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Five O'Clock in the Morning 31.7.1917 Francois Flameng Source |
Louis woke up, shivering, his mouth dry, his body drenched in sweat. His first thought was fever, so he put the back of his hand to his forehead, it felt normal. He sat up and looked around the dugout.
"Louis, go back to sleep, we don't have to get up for another two hours," one of his squad mates said, sitting at the small table in the corner.
Louis looked at the man for a moment, then realized he wasn't shivering any more, but he had a vague feeling of unease. "I think I'm done sleeping for the night, is there any coffee left?"
The man at the table shook his head, "We drank the last of it last night, there'll be no more until we get resupplied. No one is going back to the depot today, we'll be too busy."
Louis nodded, then he realized that he'd been dreaming and had completely forgotten that they would be advancing today. Just before sunrise, he and thousands of other men would be climbing out of their trenches and advancing across no-man's-land. The generals wanted to try one more push before the snows came.
It had begun the day before, when the lieutenant had gathered his platoon to tell them of the offensive.
"Alright lads, nothing to it really. First thing the artillery will commence shooting, what they call a 'walking barrage,' each salvo moves forward at a walking pace with us behind. The idea is to keep the enemy's heads down so they won't be shooting at us. By the time the barrage passes into the rear areas, we're on top of them. It'll be like shooting fish in a barrel," the Lieutenant finished his little speech and noticed that the Sergeant had rolled his eyes at that last remark.
"You have something to add, Sergeant?" he asked, annoyed.
"No Sir, it's just that it's never that simple. In theory, yes, the enemy should be too stunned to be ready for us when we hit their trench line, in practice, the fish in that barrel will be shooting back," the Baron was angry, the officers always believed what the higher ups fed them.
"Well, Sergeant, you have your opinion ..."
"It's not 'an opinion,' Sir. I've been out there multiple times, every single time we cross no-man's-land, having been told that 'this time it will work,' and it never does. This is your first attack, Lieutenant, you must be a realist and not give the men false hope."
The men of the platoon stirred at that, the old hands simply nodded, the new men, like Louis, looked nervously at their mates, unsure of what, or who, to believe.
The Lieutenant looked daggers at the Sergeant, "Very well, Baron, no matter what, have your men ready to advance at eight o'clock, sharp. The sun will be starting up and the artillery will be putting down smoke in ..."
"Smoke, Sir?"
"Yes, smoke. Before the barrage, the guns will lay down smoke in no-man's land to shield the advance from enemy eyes. Mind your pace or you'll be too close to the barrage."
"Uh, Sir, you'll be there, yes?"
"Of course, Sergeant. But if something happens to me, you must lead them in."
"Understood. Sir."
Louis remembered all of that briefing, nearly word for word. The tension between the Lieutenant and the Sergeant had been palpable. The Lieutenant was indeed new to the front, he'd taken command of the platoon a scant three days before Louis' own arrival at the unit. The Baron? He'd been around since day one. He tended to believe the Baron more than anyone else.
Now here it was, some time not long after midnight, not able to sleep and an attack in the morning. Would he even be alive after tomorrow? It wasn't something he could do anything about, except perhaps desert, but he knew that he'd have nowhere to run. Just after training he and his fellow trainees had been mustered to witness an execution.
The man had left his post and been caught way behind the lines trying to get back to his home. The trial had been quick and short, he had been sentenced to be shot at sunrise. Louis and his comrades had seen that, it had made him physically ill to see a man tied to a post and then shot by his fellow soldiers.
So desertion wasn't really an option, if he ran, the army would kill him for sure, if he stayed and fought, the enemy might kill him. The latter seemed the better option, though neither option gave him any consolation.
Just pray and hope for the best, Louis realized. Pray and hope.
The Baron came into the dugout, "All right lads, up and at 'em, it's time."
Louis wondered where the Lieutenant was when he left the dugout and stepped into the drizzle of a cold November morning. The sun wasn't up yet, though it would be hard to tell with the fog and the drizzle. Louis shivered again as he adjusted his equipment for what must have been the hundredth time since getting out of his bunk.
"Louis," the Baron was close by his shoulder, "stay near me and keep your eyes open. Watch and learn, okay?"
"Sure, Sergeant, as best as I can." Louis answered, though he was so terrified he doubted he'd be able to function at all once they left the relative safety of the trench.
After that the Baron had the squad get together and reminded them to keep their intervals, "One man might not make a good use of ammunition to kill him, two or more, clumped together? That's a machine gunner's dream, stay apart, keep your eyes open. Louis, I will use you as a runner should the need arise, so stay near, but not too near, eh?"
Louis nodded, then realized in the early morning dark he might not be seen, so he answered aloud, his voice a croak, "Got it, Sergeant."
At that point the Lieutenant came down the line, "Alright men, up on the firing step - on my whistle, we advance."
The fog was thick, Louis couldn't see past the first tangle of wire near the parapet. He jumped when he heard the shriek of the outgoing artillery rounds overhead. He was glad that he was wearing gloves as his palms were so sweaty he probably would have dropped his rifle had he not been.
"Deep breaths, boy, take deep breaths."
The Baron, standing next to him, seemed unnaturally calm, the other new men, like Louis, looked nervously out into the fog and smoke.
In the near distance they could hear the exploding artillery as it drenched the enemy trenches, Louis almost felt sorry for the enemy. Almost.
Then, Louis heard the Lieutenant's whistle.
Outside of the trench, the men advanced, slowly, at a walking pace. Louis gripped his rifle and stared straight ahead into the whiteness of the fog. The cold drizzle turned to rain, a hard rain. Water was dripping off the back of his helmet and down his greatcoat's collar.
He reached back and pulled his collar down so it wouldn't catch the rain dripping from his helmet. As he did so, he nearly dropped his rifle. Then he heard the Baron's voice ...
"It's alright lad, slow and steady. Seems that the enemy is still asleep. Or, if we're lucky, they're all dead or run off."
Louis was shivering again, the water had gotten into his tunic and soaked his undershirt. He was cold, he felt that he'd never been this cold before. Still, he walked forward, into the mist.
To his front there was a deep shell hole, filled with water, he hesitated at the lip, then followed the Baron as he skirted the hole.
"Never know how deep those things are ..." Louis heard the Baron mutter.
Louis was startled when he heard something zip by his left ear.
"Brace yourself boys!" the Baron called out, "Here it comes!"
It was only then that Louis heard the chatter of the enemy machine guns, then he knew what had gone past his ear.
The men quickened the pace, no one wanted to be out in the open under machine gun fire. A few men jumped into shell holes and cowered there, only to be chivvied out by their NCOs and officers.
A man grunted to his right, as he turned to look at what had happened, he heard multiple "zips" near his ears, both of them. He dove for the ground.
"Dear God, save me ..." Louis moaned into the thick mud.