I Love Sports, I Loathe the Media

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Before we get to the rant portion of this post, Army got to sing first on Saturday.

Singing first means you lost the game. (For those who didn't know that.)

It was hard fought, though to be honest, I thought Army was going to walk away with this one. Navy scored first to make it 7 - 0. Then Army scored sixteen unanswered points to make it 16 - 7.

Navy eventually woke up and played like they had in the first quarter, pulling off a 17 - 16 win.

I missed the end of the game. Why?

While watching the game, the local news media interrupted the broadcast to announce that Brown University, in Providence, some 11 miles as the crow flies from Chez Sarge, was under lockdown/shelter in place for an active shooter.

Were there any announcements of what areas to avoid near Brown? Vague indications which only made sense to someone who actually lives in Providence. But to much of Rhode Island would be as meaningful as "places to avoid in downtown Tashkent."

The media in Providence thinks that Providence is the only inhabited place in Rhode Island. I stopped watching them years ago for precisely that reason.

For instance - I'm stuck in traffic trying to get off "The Island" (which is what the people in Newport County call Aquidneck Island, where I used to work), and am wondering "what the Hell is going on?" So I turn on the radio.

"Watch out for traffic near Thurbers Avenue as blah blah blah ..." Doesn't help me, I'm not in Providence, I'm in Portsmouth, why is our traffic backed up. Listen to Providence media, and you get the feeling that where you live doesn't exist.

Anyhoo ...

So they interrupt the game to bring us what is indeed important news. But of course, being talking heads, they have to blather on for fifteen minutes telling us that "it's an evolving situation, we'll update you as we hear the facts, blah blah blah ..."

Finally we get back to the game and I've missed some key plays. Of course, the local channel is running a banner across the bottom of the screen telling us that they still don't know shit but damn it, we're going to keep bombarding you with the information that we don't have, hope to get, and we'll keep you updated.

We don't loathe the media enough. It's run by idiots, the on air "personalities" don't know how to gather news, they just read stuff off of their laptops, stumbling over words at times.

So now another huge announcement, there's going to be a press conference. They have to come on live to tell us that. So officially we'll be briefed that no one knows f**king anything but now we'll get it from the governor and the chief of police. Ah, "experts."

Bottom line, once Navy kicked the extra point to go ahead of Army that was it. I missed the remainder of the game, the two teams singing, the whole atmosphere which makes the Army-Navy game so special.

No doubt we'll get to the point where they'll identify the shooter, name the victims, and call for more gun control, after all, this is a blue state. They think by making new laws you can prevent certain behaviors.

I mean I get it, my heart goes out to those who were killed, two as I write, and those who were injured, nine at last count. But come on media dopes, bring us news, not speculation, not who has responded. Tell us it's ongoing and where to avoid going. Anything other than that and you're being inefficient and annoying.

News is news, if there's an update, tell us. That there will be an update to the story is NOT EFFING NEWS. I mean isn't that effing obvious?

So I feel kinda bad ranting about this when people have died, but seriously, give us news we can use you media types, don't be on air just for the sake of being on air.

I don't hate the media, I loathe them.

/rant

Sarge, out.

A Quickie (No, Not That Kind ...)

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Okay, sorry, no war today. Went out to eat with friends Friday night, returned home too stuffed to think. I mean, it was an Italian restaurant, a good Italian restaurant. Bear in mind, I've eaten in Rome, Florence, and Venice, so I have a pretty good idea what Italian food is supposed to taste like. Marchetti's is really good.

So if you're ever in Cranston, Rhode Island, check them out. (Their website is where I got the lead-in photo if you're interested.)

I had one of the specials, pasta rusticante, which was penne in a pink sauce with chicken, prosciutto, and shrimp. Covered in mozzarella and baked in the oven, it was very tasty, enough for two meals! (Yes, I'm not a complete glutton, I took some home with me.)

At the end of the meal while the ladies were sipping their second Moscato, the guys decided they wanted coffee. The server asked what sort of coffee I'd like and I asked if it was weird to order an Irish coffee in an Italian place.

"Not at all, but have you ever tried our Italian coffee?"

"Ah, to me, that's espresso, but I'm a Yank, what do I know?"

"Well, here we make it with amaretto. Irish coffee has Bailey's and whisky, right?"

"Yeah, that's right, I think. Yeah, I'll try your Italian coffee."

Oh dear, it was really, really good. Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?

