily liberated him from the intimidating fears of more perilous days, one after another, in what had become a living nightmare. The serenity was all too brief. Sometime far into the night, the friendly artillery preparation began. All along the line, frightened men stood up and gapped out into the night.
Charles, David and Arthur stood up and slowly walked to the crest of the small hill above the bivouac area. Frank remained huddled under his shelter half. Charles and David looked at Arthur as he quietly leaned forward just behind the top of the hill and rested on elbow on is knee, gently nodding while the thundering explosions shook the earth. "It looks like they're saturating the whole area fairly deep into the forest," he said just before turning around and starting back towards the bivouac area. As he passed Charles and David, he said, "I think I'll try to get some more sleep"
Both Charles's and David's eyes remained on him for several moments, as he briskly walked down the hill. He was clean-shaven, his hair was neatly combed and his uniform was amazingly clean.
Charles's voice was subdued and disbelieving as he said, "I don't know what's happened to him."
"It's not the same man," David answered as he turned back towards no man's land. The two men looked up and down the line as the detonations illuminated the sky and briefly revealed the large trees of the Argonne Forest, quivering under the percussion of the intense barrage. In the ghost-like panorama, they could briefly see whole trees crashing to the ground.
They turned around and starred back down the hill. David was looking in the direction of Arthur as he said, "I think Arthur has discovered someone he never knew existed. He seems pleased with the revelation. I wish I could say the same for myself."
Charles's head quickly turned. He stared at David and started to answer him but he saw his eyes were set to the ground, and the moonlight revealed a very stern expression on his face. He was surprised that the man he had come to admire so much was beginning to doubts about himself, just as he had been questioning some of his own motives before the bombardment began. Maybe David was having some of the same obsessing thoughts, and he too had found himself so much wanting to live and benefit from the new reality that had possibly also given him an entirely different reason of values.
Everyone in the company was moving about in the darkness, preparing for the attack. Frank remained singularly distant and didn't utter a word as he put on his pack and ammunition belt and silently walked away from everyone.
Arthur glanced at Charles as he was putting on his gear and quipped, "Another day, another $1.50."
Charles had noticed that war had changed most everyone in the company, but no one had changed as much as Arthur and Frank.
____________________
Hundreds upon hundreds of men moved in double file along the scorched earth and as always, everyone was quiet, obsessed with their own thoughts and growing fear that became more intense with each step they took on the brisk morning.
A slight glimmer of daylight appeared in the east as the battalion reached the starting point at 0500 hours. Lieutenant Crowley faced the platoon and said, "Get off your feet. You might not have a chance to rest for quite awhile."
Charles and David sat side-by-side and began to stare at Frank and Arthur. "I've never seen anything like that," Charles said as he pointed at Arthur who was kneeling on one knee with the strangest investigative expression on his face. He knelt there for a few moments, watching the massive volume of explosions thrashing the enemy lines. Presently, he simply nodded in apparent satisfaction, sat down and began to brush over his rifle with his handkerchief. Their eyes slowly shifted to Frank who was sitting alone with his eyes fixed on the ground about three feet ahead of him. Every few moments, he would flinch as the artillery continued to shake the earth.
David looked at Charles and asked, "Are you afraid?"
"I've been afraid since I heard the first shot," he answered, as he looked out into no man's land. "I don't know why this doesn't stop. Everyone knows the Germans are beaten. Why doesn't it stop?"
David replied, "What if you were on the other side, and..........."
At that moment, they heard Captain Dickerson shouting, "On your feet!" and as far as the eye could see, men in somewhat of a modified slow-motion, pulled themselves to their feet and rather unenergetically resumed the double file.
Charles became even more afraid when the sun began to rise and sensed that every German machine gun on the entire front was trained directly on him. When the company passed the starting point, the pace quickly increased. It was always like that, as instantaneously men's moods would always change from putting off the action as long as possible to getting it over with as soon as possible.
The company approached the initial point and Captain Dickerson signaled for the interval to increase in the file. The other companies in the battalion ran to their assault positions to the left and right as the supporting artillery fire continued to pummel the enemy defenses. When the 4 companies were in position, they all cautiously began to move forward across the line of departure. There was a fleeting feeling of safety within the company file, because they all knew they were not within range of the enemy weapons. Equally reassuring was the devastation done by the hours of artillery preparation.
