Winter on the Line

Le Jus
Ernest Gabard
Source

Louis stifled the urge to laugh when the man ahead of him slipped on the ice and fell on his backside. The stew he was carrying spilled out, no laughing matter when Louis saw the looks on his squad mates' faces. A warm meal was a treat, losing a portion of it was bad for morale.

The Baron shoved his way out of the dugout, shooing the rookies back inside. "Come on, lads, get the rest in here before it's cold!"

The platoon had received replacements during the reserve period, they were, to a man, young and raw. While there was no substitute for experience, the Baron had worked hard getting the new boys ready for what they were facing. Still and all, Louis realized, unless their luck was better than most, half would be dead or wounded in a fortnight when their turn on the line ran out.

Once everyone was in the dugout, Louis looked around. The Baron was spooning out the stew and was visibly pleased that the portions were ample enough, even though quite a bit had been lost when Pierre had taken his tumble. That's when Louis produced his surprise.

"Boys, wouldn't a bit of fresh bread go nicely with this?"

The Baron shot him a warning look, it wasn't nice to disturb the new men's hopes. But, with a flourish, Louis produced two fresh loaves from his haversack.

"Voila!"

The grin on the Baron's face was worth the dirty look he'd given Louis just moments before. The new men looked as if they had never seen such a thing before.

"How? Where?" The Baron asked.

"I know a fellow over in 4th Company who does business with a baker in the nearest town, not village mind you, but town. Big enough that the place still has a functional bakery. For certain considerations, he gets fresh bread brought up a couple of times a week. He was kind enough to spare me a couple of loaves as he owed me a favor." Louis explained.

The Baron nodded, "Very good. Does this fellow have any needs we might be able to satisfy should we want more bread?"

"Certainly, after all, you still know the fellow with the still, yes?"

"Of course, but we'll need another source for apples, in case you missed it, it's winter. Not many apples on the trees this time of year." The Baron shrugged, fresh bread was nice, but with no source of fruit for the still, they wouldn't have anything to trade.

One of the new lads spoke up, "My father grows apricots, he has a large stock of them, dried and easy to ship. My mother knows I like them and I told her that my fellows like them as well. Can your man use apricots for his still?"

The Baron smiled, "This might be a good winter, provided the Boche stay in their dugouts."

Wolfgang looked out over the frozen wasteland between the German positions and the French positions. He shuddered at the thought of going out there again, but rumor had it that the higher ups wanted a prisoner to "chat" with. He couldn't imagine why, not much had changed over the past month, except that the snow had gotten deeper and the wind, if possible, was blowing even colder.

He reached up to scratch his forehead, when his fingers hit the hard metal edge of the new helmets they'd been issued, he winced. His fingers were numb but the hard steel of the helmet reminded him that he could still feel pain.

"Bit heavier than the old ones, ain't they?" Horst came out of the dugout, he wasn't wearing his helmet, just his fatigue cap.

"Better not let the sergeant see you out here without your steel pot. You ever notice the scar on the side of his head?"

"Yes, grazed by a bullet wasn't he?"

"Nope, bit of steel from an exploding shell, if it had hit the leather of his helmet he'd have no scar. But he was wearing his soft cap, just like you and ..."

"Gottverdammt! Where is your helmet, Horst?" the sergeant looked fit to burst.

"I was just going to have a piss, Sergeant, do I need a helmet ..."

"You'll wear the damned thing every time you step out of your hole! Is that clear?"

Horst nodded, "Yes Sergeant, very clear. I'll go get it now."

"Damn right you will. Move!"

After Horst had disappeared back into the dugout the sergeant spoke to Wolfgang.

"You've been volunteered."

"So the rumor is true, why me?"

"The Captain thinks you'll succeed where the others will just get killed. Pick any five men you like and ..."

"I'll take two, Hans and Johannes. They know how to move quietly out there. Any chance we can get ahold of bedding? Sheets, preferably white, of course."

"Sure, Wolf, I'll swing by the hotel and borrow some, what do you think I am, a magician?"

"The lieutenant over in 1st Platoon has a set of sheets. Of course he won't get them back in one piece but ..."

The sergeant studied Wolfgang for a moment, he supposed that if he went to the captain, he could probably get those sheets from 1st Platoon's lieutenant, but it would cost him a favor, of that he was sure.

"I'll see what I can do, be ready about an hour after sundown."

"Yes, chief, we'll be ready. Sheets or no."

Louis was with one of the new men, Anton he thought his name was, showing him what to watch for at night.

"If you think you see something, don't stare at it, focus to either side of it, your peripheral vision is good for such things."

"My peri ... what?"

"Your side view, if you will, you can see things you're not looking directly at, right?" I mean you're not blind are you?"

The new man nodded in sudden understanding, "What did you call it?"

"Peripheral vision."

The new man, his name was indeed Anton, repeated the phrase once or twice. Then he grinned, "Thanks, I'll remember that."

"Also, keep moving, small movements so you don't attract attention. You need to keep your circulation moving or you'll freeze to death. Understood?"

"Yes Sir."

"I'm not a 'sir,' a simple 'yes' will suffice, alright?"

Anton nodded, "Yes, I get it."

"Now I'm heading back to the dugout, any stew left?"

"Yes, there was some, they saved it for you, on account of the bread. Thanks for that, by the way."

"Nothing to it, we need to take care of each other out here. I'll be back in two hours, stay alert. If you fall asleep and the Boche don't kill you, I will. Or the Sergeant. Are we clear?"

"Very clear, I'll stay awake, too damned cold to sleep any way."