So the company was excellent and the food was sublime.

Here's how much I like Marchetti's, I drove there during Providence rush hour. Okay, not as bad as Boston or New York, or any of a hundred other cities, but still, an hour for a 30 minute drive? I abhor traffic, I will avoid it by any means necessary.

But dangle good Italian food in my face?

Stand back folks, here I come at a blazing ten miles an hour!

Seriously, I enjoyed it.

So yeah, no fiction post today.

Oh yeah, one more thing ...

The Inferno Awaits

Source

"Louis, Jean-Charles, Guillaume, let's go, le pinard¹ is here!" the Baron leaned into the dugout and beckoned Louis and his new comrades to follow him.

The new men, Jean-Charles Barrault and Guillaume Pasteur, hesitated for a moment, looking to Louis for guidance.

"Come on, it's not every day we get wine, even if it is the cheap stuff. Sometimes the quartermaster has the better stuff as well. Le pinard is free, if he's got the good stuff, it's only a few sous², what else do you have to spend your pay on?" Louis headed out, if they didn't want to go, he didn't really care.

Both men looked at each other, then followed Louis.

The wine wasn't that good, but it was strong. Louis felt dizzy after a single cup. It was the "good stuff" but it wasn't that good, he regretted spending money for it.

As he and the new soldiers drank, the Baron joined them, he'd been waylaid by their lieutenant on his way there.

"Any news, Sergeant de Neuville?" Guillaume asked, after finishing his cup.

"Yes, we're leaving this section of the front, we won't be going back into the line tomorrow."

Louis' face brightened, "Surely that is good news."

"Well, I don't know. The Boche are making a big push on another sector of the front and the RFV³ is screaming for reinforcements and replacements. Apparently it's our turn in the barrel."

Louis' face went pale as Jean-Charles asked, "What is the RFV?"

"It is the area around the city of Verdun. Lots of fortifications, artillery emplacements, and trenches. The Germans have taken the high ground east of the area, we are counterattacking, of course. But it's been bloody," the Baron answered in a somber tone.

Louis stared off into the distance, suddenly the filth and the danger of this sector didn't seem so bad. He moaned quietly, "Verdun, we're doomed."

The train was late, so of course as the battalion waited at the station it began to rain. The temperature hovered just above freezing but as the day wore on, the rain gradually changed to sleet, then to snow.

"What is wrong, where are the trains?" Jean-Charles asked.

"There's a war on, don't you know?" Guillaume quipped.

The Baron turned to them from his position to their front, "Quiet lads, no chatter. The train will arrive when it arrives. You haven't been in the army long enough to know that if something can go wrong, it will. Better to stand here and freeze than to be in a hurry to get to Verdun."

Their lieutenant came back from the officers' meeting and had news for them, "We won't be off until the morning, the major says to return to our old quarters." That caused a significant amount of griping in the ranks. The lieutenant waited for it to subside.

"If you ladies are quite done complaining, stand to attention, by the left, column forward!"

The company disappeared into the swirling whiteness, their footprints quickly covered by the rapidly falling snow.

Before dawn the men were awakened, Louis, along with the other veterans had been up for an hour by then. The snow had eased off and the temperature had fallen precipitously.

"Bundle up, lads, it's bitter out there, just be thankful that there is no wind," the Baron had the platoon in ranks and ready to move within minutes. Some of the newer men were lagging and he let them know that they could count on standing the first guard when they reached the trenches if they didn't pick up the pace. Which they did in short order.

"Alright men, we're heading back down to the station, the train is already there. Don't expect lovely accommodations, we're traveling in box cars. We call them 'forty and eights' as they're designed to carry forty men or eight horses. I know, I know, perhaps a better name would be 'forty OR eights.'" The lieutenant smiled at his little jest, then he ordered the men to step off.

The air was bitter cold, when the sun came up the light sparkled on the new snow. The men were wreathed in the steam of their own breath as they marched, shoulders hunched, heads down. No one wanted to breathe in too much of the frigid air.

As they came down the slight hill to the station, they saw that the train was indeed there and the rest of the battalion was boarding as they arrived. The platoon joined the queue and in less than an hour they were aboard their car. While they weren't jammed in, there wasn't much room inside to actually be comfortable.

When the train lurched forward, a number of the newer men cried out as they nearly fell.