As the morning light reluctantly filtered through the dense smoke created by the artillery, the terrain looked so repellent as if to suggest nature itself was an adversary of the operation and had long before turned its eyes away. It was Belleau Wood all over again, except on a much larger scale. On one flank, the Aire River skirted the Argonne, and the tree-covered heights of the forest dominated the valley into which the advance was moving. On the other flank, the terrain was insurmountable with many spurs, rock-bound citadels and deep gullies. Surely, the enemy knew exactly the route the attack would follow and somewhere back in the forest, they were looking directly into the advancing formations.
With increasing apprehension, the advance moved into the open terrain. Captain Dickerson faced the file and signaled the company to assume the skirmish formation. Charles could feel his heartbeats in his throat as he ran to his position. The men in the company were side-by-side and extended laterally over some 125 yards of ground. Dickerson looked down the line at the battalion commander and then motioned the company to begin moving forward. Then, the pace seemed agonizingly slow. Several machine gun crews, carrying their weapons on their shoulders, moved in behind them. As soon as they could identify their targets, they would take high ground to support the advance. Charles began to remember things he didn't even recall hearing in the briefing. Nine divisions were in the assault, supposedly giving the attackers a 9 to1 manpower superiority.
The attack continued along the entire US Corps sector for some distance with no resistance. The ground was so loose from the bombardment that Charles's feet sank down into it with every step. It reminded him of the times when he and Blanche would play together, jumping up and down on their parents' bed.
All at once, the advance stopped. Everyone in the company bent down to their knees and glared at Captain Dickerson as he carefully surveyed the terrain immediately in front of the company. David waived his hands to get Charles's attention and pointed at something to the right. It was a German machine gun position that seemed to have suffered a direct hit from the artillery. Charles could see the weapon pointing towards the sky and several dead men lying around the emplacement. When the advance was resumed, he saw their limbs had been blown from their bodies and their exposed bones gleamed against the murky earth. As he walked past them, he turned his head away, only to see many other such dismembered bodies all along the pattern of the forward defenses along the edge of the forest.
Only token resistance was put up as the I Corps advanced along the Aire Valley. Just as the Argonne Forest came into clear view, heavy enemy fire could be heard somewhere to the right in the US III Corps sector. The attack was called to a momentary halt and again there was the feeling the leaders were debating what to do.
Charles moved over towards David and asked, "What do you think they're talking about?" as both of them looked at the hastily called conference between several officers behind the main body.
They both kneeled and intermittently glanced at the Argonne Forest and then back at the conference, as David asked, "I don't know. We've only got two options – to send out patrols or continue the advance."
Charles thought a moment and responded, "You don't think they'll decide to wait here until the war's over, do you?"
David managed a negligible laugh and said, "Probably not. It wouldn't look right."
Soon, the signal was given to continue the advance. The timetable would prevail, and the frontal assault would continue.
The massive artillery had churned up the ground at the ingress to the forest, and the few trees that remained standing had been reduced to naked rails only about 10 feet high. A haze of smoke hovered closed to the ground, and it was impossible to see more than 50 yards ahead. Charles glanced at David, and both could see fear in each other's eyes as they slowly moved forward, crouched close to the ground so as to provide a smaller target for the enemy gunners. Suddenly, to the right, volleys of what sounded like a large number of machine guns pierced the indistinct haze, and as Charles reached out for the ground, through the corner of his eyes, he saw entire squads of men clutch their bodies in pain and fall to the ground. Some lay there without movement while others went into convulsions. Their pleading cries filled the morning air and cruelly seemed in perfect concurrence with the cracking sound of the machine guns and the stale odor that lingered after the artillery barrage. The rolling artillery was then falling deeper into the forest, and several battalions were within easy range of the machine gun emplacements, which were concealed in the mist and left the attackers helpless and without direction.
