Over There - La Belle France

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As he looked out to sea, he realized that he was gripping the rail so hard that his hands were cramping up in the cold. He let go quickly, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. No, he was the only one on deck.

He'd been unable to sleep all night, his nerves prevented that. He was puzzled about that, this wasn't his first time, but anyone looking on would attribute his behavior to rookie jitters. Finally he'd given up his pacing below decks and went topside when he realized that the sun would be up soon.

"Trouble sleeping, Captain?"

He turned sharply, "Something like that, my nerves are giving me hell, Sarn't Major."

He hadn't heard his company sergeant major come through the hatch, he had been so focused on the days to come.

The sergeant major gave his officer a look, he'd known this man for years. He should be at least a lieutenant colonel by now, but bad wounds had sidetracked his career. He supposed that the man was lucky to be alive, let alone still in the Army.

"Look, boss. Don't sweat it, everybody is scared, only the stupid feel no fear."

"Damn it, Lou, this ain't my first fight, I've seen the goldarned elephant and ..."

"Come on, Cap'n. Yeah, you've seen the f**king elephant and he stomped the shit out of you, twice. The doughs understand, heck, most of 'em are green as grass. They're so scared shitless that they probably don't even see your fear."

The Captain chuckled, "You're probably right, Lou."

"There ya go, Sir. Now let's get below and get the boys up. We should be at the pier in a couple of hours."

Some 290 miles to the east of the ship bringing the first load of American combat troops to France, the Germans were waiting for the morning "stonk." The French made a habit of bombarding the German trenches periodically. The French said it was to give the Germans no rest. The Germans said it was because the French weren't man enough to come across no man's land and drive them out of their country.

Both points of view were true to some extent.

"Friedrich, is there any coffee left?"

The young private held his canteen cup expectantly, truth be told they hadn't had coffee, real coffee, since 1915. What they had now was made out of roasted acorns and chicory. Some wag had suggested that varnish was added to give the brew the right color.

"No, but I can brew some more, if you're that desperate."

The private looked up and muttered, "No time!"

The first shells from the French guns were starting to hiss and whistle into the German trench system. The men scrambled for cover and began to pray.

The French captain looked tired, though his uniform was fresh and he had slept in an actual bed the night before, the captain was exhausted. He'd been fighting les Boches¹ since August of 1914, his regiment had been destroyed at Verdun and he had been badly wounded there. He welcomed the assignment of shepherding these green Americans.

Henri Petit extended his hand to his American counterpart, "Pleased to meet you, Capitaine Allen."

"Likewise, I'm sure. Have quarters been prepared for my men?"

Petit was taken aback at the man's question. "Quarters, monsieur? There are trucks waiting to take your men to the train station. From there we will board the trains for the front. I am sorry, but there is no time for your men to rest."

"Ah, I was given to understand ... Never mind, Capitaine Petit, the trains it is."

The last round exploded some distance to the rear. They were lucky today, most of the French bombardment fell to the rear, in the supply areas behind the lines.

"Why are they wasting their ammunition, Friedrich? Don't they know that we have precisely nothing stockpiled?"

Gefreiter Friedrich Bauer grinned, "Apparently not, Kurt. Perhaps we should drop them a line, let them know that their efforts are in vain."

"What, so they could shift their aim onto our trenches instead? Let them bombard the rear area swine, they serve no purpose now anyway!"

"Ah, you disparage our brave comrades in the rear. Surely they contribute to the war effort every bit as much as we Frontschwein. What would the Kaiser say if he heard such talk?"

Kurt Eberbach shook his head, "You are right, as always my dear Friedrich, we're all in this together, though I daresay, we die more often than those bastards."

"Yes, that we do ..."

After what felt like weeks, but was only a couple of days, Captain Allen and his men debarked from the train in a small village not far from Compiègne, a place he'd never heard of. As they took the roll and tried to get sorted out, Captain Petit caught up with him.

"Ah, Capitaine Allen, I'm so sorry, but the trucks which were to take us to the training area have been diverted to another sector of the front. We shall have to march there, it is only 15 kilometers or so from here."

Allen nodded, "That's fine, Henri," he had taken to calling the man by his given name, "it will give the boys the chance to stretch their legs. They've been cooped up aboard ship and now in trains, I'm surprised they can walk at all."

"Bien sûr,² Theodore. I shall walk with you!"

After they'd got the company marching, Allen turned to his French counterpart. "How long have you been in the Army, Henri?"

"Since 1910, you?"

"1895, I'm getting too old for this nonsense, war is for the young."

Capitaine Petit shook his head vehemently, "No, there you are wrong, Theodore. War kills the young and destroys everything it touches. Old men start wars, young men die in them."

Allen was startled by Petit's reaction, then he realized, the Germans had occupied large swathes of France since the beginning of the war. Frenchmen were dying by the thousands, probably the millions. Americans had no such experience of that, well, if you were a northerner. His maternal grandmother was from Georgia, she had bitter memories of Sherman's march through her homeland.

"Apologies, Henri. I just meant that I am not as fit as I once was."

"No offense taken, monsieur. Soon we will show you Americans a trick or two. How to survive at the front and, more importantly, how to kill les Boches."

Allen nodded, he knew his men were green but he also knew that the French were war-weary and just wanted the thing to end. But not before pushing the Germans out. He was determined not to shed too much American blood to recover French soil.

Though as he had learned in the Philippines and in Mexico, war had its own way of doing things. What he wanted and what he got would, no doubt, be two separate things.

¹ A pejorative term used by the French for the Germans.

² Of course.