"Calm down, ladies, learn to brace yourselves as the train moves. You'll get used to it by the time we arrive at Verdun. Believe me, in a day or so you'll be missing the comforts of this box car!"

The train eventually lurched to a halt after a fourteen hour journey. Normally the trip would be much shorter, but having to wait for wounded returning from the front, and ammunition and supply trains moving to the front, caused a number of delays.

As the men detrained, many heard the rumble of artillery in the distance. The newer men thought it sounded far louder than their old section of the front, Jean-Charles remarked on that to the Baron.

"Well, you're right lad. Our old sector wasn't quite as active as this one. The Boche have brought forward hundreds of artillery pieces to try and force us off this ground. We, in answer, have brought forth our own guns to keep them at bay. I'm afraid lads, that this will be a stern test of both our nerves and our courage."

Louis shuddered at the thought of what they were getting into, everything he had heard about this sector was that it was a meat-grinder, a place where both sides fed men into the horror of battle in their thousands, and saw them die in horrible ways.

As he stepped onto the platform, an older lady approached the platoon, "Thank you for coming to save us my brave boys!"

As the men marched off, one of them said, "Not like we volunteered for this, is it?"

"Save your energy," the Baron snapped.

Louis felt a chill come over him.

Even the Baron sounded terrified of what fate might await them.

At Verdun.

¹ "Le Pinard" was WWI French soldier slang for cheap red wine.

² An old type of French coin, often the French used this term for any coin less than a franc. (A pox on the Euro, Just my opinion.)

³ The RFV was the Région Fortifiée de Verdun

The Moral is to the Physical as Three is to One ...

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They were back with their unit, they had managed to stay in the rear for three days before the Baron announced that it was time to go back. Louis was reluctant, but the Baron was insistent. There were rumors of a mutiny on another section of the front, a unit had refused to go into combat.

An investigation had revealed that the unit, a reserve regiment, was badly treated by its officers and hadn't been paid in over a month. But, and Louis paid close attention to this, two of the men had been court-martialed and shot.

"Shot? Because they hadn't been paid and refused to move up to the line? Isn't that like workmen refusing to finish a job because they haven't been paid? Why weren't the officers punished? This seems ..."

"Outrageous? Of course it is, lad. But the men who were shot organized the refusal, they convinced the rest of the men that the army couldn't punish all of them. And they were right, they only punished the ones who convinced the others not to move up. As for the officers? Who knows, perhaps the colonel has relatives in the government, wouldn't be the first time the guilty go free because they have powerful protectors."

"It isn't right," Louis sulked.

"No, it isn't but that colonel brought disgrace upon the army, he'll be quietly shuffled off to some meaningless assignment. His career is over."

Louis sat up and waved a hand in the Baron's face, "But those two men, their lives are over, what of their families?"

The Baron studied Louis for a moment, he didn't like people getting in his face, but he took a deep breath and said, "Life is not fair, or haven't you noticed that by now?"

The remainder of the walk back to their unit, back in reserve once more, was silent.

"Ah, glad you could join us Sergeant de Neuville, Soldat Milhaud¹. I thought perhaps that you had decided to retire to the countryside and take no more part in the war." The major's² tone was jocular, but the look on his face was anything but.

"My shoulder was dislocated, Sir, Louis came to find me, I convinced him to wait with me until my shoulder was better. It was only three days, Sir."

"Only three days. eh, Sergeant? I think for that you should start your climb up the ranks all over again. But your actions, along with those of Soldat Milhaud, were praised by your lieutenant. So for now, you keep your stripes, do it again, I will not be so understanding. Are we understood?"

The Baron nodded and apologized for his actions, "I understand, Sir. May we report to our lieutenant now?"

The major shook his head, "Of course. You are incorrigible Baron, do not try my patience again. Now go, before I change my mind."

The next day the Baron awakened to find Louis gone. "I hope that lad hasn't got any fool ideas into his head," he muttered as he pulled on his coat, grabbed his rifle and left the old barn the men were occupying. There, next to a campfire, sat Louis, looking morose and perhaps feeling sorry for himself.

As the Baron approached, Louis looked up and glumly pronounced, "You were right."

"About?"

Louis gestured with his chin, pointing it towards the east. The Baron could hear the rumble of artillery, the occasional chatter of a machine gun. "The war, it's still there, waiting for us, waiting to devour us and all our comrades."

"There is nothing certain in this life, lad," the Baron tried to assure Louis.