The unending rounds plowed up the ground all around the pinned-down battalion, and Charles could barely see Captain Dickerson wildly motioning to the friendly machine gun crews on the high ground to lay down a blanket of covering fire at least where they thought the enemy crews might be. Their guesswork seemed effective to some extent, as the volume of enemy fire tapered off. This was probably not due to the accuracy of the American gunners but more likely only because the enemy gunners had heard the sounds and ducked down to avoid whatever it was.
Captain Dickerson took advantage of the moment and ran across to Lieutenant Crowley and shouted, "Advance straight ahead by fire and maneuver!"
Fire and maneuver – that was a tactic Charles had never paid much attention to in his training but now, his life depended on it. The men in the company still adhered themselves to the ground and intensely searched the faces of the platoon leaders. Charles felt a bolt of relief surge through his body when he saw the 37 millimeter motor crews moving into position behind the battalion. All around him was the sounds of pain and agony from the bleak toll being claimed by the enemy machine gun crews.
After a few minutes, the mortar crews began to lob rounds at the enemy positions with astonishing precision. The crews must have been even more startled at the accuracy of their barrage than the foot soldiers, who immediately noticed a further curtailment of the enemy fire. During the brief reprieve, Lieutenant Crowley motioned to Corporal King, who immediately gestured for the 1st Squad to move forward. The other squads lay down lay down protecting fire as the 1st Squad dashed madly about 25 yards into the haze before again falling to the ground. Charles and David bonded themselves to the ground and indecisively looked at each other and then behind them where two of the new men lay face down on the ground, not 10 feet from where they had started.
The zigzag fire and maneuver seemed to last for quite a long time but gradually, squad by squad, the battalion inched closer and closer to the enemy forward positions. Finally, somewhere down the line, the sound of hand grenade explosions could be heard. More and more mortar crews had come up behind the advance and were increasing the volume of fire. In time, the enemy machine gun crews began to abandon their positions. Some ran leaving their weapons behind, and some simply waited to be taken prisoner.
For a fleeting moment, there was a semblance of order. What was left of the battalion began to entrench along what had only a few moments earlier been the enemy positions. The prisoner detachments began to escort those who had chosen to surrender to the rear. Captain Dickerson ran up and down the improvised perimeter yelling at the machine gun crews to rig their weapons and shouting to everyone else, "Prepare for counterattack! Prepare for counterattack!"
David looked at Charles and with a slight smile said, "Right out of the manual," but neither of them needed anything like a manual to remind them the most likely time for a counterattack was immediately after an objective had been seized and before effective fields of fire had been assigned.
The counterattack never came, as the enemy seemed to be consolidating their positions farther into the Argonne Forest even though I Corps all along the sector was bogged down on the skirts of the forest, a full 5 miles short of the day's target.
The squad leaders immediately began positioning the men and assigning fields of fire, which was something that had been done hundreds of times in the past few months but never became monotonous. By then, everyone was convinced of the practical need for certain rudimentary steps to prevent being killed.
What followed was yet another sleepless night. The enemy constantly probed the defense perimeter, and shots rang out up and down the line the whole night. Everyone wondered where the enemy artillery was, as it remained strangely silent.
Charles hoped morning would never come, but when the sun began to rise over the ruined landscape, near lifeless figures dragged themselves about behind the forward positions, each face veiled with the dreadful mask of fear and weariness. Charles could not even taste the canned rations because his mouth was so dry. Constant fear had a faculty for upsetting the body's capacity. Saliva was always the first to disappear, then the appetite, then went the ability to reason until finally, one found himself in a semi-conscious stupor with all energy long expired, only hoping, hoping everything would just stop.
When the entire I Corps began its advance on that second day in the Argonne Forest, the skies were threatening but the rain never came – there was just a formidable gloom that hung over the Aire Valley and made the forest seem all the more menacing. Supporting mortar fire pelted unseen targets deeper into the forest, but no sooner had the advance begun than small arms fire erupted from what seemed everywhere in the shadowy surroundings. During the night, the Germans had positioned their own mortars all along their line, and sequences of explosions tore through the advancing formations. All order quickly vanished. Men lay on the ground writhing in pain with limbs torn from their bleeding and helpless bodies. The attack, if it could accurately be called that, had been stopped cold.
