Dawn

(Source)

Eugène Bachelot sat in the dank basement and prayed, he prayed as he had never prayed before. Surely this was some mistake, he barely remembered this woman they claimed he had raped. He had been so drunk that he didn't even remember returning to his bivouac.

He did remember when the gendarmes came and arrested him, though he couldn't remember what they had told him. They had brought him to regimental headquarters where he had been confronted with the Belgian woman who they said he had raped.

She had given him a single glance, nodded at the colonel, then said, "C'est lui.¹"

The colonel had gestured for the gendarmes to escort the woman out of the room. When she had gone, he walked over to the table and the single chair which occupied the room and sat down. No doubt the army had cleared the room so that the colonel could use it as an office. It was in a large farmhouse, the family which owned it still lived in the upper floors but the remainder had been taken over for the regimental headquarters.

The colonel looked at the papers upon the desk and sighed. Looking up he addressed Bachelot, "Soldat Bachelot, it has been decided to make an example of you. You have been accused of raping a Belgian woman and of being absent without leave from your unit. The woman you raped has testified that it was indeed you who raped her, your sergeant has testified that you were not present in your bivouac last night. These facts lead me to believe that you are indeed guilty of these crimes."

Bachelot began to protest his innocence when the colonel interrupted him.

"Do you have any witnesses that could testify to your whereabouts on the night in question?"

Bachelot thought for a moment, he had snuck away by himself that night. None of his squad mates were the sort that would be interested in visiting a Belgian brothel, so went by himself. He had no one who could say he was elsewhere.

"I deny these charges mon colonel. I am innocent!"

"Can you explain how this woman came to be in possession of half of your identity disk?²"

That startled Bachelot, he reached for his identity disk, one of the gendarmes moved to stop him, but the colonel nodded to let Bachelot continue. When he reached under his tunic, Bachelot felt the jagged edge of his broken identity disk, at that point he knew that there was nothing he could say in his own defense.

"Care to show us the disk Soldat?" the colonel asked.

Sheepishly, Bachelot pulled the broken disk from under his tunic and revealed to everyone in the room that half of the disk was missing. The look on his colonel's face froze the blood in his veins.

"Soldat Eugène Marie Charles Bachelot, army serial number 7566112, I hereby find you guilty of  the charge of absence without leave and the charge of rape. In order to enforce good order and discipline in the ranks, I hereby sentence you to death by firing squad. Sentence to be carried out tomorrow morning at dawn. Do you have anything to say?" the colonel's look suggested that Bachelot should remain silent.

"I protest mon colonel, this is unfair and ..."

"Remove the prisoner!"

Bachelot remembered all of that, he had thought about it the entire night. Now, as the eastern sky began to lighten, it was only moments until they would come to take him to the place where he would be judicially murdered. Bachelot could not believe this, the woman was a prostitute, it's not like he had raped a housewife or a schoolgirl.

It all seemed like such a great injustice.

The day had dawned foggy and damp. Guillaume was marching to the execution ground with the other members of his squad and he was terrified of dropping his rifle, his hands were so sweaty from nerves.

"Squad HALT!" Sergeant Brasseur barked.

"Right FACE!"

Pivoting, Guillaume caught sight of Bachelot, he had already been tied to a post some twenty meters away. He was blindfolded and there was a piece of paper pinned to the breast of his tunic, which had been shorn of all badges and buttons.

Captain François Kléber marched out from one side of where the squad was positioned. He stopped halfway between the squad and the condemned man. Guillaume was trembling, he wondered that the sergeant hadn't noticed, but he had not. He was dimly aware that the captain was reading out the charges and that the general commanding the division had confirmed the sentence.

Completing his task, the captain pivoted to return to his original position. Then he commanded, in his best parade ground voice, "Lieutenant, carry out the sentence of the court!"

Lieutenant Mathis Choquet, Guillaume's platoon leader, drew his sword and lifted it up.

"SQUAD! Present!"

Ten rifles came up.

"AIM!"

Ten rifles pointed at the condemned man's breast.

Guillaume had been told that one rifle of the ten had been loaded with a blank round, so that everyone could console themselves that perhaps they had not killed their comrade. When young Trouvé had asked Sergeant Brasseur if that was true, the sergeant had scoffed.

"You would know if you had the blank round, boy, your rifle wouldn't kick as much. But that's just an old army story, it's nonsense I tell you. Every one of those ten rifles has a live round. Trust me."

Bachelot was breathing heavily, he couldn't seem to take in enough air. He had always thought of himself as a very tough man. Now he knew that he was not. He sobbed in embarrassment as he soiled his trousers. He wanted to live, he wanted to live.

At the edge of his consciousness he heard the command ...

"FIRE!!"

Ten muzzles spouted flame, ten rifles kicked back into ten shoulders.

"SQUAD! ORDER ARMS!"

As the squad snapped back into the position of attention, rifles grounded by their sides, Guillaume tried not to look, but he couldn't help himself.

Still tied to the post, but slumped over like a broken doll, Bachelot sagged against the ropes binding him to the post. Blood spattered his tunic, which looked as if it had been torn by a wild beast.

Guillaume swallowed hard as the lieutenant marched to the post, his service revolver in hand. In one smooth motion, the lieutenant's pistol barrel aligned itself with Bachelot's head. In the very next instant there was a sharp report and Bachelot's head snapped to one side.

It was a wasted bullet, Bachelot had died in the volley from the firing squad. But orders and tradition called for the coup de grâce. So the lieutenant did his duty.

It was something that every man of the squad would remember for the rest of their lives.

All of he men in the squad got very drunk that night. Sergeant Brasseur supplied the drink. He knew what the men were experiencing, he had experienced the same feelings when he had served in a firing squad during the Mutiny of 1917³ as a very young private.

It was necessary.

Pour encourager les autres ...

¹ That is him.

² The French Army had identity disks designed to be broken in half in the event of the soldier being killed in action. One half would be left on the body. The Germans used a similar system as do other countries, even today.

³ In 1917 the French Army had refused to attack when ordered forward, read more here. The movie Paths of Glory covers the event very well, a superb film, I highly recommend it.