"Please tell that to the men who have died up until now, please tell that to the men who will die before this futile war is over."

The Baron had had enough, he strode over to Louis, and grabbing the young soldier by the lapels of his greatcoat, jerked him to his feet.

"Futile? Would you rather just give the country over to the Boche? Would you let them once more dictate terms to us at Versailles?³"

"That's not what I meant, I only mean ..."

"What? What do you mean, boy?"

The Baron, furious, continued.

"We humbled those damned Prussians at Jena, and Auerstädt. We made them run at Fleurus⁴, we stopped them at the Marne, we shall stop them here. To quit is to surrender the sacred soil of France to their damned arrogant Kaiser. They invaded US! Remember that, boy, this war is not futile, it is a question of national survival!"

Louis stood in stunned silence, then he lowered his eyes to the ground and mumbled an apology.

"Don't apologize to me, boy. Apologize to those who have fallen by doing your duty, nothing more, nothing less."

The Baron stormed off, Louis had never seen the man so angry.

Later on, Louis was sitting outside a small shed within which some of the new men were playing cards. Louis' mood had improved, listening to these young soldiers banter and kid each other, reminded him of festival days in his home village. He heard a footstep behind him.

Turning, he saw that it was the Baron. He looked a bit sheepish as his sergeant slapped him on the shoulder then sat next to him.

"Feeling better, lad?"

"Yes, a bit ..." Louis paused, then added, "Actually much better, I've been thinking about ..."

"Don't think so much, lad. Simply do your duty, leave the bitching to me. You know I'm far better at it than you."

Louis smiled and nodded, "That you are, my dear Baron, that you are."

"Enjoy this day, Louis. We're going back up to the line tomorrow, apparently the Boche are getting restless and our presence is required to, how you say, calm them down?"

"And we do that by ...?"

"Killing them boy, killing each and every one of them until not another Boche stands on French soil. Even if it takes decades."

"Let's hope it doesn't take quite so long," a voice spoke behind them.

Both men turned, it was their lieutenant.

"I want you lads near me from now on, you're both good luck. Sergeant de Neuville, you are now my platoon sergeant, Private First Class Milhaud, you are now my platoon messenger. Is that suitable?"

Louis began to speak, the lieutenant interrupted him, "I expect you to have that stripe sewn on by tomorrow, Milhaud."

"Yes Sir, I will Sir, where ...?"

"You can have my old stripes, Louis. I have them somewhere."

When the lieutenant left, Louis was beaming.

"Easy lad, it's not like you've been promoted to Marshal of France," the Baron said, chuckling.

"No, but it's a start," Louis said, still grinning from ear to ear.

The Baron shook his head and said nothing. One moment the lad was ready to throw in the towel, the next he seems ready to take on the world. Now to keep the lad alive.

And that, was a sergeant's job.

¹ Louis' full name is Louis Gaston Milhaud. I realized that I hadn't given him a family name before now.

² I should point out that this rank in the French army of 1914 - 1918 (and earlier) was actually chef de battalion. But rather than inflict more French upon you, gentle reader, I've used the English term throughout this tale.

³ At the end of the Franco-Prussian War the German Empire was proclaimed from the palace of Versailles, home to generations of French kings.

⁴ What is called in English the Battle of Ligny, Napoléon's last victory in 1815 where the French defeated the Prussians.

The Attack

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Louis steadied himself as the ground moved and shook, the enemy trench was less than two hundred meters from their own and they could feel every round falling on the enemy. Louis almost felt sorry for them.

"Is it always like this!?" the young soldier next to Louis shouted over the noise.

Louis just nodded, he was trying to get himself ready to go over the top, he had no time to waste trying to encourage the others. It was all he could do to encourage himself. Fortunately the Baron was there as well.

He patted the young soldier on the shoulder, then shouted, "Keep moving forward, don't bunch up, listen to your sergeants. And yes, it is usually like this, sometimes it's worse!"

The young man, his name was Michel, Louis suddenly remembered, closed his eyes and crossed himself.

After what felt like an eternity, the whistles blew and the order was given to advance. As Louis climbed out of the trench he wondered at the dead silence. The guns had gone silent, there was no enemy machine gun fire. Somehow this was more terrifying than the usual chaos.

The men advanced steadily across no-man's-land, nothing was moving ahead. Louis said to the Baron, "Think they've fallen back?"

"Definitely, we need to move faster, get into their first line before they counterattack."