Charles, David, Arthur and Frank lay riveted to the ground. Their eyes searched for Lieutenant Crowley until they finally spotted him lying behind a rock pile, still fumbling with his map.
Arthur seemed amused as his eyes alternated between Crowley and the explosions all around them and finally said, "What in the hell does he need a map for?"
The lieutenant finally motioned the platoon back behind the protecting row of rocks as his fingers searched desperately across the map, giving the troublesome impression he couldn't decide which way to turn it to orient it to the terrain. He continued to gap at the terrain features all around the platoon and finally just dropped the map to the ground.
Arthur looked at him and then at the others beside him before slowly crawling back to the lieutenant's side.
"What in the hell is he doing now?" Frank murmured as he drew closer to the rocks and pulled his collar around his neck to shield the dirt particles flying through the air.
"Let's find Captain Dickerson!" Arthur shouted, and he and the lieutenant disappeared into the chaos that had so suddenly commanded the day.
On a front of some 1000 yards, the whole I Corps lay in disarray. The supporting artillery had floundered trying to get forward over the rugged terrain. Messengers went to the wrong points, and as the day dragged on, everyone was obsessed with the premonition that this would be the day that would claim them.
The operation had gone much better in the other sectors. Montfauson had been hit from both sides and pinched out. V Corps lurched on to the Nantillois-Tronsol Farm line, and the III Corps had pushed far into the enemy defenses, but it was obvious the I Corps was hopelessly pinned down and any attempt to continue the frontal assault would produce an even greater cataclysm than had already befallen the ill-faded advance. The mangled aggregation just lay there and waited.
The night was pitch black and charitably concealed the torn bodies in bloodstained Army brown that littered the ground like fallen autumn leaves. A chilled settled over the charred landscape, and Charles's body began to tremble – partly because the sweat that had soaked his uniform earlier in the day became clammy and cold and partly because he was so afraid. The company was at the bottom of a severe incline that led into the forest, and he could hear the enemy moving about and positioning their weapons.
Charles and David had lost all concept of time when they say Lieutenant Crowley and Arthur quietly creeping behind the quivering platoon whispering, "We're pulling back."
In a few minutes, everyone gathered around Lieutenant Crowley who had somehow regained some degree of self-possession. He simply said, "Wait for the signal and follow me."
A soft wind whispered through the forest but the faint moans could still be heard both in front of the platoon and somewhere out in no man's land. No one could determine if they were the enemy or some poor Americans who were undoubtedly drawing their last breaths. The platoon crouched around Lieutenant Crowley and gazed towards the rear.
Finally, they heard what sounded like a .45 caliber shot, and on Crowley's order, the platoon stood up and slowly began to creep in the direction of the sound. They had taken only a few steps when there was a flat popping sound behind them just as Arthur cried, "Flares!"
Simultaneously, fire from what must have been scores of machine guns erupted from the forest. Frank blated out at the top of his voice, "God dammit!" just as the whole battalion, then clearly visible in the light from the flares, frantically began to run with no obvious direction or coordination. Some stumbled over the corpses of those who had fallen earlier in the day. Some were so afraid they just fell to the ground and lay there quivering and looking up at the other men as they raced past them. Within a few moments, mortar detonations began to rain down on the foredoomed units, now running in all directions.
Charles ran as fast as he could. He heart was pounding so hard he began to choke and mucous poured from his nose. A hand firmly grasped his wrist, and he turned to see Arthur shouting, "We'll never make it! We'll never make it!" as he pulled him down to the ground. They both began to slither across it until they found what must have been a mortar crater. They pulled themselves into the hovel and lay there gasping for breath until, gradually, the bursts of fire from the unseen enemy diminished. In a few moments, the night was once again still and silent. They both peered over the top of their hovel but could see nothing in the black night. It seemed suddenly everyone else had disappeared from the earth, and they were all that remained. There was nothing but their labored breathing.
Charles whispered in a tone that dramatically conveyed his desperation, "Where is everybody?"
Arthur immediately put his hand over Charles's mouth and pulled him back down into their improvised sanctum. Arthur's eyes, which had become stern over the past few weeks, glared at him as he coolly held his finger to his lips.
Gradually, they caught their breath. Charles's ears were ringing from the sounds of the battle as he lay there and watched Arthur methodically searching through the veil of the enshrouding night until he shook his head, relaxed and whispered, "We'd better just stay here."
Charles had never been so tired and confused. Everything had become unreal. His will was waning by the day, yet Arthur seemed to be getting stronger and more determined. The ringing in his ears slowly cleared and as on so many other nights, they began to hear moans, sounds of pain and delirious cries from those who were going into shock or were in so much pain they could no longer contain it within themselves. The enemy guns remained silent, as if to grant a final respectful gesture to those whose dreams for this world were lost forever.
Abruptly, Arthur's hand reached out and clutched Charles's arm. "Listen," he said, as an attentive apprehension came over his face. He leaned forward to gaze out into the night. They could hear the faint, soft but regular sounds of a man quietly weeping, as the cool night air conveyed the haunting lamentation as though it were intended only for them to hear. As faint as it was, it seemed to reach out above the pathetic moans that filled the smothering blackness of the horrifying night.
Arthur's head snapped towards Charles, and he asked, "When was the last time you saw Frank and David?"
Charles shook his head and found himself somewhat ashamed he had not thought of them until that very moment.
Arthur inched forward and glared in the direction of the crying, which was getting louder and louder. He looked back at Charles and impatiently said, "That's Frank. I know it is."
Charles moved to Arthur's side and listened very intently for a few moments before looking at him and intently asking, "What do you think we should do?" He knew deep in his heart he had no intention of doing anything except staying precisely where he was until he could presume the safest means to get back to the friendly lines, if such a sanctuary even still existed.
Arthur responded with the dreaded words, "We've got to go out there and get him."
The months of death and fear had not strengthened Charles's will, and while he didn't exactly view himself as a coward, all practical objectivity rejected such a bold thought. His heart began to pound and a chilling tingle began to distill itself down his neck and spine. Fear ruled his every intention, and he desperately searched his soul for a plausible explanation to remain in the supposed safety of the hovel. With that, he became mindfully ashamed of the way he felt – so ashamed in fact, he could not summon the words to explain to Arthur why the two of them should not venture out there among the dead to help a man who had not extended his friendship or concern to either of them, or anyone else except the whores in some of those French villages.
With no reasonable method of evasion at hand, Charles was soon at Arthur's side, cautiously crawling across the ground in the direction of the crying man. When the sobs would stop, they too would stop, but the weeping would always resume. When they had crawled some 50 yards, Arthur stopped, pointed towards what appeared to be the severed trunk of a tree and said, "There!"
They could see the silhouette of a man sitting with his head between his knees, crying and stammering words they could not understand. They inched closer and closer until Arthur said, "It is Frank." He rose to his feet and ran to his side, kneeled beside him and stared into his face for a moment, before slowly reaching out to raise his head and quietly saying, "Frank.....Frank."
Frank's eyes were glassy and bloodshot, and his body was quivering. He mumbled confused words and phrases that were unintelligible.
"Frank, you've got to come with us," Arthur insisted, as he tried to lift him to his feet.
Frank slowly lifted his head, looked straight at Arthur and then at Charles. Gradually, his sobs diminished to a series of short sniffles, and without saying a word, he weakly raised his hand and pointed towards the Argonne Forest.
Charles and Arthur strained their eyes to see where he was pointing and barely saw a corpse lying some 20 yards ahead. They silently moved across the ground until they could see it was an American soldier, laying face down. Carefully, they crawled to his side and turned him over. A searing shock slit through Charles's stomach as he gasped, "It's David!"
David's body was riddled with machine gun rounds. His flesh was cold and stiff, and his uniform was soaked with blood that had hardened and was coarse to their hands as they raised his head from the ground. His flesh was a ghostly white, his eyes were still open and gleamed in the light of the moon that at that very moment, appeared behind the dense clouds covering the battlefield.
Arthur gently laid his head back to the ground, motioned towards Frank and said, "Come on, Charles. There's nothing anybody can do for him now."
They hurried back to Frank's side, and Arthur held his mouth close to Frank's ear to say, "Frank....Frank, you've got to come with us."
Frank slowly looked at him, and in a weak and distant voice said, "Wh....What?"