At that moment, the officers began to wave the men forward, faster, faster. At last they reached the enemy first line, it was deserted. The troops entered the trench system, jostling each other. The younger men began to cheer, as if they had won some great victory.

"Lieutenant, we can't stay here."

"And why not?"

"Their guns will soon ..."

Before the Baron could finish his sentence, German shells began landing in and around the trench system. Men were screaming, men were cowering at the bottom of the trench, some began to fall back to their old lines.

"Jesus, this is bad, Louis, very bad. We need to advance, not sit here waiting for their attack, meet them in the open, they won't expect that."

Louis looked around, the lieutenant was nearby, clearly confused as to what to do next. Louis had a sudden thought, he grabbed the lieutenant by his sleeve.

"Follow me, Sir!"

Slowly the rest of the company began to follow, the lieutenant looked wild eyed, he drew his sidearm, "En avant! Vive la France!"

Out of the smoke before them, Louis caught a glimpse of German infantry, advancing towards them. The lieutenant's shout startled one man, he looked up and turned to scream a warning, Louis shot him.

Almost feverishly the French infantry began to fire on the move, their shots went wild for the most part, but the Germans hadn't expected this, they hesitated. The French were on them in an instant.

Louis watched in horror as a big German sergeant rose up out of a shell hole, swinging an entrenching tool at the lieutenant's neck. Louis screamed at the man, who turned to Louis sensing the threat, but too late to counter it.

Louis withdrew his bayonet, the big German sergeant fell to his knees, his hands pressed tightly to his abdomen, trying desperately to stuff his intestines back into his belly. Louis kicked the man on to his back, he was no longer a threat.

"Lieutenant, we need to keep moving, they're starting to run!"

The lieutenant stood staring at Louis, his eyes kept returning to Louis' bayonet, which was dripping blood.

"NOW LIEUTENANT!"

Louis waved his arm and shouted to the men nearby, "At them, they're running!"

As the men advanced, shouting, cutting down any German who moved too slowly, Louis looked around for the Baron. He was nowhere in sight.

They overran the second German line, they caught multiple German machine gun teams preparing to advance. Only one crew got their weapon into action, it fired maybe five rounds before jamming. The Germans tried to surrender, the French soldiers butchered them where they stood, pleading for their lives.

The young man who'd crossed himself before the attack came down the trench with a prisoner. Michel's helmet was missing, his great coat was ripped in multiple places, his bayonet was red with blood.

The man he was prodding before him was an officer. The German was bleeding from his left side, Michel had apparently stabbed the man and he was stumbling badly, trying to keep his feet.

"Someone, an officer, please," the German called out in surprisingly good French.

The lieutenant stepped forward, "Who are you? Quickly or I'll give you to my men."

With a look of horror, the German's eyes swept around the trench, "I, I am Colonel Max von Littow, I am your prisoner, Sir." He held his hands out in supplication as he said this.

"What is your unit?"

"You know I cannot answer that ..."

"He's yours, Soldat," the lieutenant nodded at Michel.

"15th Bavarian Reserve Infantry, please, Lieutenant, mercy!" the German cried out.

The lieutenant nodded, "Thank you."

Turning to his men, he ordered, "Louis, you and Michel take this man back to headquarters, tell them we need reinforcements if we're to hold this trench."

"I'll see he arrives in one piece," Louis said.

"If he gives you any trouble, gut him and leave him to die."

The German's eyes went wide when he heard that, "I assure you, Lieutenant, I will make no trouble."

"You made trouble the day your army crossed into France."

Louis paused, then nodded at Michel. To the German he simply jabbed his bayonet at the man and barked, "Move or dance on my bayonet, you Boche bastard."

The German stumbled then began to move, Michel stayed on his heels, promising what he would do if the German hesitated even for a moment.

The German colonel understood the message very well.

As they headed back, fresh troops were streaming forward, word of the successful attack had gotten back already, now all they had to do was deliver the prisoner. Along the way Louis looked for the Baron, hoping he was okay but fearing the worst.

"A prisoner?" They were met at their old position by their regimental commander.

"Oui, mon Colonel."

"I see he is hurt, take him to the aid station. I'll send someone to collect him. Once that is done, you may return to your unit."

They delivered the German to the aid station, where they met the Baron. His arm was in a sling.

"Baron, you're all right?" Louis smiled at the sight of the man.

"Yes, tripped over a Boche, fell into the German trench and separated my shoulder. The medics say I'll be fine, just need to rest for a couple of days."

"We have to return immediately," Michel told him.

"According to who?"

"The regimental commander."

"Does he know your names? Do you think he'll check up on you? No, he won't. You boys can rest here, with me. Worry about the war tomorrow. It will still be there."

And when the sun rose again, the war was indeed still there.

The Bucket

No Man's Land
Maurice Galbraith Cullen (PD)

The new lieutenant looked to be about 12 years old, Louis thought, he was fresh out of Saint-Cyr¹ and was indeed rather young.

"People say he is a prodigy, finished his normal schooling at the age of sixteen and entered Saint-Cyr right afterwards. He wanted to enlist when the war broke out, but his father insisted he finish the course. 'Better an officer than an enlisted man,' was what his father said," the Baron filled his pipe again as he finished his explanation.

"Is his father a general or something?" Louis asked.

The Baron scoffed as he shook his head, "No, he manages a factory near Lille, fancies himself as one of the nobility as his great grandfather was given a title by Napoléon back in the old days."

"So he is a noble?"

"No, most of the titles the Emperor handed out lapsed when the Bourbons returned. Napoléon the Third tried to reinstate those old titles, but the lieutenant's grandfather didn't apply. Hard to do when one is dead in the forest of the Ardennes."

"So the lieutenant's grandfather and great grandfather were soldiers but ..."

"Yes, his father decided to leave soldiering to others and live in their reflected glory."

Louis thought back to the wreckage of no-man's-land, the unburied bodies, the ruined land, the mud and the ever-present rats. "Where was the glory?" he wondered.

They had been in reserve for nearly three weeks now. As the front was quiet they had been kept in reserve longer than normal.

"Too damned cold to fight a war," the Baron had said.

So they rested, drilled, and absorbed new recruits. The new lieutenant being one of those.

The platoon was gathered in the rather large barn they were using as a headquarters of sorts, waiting to be addressed by the new lieutenant. Louis looked around, the only old hand he recognized was the Baron. He was wondering where Anton had gotten off to when he saw his comrade arrive late, with the new lieutenant.

Louis waved to Anton, who came over with the lieutenant.

"Louis, this is our new platoon leader, Sous-Lieutenant Manoury. Sir, this is my best friend, Louis."

Louis offered a salute, which the lieutenant returned, "Only because we are inside am I not angry at you, Soldat."

Louis looked puzzled, then it struck him, outside, near the lines, saluting an officer could be a death sentence. For the officer.

"Yes Sir, I know that, pardon me, but I'm surprised you do."

"Ah, they don't teach just mathematics at Saint-Cyr, we have a few veterans from the front for instructors."

"That's good, Sir, but the men are gathered, as you requested," the Baron wanted to get this over with. They would be going back up to the line in the morning and he wanted the men to get some sleep tonight as it might be a while before they'd be this comfortable.

"Ah, thank you, Sergeant."

After it was over, Louis turned to the Baron, "What was that all about? Glory? Honor? There is none of that out here, what are they teaching them back there?"

The Baron shook his head, "Let the lieutenant have his dreams, he will learn soon enough that on the line there is nothing more than misery and death. No honor, no glory."

The night felt short, Louis didn't sleep much, anticipating their return to the trenches in the morning. The new men slept like babies, they had no idea what their lives would be like for the next week, or more.

They were on a different sector this time, the trenches they moved into were badly in need of repair. They were also filthier than normal.

"What did these people do? Did they just shit wherever they felt like it?" Anton said, outraged at finding human feces in the dugout he'd been assigned to.

The Baron shook his head, this was outrageous. But in the other unit's defense, they had been under constant shellfire during their stint on the line. Night and day the Boche were dropping shells on them. Not a constant barrage, just sporadic shelling meant to keep the men's heads down and keep them in their shelters.

Apparently the high command was aware of this and determined that an attack on the Boche trenches had to be carried out, disrupt the constant shelling and perhaps gain some terrain as well.

Louis looked at Anton, "Well, we can stay here and live in the shit, or we can advance and die out there. Doesn't seem to be any chance either way."

Anton was bitter, "Happy shitty New Year, mon ami. The front is terrible, why must they make it even worse?"

"Who is they?"

"The Boche, their politicians, our politicians, what's the point of all this?"