Arthur tugged at is arm and continued to prompt, "Come on Frank. There's nothing here."
Frank hesitantly began to move away from the tree but soon stopped, looked back at David and suddenly began to scream, "We can't leave him! We can't leave him! He's the only friend I ever had!" He fell back to the ground and in deep, heaving wails, began to bellow, "He's the only person that ever gave a damn about me!"
As he lay there pounding on the ground with both hands, several flares ignited directly over them and slowly began to descend to the ground. Fire from several enemy machine guns erupted somewhere behind them, just before Frank stood up, screaming at the top of his voice, "I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" He began to run wantonly away from the sounds of the gunfire and then, was an easy target. The rounds made a harrowing, thumping sound as they dissevered his body. In the dying rays of the flares, Arthur and Charles saw Frank's lifeless body drop to the ground, and again there was morbid stillness. The moon disappeared. Nothing moved. The two men huddled close to the tree between the bodies of their 2 friends.
They were accustomed to seeing corpses but were still unprepared for what they had seen that night. They lay there for hours before their senses gradually began to return. Finally, Arthur said, "We've got to get out of here before morning.'
Charles nodded and they slowly began to creep back over the ground that had been gained by the loss of so many lives and then lost again at the cost of even more lives.
Arthur had evolved into quiet an efficient soldier and somehow seemed to know in which direction they should go. For quite awhile, they fumbled about in the dark until Arthur stooped down on his knees and said, "We must be far enough away by now. We'd better stop here until dawn or our own lines will start firing on us."
Charles dropped his exhausted body to the ground and sighed, "Wouldn't that be some shit. To go through all this and then up getting shot by our own people."
Destiny was kind to them. They were picked up by a patrol just before dawn the next morning and taken to a bivouac area where what remained of the 2nd Division was regrouping. The division had been devastated so badly it was no longer an "effective force" as the commanders called it. The whole division would be evacuated to Triaucort to receive replacements and no doubt be prepared for the next disaster.
A persisting mist was in the air under threatening skies. Surprisingly, Charles was hungry when he and Arthur sat down by the side of a large convoy of muddy vehicles that was to evacuate those who could not walk. They sat there in a daze with the other soldiers, none of whom they had ever seen before. They didn't know where their company was, how much of it was lying dead out there in the Argonne Forest or how much of it was on the ambulance vehicles, litters and mule-drawn carts filled with the wounded, dead and the dying that were everywhere.
Charles was thinking of David and how his cold body had felt when they had found him the night before when Arthur looked up into the dispiriting sky and said, "None of us ever understood Frank."
"What do you mean?" Charles asked, at the moment, really not wanting to get into anything resembling a truth-seeking conversation about someone he never liked.
Arthur kept staring at the mule carts filled with the dead at the side of the road in order to allow the other vehicles with the living to past. "We never tried to understand why he was so bitter and crude. He was all alone in the world, and all he needed was for someone to befriend him. I think David knew that. Maybe Frank became what he was because people like you and I never tried to understand him." He paused a moment and then looked straight at Charles. "Have you ever been alone and no where to turn?"
"No," Charles said with his thoughts immediately turning to the rather critical self-evaluation to which he submitted himself over the past few weeks. At last, he began to realize this new person he hoped he could still become would still be too self-oriented. Possibly, he didn't need to change himself quite so dramatically but simply needed to become more accommodating and understanding of other people. If that had been all Frank had needed, then it was far too late for him to consider such a possibility that he had contributed to making Frank the cold and unprincipled man he had been.
____________________
A man's body responds to rest much quicker than his mind. Within a few days after evacuation from the front, the aching gradually subsided from Charles's body, his strength returned and regular meals away from the stench of death restored his vitality. What the reprieve did with men's minds was another matter. The October afternoons were warm and bright in the small village of Triaucort, and the prolonged separation from loved ones had yielded different reactions in so many of the young men who remained uncertain as to whether or not they were to live or die. As for Charles, his hope returned, and he found himself thinking more and more of his loved ones and how much he longed to be permitted to return to Euclid Avenue. At the same time, that hope made the prospect of returning to the front all the more fearful. Many of the soldiers tried to screw anything that resembled womanhood, while others became distant and reflective, no doubt attempting to evaluate all the things the war had done to them. Some seemed pleased at the revelations, while others were not. The experience of a man seeing himself as he really is can be quite humbling, and in those restful days, prompted opposite reactions from seemingly heartfelt denouncements such as "fuck it" to unspoken intentions of setting one's life in order.