The Baron came up, "There is no point any more, lads. We kill or we die, seems we do that until the politicians agree that we've done enough."

Anton glared across no-man's-land, then started to scramble out of the trench, yelling incoherently.

With difficulty Louis and the Baron hauled him back into the trench. But Anton continued to struggle, so the Baron slugged him, knocking him out cold.

"Shell shock," the Baron muttered.

"But we haven't been shelled yet, we've just reentered the trenches," Louis pointed out.

The Baron sent two men to get a stretcher, they would take Anton to the rear, perhaps the doctors could help him. Then he turned back to Louis.

"Each man has a certain amount of courage. But it's like a bucket full of water, once it starts to leak, you become less and less able to handle combat. Anton's bucket was empty, seeing the conditions he'd have to live and fight in sent him over the edge. We all have our limits."

Louis sighed, "Do you, Baron? Do you have a limit?"

"Of course I do, boy. My bucket is just bigger, but soon it too will be empty. Or I will die, or the war will end. It's Fate lad, nothing more."

Louis was close to despair, if the Baron could get so down, what hope did he have? And tomorrow they would attack the Boche, would his own bucket run dry?

Would he even survive this foul war? He was beginning to have his doubts.

¹ École spéciale militaire de Saint-Cyr, a French military academy founded by Napoléon in 1802.

“The Move" and other subjects

 Ok, I'm gonna start out with a YGBSM Rant!  Sorry! (OK Not Sorry!)

How about the USS Gettysburg shooting down an FA-18, shooting at a second, but missing and targeting a third?  Fortunately, the crew of the one shot down was able to eject and was rescued.  The report reads that the Captains Situation Awareness was low.  

No SHIT, Sherlock!

 Apparently, the Captain thought the three jets were inbound Houthi missiles.  HMMMM, I can think of several, maybe a dozen, different ways to identify inbound targets and that's from experience 20 years ago. None of which will be discussed here, but which have very good reliabliltiy in ID'ing targets.

USS Gettysburg 

Source

YGBSM!  Court martial, reduce in rank to E-1 and cashier him out of the Service after a lenghty dereliction of duty sentence.  But that's my charitable side.  Is Criminal Stupidity causing fratricide a crime? If not, it damn well should be!

ANYHOW enough on that debacle...On to this week's assessment of progress in the "Move to College Station" campaign plan.  The ratio of Boxes packed to Boxes not packed yet is getting closer to turning the tide.  (I'm writing this paragraph as I look at a picture of a cruiser, so...a Navy quote.)

Movers come for pickup a week from today and we depart for our new location the next morning.  Should be interesting, 3 dogs and a cat in a small-ish 4 door, for about 4 hours.  Sanity?  Who needs Sanity?

Rental house is standing ready, a bit small, but will work until the new house is built (about 8 months, if we're lucky).  But there is quite a bit of work that needs to be done. So...Grin and bare it. 

No, that's not a typo!

On a different note, we attended the annual 'Burg Christmas Parade, Friday Night.  

Traffic was terrible.  We're an hour and a half prior to parade start and 4 blocks from where we parked our "place holder" car and now can't find a parking space.  The parade IS a big deal!

 

Always a big turnout and it's great to see people you know but haven't seen in a while, (Unless at HEB, then it's almost a foregone conclusion).  MBD and gang joined us for the parade festivities.  The Grandchildren are now old enough to somewhat understand the goings on.  So, a good time was had by all.

 

 

 

 

Yes, a truck and horse trailer decked out in lights, Who'da thunk?

 Now, be advised, these were only 3 of the hundred or so float pictures I took.  The parade went on for 90 Minutes.  There were "a few" floats in it, ok, "Quite a few".  The parade route was about a mile and a half.  We were at the end of the route.  By the time the FHS band marched by our spot, well, one could tell they were a bit tired.  But, as the song says, "The Band played on!"

A little chilly, but all in all, well worth the time.  BTW, both sides of the street were parked in completely.  It's a big deal in "The Burg".

As to the title,  as mentioned above, this time next week the movers will be in the house schlepping boxes and furniture onto their truck.  The horses will be chauffeured to their temporary quarters awaiting construction of their quarters on our new property.  Again about 8 months.  

No, Beans, their conveyance isn't pictured above.  At least, I don't think it is!  Who's to say?

We'll be headed to College Station shortly after the horses depart here.  And then the "New Adventure" will begin.

Wish us luck!

Peace out, y'all!