It was just as well no one knew of the peace feelers being exchanged among governments on the very day in late October when the 2nd Division was ordered back to the front. It was a cold and raw day when Charles and Arthur again found themselves side-by-side in the company column as it moved closer and closer to the sounds of the distant combat. Few men were left in the company from that first night it had come under enemy fire and then, the dead and wounded were but nameless faces, lingering in one's mind, as the column moved closer to the bank of the Aire River on the right flank of the Argonne Forest.
As politicians struggled for means to save face and achieve principals presumably understood only by them, the German soldiers had gradually lost their will. In the fall, the weather had combined with human ineptitude to render the infantryman's role all the more unbearable. Yard by yard, the Germans had been cleared from the Argonne Forest, and the Allied plan was to continue the advance along the Aire River in the direction of Varenner and St. Juvin.
While the company was still among the splintered trees of the Argonne, the men looked out across the flat terrain leading to Varennes. The only distinguishing features were the artillery craters, the winding trenches and the ever present dismembered and withered corpses scattered over the ground. Somewhere in the distance there was the sound of small arms fire when Corporal King motioned for the squad to gather around him. He made the welcome announcement the Germans had withdrawn from the sector two days earlier and that the Allied command was not sure what, if anything, remained between the forest and Varennes. As usual, small patrols would have to be sent out before committing the entire battalion to the flat ground approaching the village. The faces of the men in the squad reflected various degrees of disapproval upon learning they had been selected for the patrol.
The squad moved in single file across a meadow devoid of vegetation, and the men glanced down at the bodies of the fallen German soldiers. Even death could not conceal the expressions of terror that would be locked on their faces for eternity. Charles felt so strange in not seeing David and Frank in the file. He listened very intently but could no longer hear the gunfire. When the sun rose over the Argonne Forest, he sensed a strange serenity that encouraged his dreams for the future. He felt even more confident as the squad approached a series of trenches and observed abandoned weapons lying everywhere, no sign of life and only corpses of a defeated army.
Corporal King dispersed the squad in groups of 2 to scout the area assigned to the patrol so as to be sure none of the enemy remained. With no feeling of urgency, Arthur and Charles moved above a long trench and could only see several machine guns on its edge surrounded by sandbags.
Charles glanced at Arthur and said, "I'd feel safer in the damn trench. I feel naked up here like this."
The two men slid down into the trench and to their total amazement, immediately saw two wounded German soldiers propped up against the back wall. One had a leg wound covered with blood-soaked bandages that looked unchanged in the past few days. The blood was a dingy brown color. The other's left arm hung limp at his side, and his blue eyes were locked in a glare of hatred on Charles. The man's hair was long and speckled with dirt, and he had a graying beard. He uttered something under his breath, and his mouth opened showing decaying teeth. Charles was so startled he never noticed the bayonet the soldier was holding in his right hand until he lunged forward and as he shouted something in German emitting a foul breath, thrust it into Charles's stomach.
Arthur cried out, "Charles!" just as he fired one round that struck the enemy soldier just below is right eye, blowing off the top quarter of his head and splattering brain matter against the back of the trench.
The cold steel rendered a sharp, slicing pain across the front of Charles abdomen, and he felt a snapping sensation in his back. Immediately, there was a numbing throughout his entire body, and he could feel warm blooding trickling down his side. A sickening feeling swept over him, just before his ears began to ring with a spinning dizziness. His last visions were those of the German soldier being lifted completely off his feet from Arthur's close-range shot, while the other soldier raised his hands and began screaming. Charles slowly sank to his knees, clutching the bayonet that protruded from his body. Just before he fell to the muddy floor of the trench, his last perceptions were that all the dreams for his remaining life were lost and that he, like so many others for untold reasons, were left only with the harsh reality of what this world had bequeathed him.