Nous Pauvre Couillons du Front

[Roman Heritage]

Just read it all in one long sitting.
I must say that's quality stuff you've got there. It reminds me a lot of Ken Follett's "The Fall of Giant", expecially due to the trench warfare being told by a common soldier's point of view.
I can't even list all of the small details I loved; of course the most prominent are the way your parlando style sounds, with so many French expressions, the sheer amount of historical research and plausibility and...well, you seem to be particularly apt at describing "the war to end all wars." The way soldiers seem to have grown almost confortable with the horrible reality of war is just a testament to the absurdity of tactics, mindset and warfare style used in WW1.

I'll look forward to this, no doubt.

[theSilentKiller]

Great chapter, I also enjoyed the absurd stories told by the soldier in his late thirties. The combination of (welcome) boredom, relative comfort (sleeping in beds and getting good food), causing a mixture of relief and uselessness, is well done. Your use of historical images, characters and events adds to the powerful impact of your story.

I like the way that you describe the departure of the soldiers "shrouded in deferential and humble reverence". Your description of their departure, combined with the image of the curassiers being passed something (flowers?) by women, reminded my of the departure of Faramir with the heavy cavalry from Minas Tirith in the third Lord of the Rings movie, as they leave for their hopeless mission against the orcs holding Osgiliath. I wonder if the curassiers, knew the kind of battlefield which they were heading for and had similar feelings to Faramir and his men? (Looking at the image, I wonder if the film-makers were inspired by this historical image, when they filmed the departure of Faramir and his horsemen.)

Thank you Alwyn! Know that you say it... I didn't think of this particular scene from LotR when I chose this picture but it had this "Tolkienesque" feeling to me, now I know why! (By the way, I absolutely love this scene ) Maybe they looked at WW1 photography for some shots in the movies, Tolkien did mix-in his WW1 experience into the books...

Just read it all in one long sitting.
I must say that's quality stuff you've got there. It reminds me a lot of Ken Follett's "The Fall of Giant", expecially due to the trench warfare being told by a common soldier's point of view.
I can't even list all of the small details I loved; of course the most prominent are the way your parlando style sounds, with so many French expressions, the sheer amount of historical research and plausibility and...well, you seem to be particularly apt at describing "the war to end all wars." The way soldiers seem to have grown almost confortable with the horrible reality of war is just a testament to the absurdity of tactics, mindset and warfare style used in WW1.

I'll look forward to this, no doubt.

Thank you a lot Roman Heritage! (<- See? Ya make me blush!) I never read The Fall of Giant but it was recommended to me by amazon after searching for WW1 literature. Now that you said it to be similar to my AAR it is on my list Personally, I have to say that is is probably no longer a Parlando-ish story. The long (like, really long) sentences and paragraphs (again, really loong paragraphs) which are typical for this style proved to be too hard to maintain throughout the story and it was tedious to read, especially on a screen...

So, an announcement here: Due to RL can't find much time to write (not even half way through the next chapter and I had intended to have double as many chapter planned out by now as I have right now...) so I don't expect to post another chapter within the next two weeks... sorry.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Don't worry, tSK; I'm sure we'll all still be here whenever you have time to write your next chapter. (I know I will be!) And I'm sure it will be worth waiting for.

[theSilentKiller]

Chapter Fourteen: La Tranchée

“During your time of doing nothing something had occurred: La course à la mer! [The Race to the sea] The result was hundreds of kilometers of consecutive trench line. And where we went, close to Nantillois, a small village in the north-west of Lorraine, was only a small part -a very tiny link- of this enormous front line. After two days of marching, at first eagerly but then fatigued due to a lack of sleep, our arrival at Nantillois seemed to grant us some rest, that was not the case. It was pitch black and I had to concentrate to recognize men, ammunition boxes and horses which transported the two former. We were led to the entrance of a trench. I could neither identify it as such nor actually see, merely the outlines of something that looked like the entrance of a tunnel or the entrance to the cellars at the harbor back home. We stored tools in these cellars.
Back to the trench: Lieutenant Lefevre stopped, turned around and ordered us to form a line. He proudly stood in front of us and said, that we were now going into a trench where we would hold out until the order to attack was given and that we should be weary of any signs of an enemy. Not reporting an enemy would be a case for the military court. Before he turned around he added that we should keep our heads down. Then we entered the trench.

If there had been any daylight or virtually any kind of light I probably would have hesitated to follow Lefevre and my comrades – I didn’t like narrow places even the harbor-cellars always made me a bit anxious. But this time the darkness around us didn’t reveal the narrowness of the trench. I mean, I could feel earth and wood around me brushing my shoulders but for some reason I didn’t want to recognize the trench as what it was: a trench. You see, when Lefevre said the word trench I imagined something like a stomach or breast-deep ditch where would wait until daylight to attack the German positions. The concept of an elaborate trench with dugouts, niches in the earth to sleep, barbed wire and our beloved parapets didn’t really exist in my mind yet.

So, I tried to follow my comrades in front of me through the trench by holding the seam of the coat of the man in front of me, and so did the man behind me and the one in before me. We had to trust our sense of touch and hearing. In the darkness even the smallest pebble underneath our thick boot soles, every curse of a comrade who bumped into something, possibly an obstacle, was something that helped identifying our path. There also was this smell, the unbearable smell which I could label instantly: Somewhere close to us have died many people and the uncertainty as where they lay or what killed them struck our hearts with … not fear but … it’s hard to describe… timidness maybe? Or is there something like worriment? Tepidity?”

Jean looked at the ceiling while chewing on his pen. Then he suggested: “Trepidation? Or is that too much? Any ideas, Polar?”
He looked at David who shrugged.
“Hey, I’m the photo-guy. You are the writer guy, Clope. I’ve never even heard ‘trepidation’ before, you know.”

“Trepidation… I’d say timidity might get close to it. It’s hard to describe but it wasn’t a nice sensation – and smell.

Anyway, we were subdivided into sections, twelve men in each. Every section was given duties. Or duty wa– wait. To explain: Three of every section had guard duty for five hours whilst the rest could sleep. And I was so unfortunate to be one of the three men in my section who had to stay awake together with the skinny, stories-loving Louis who had received a new nick-name; “Soupe-Louis” because many believed that he only ate soup. I mean, why else would he be so thin? I, of course, knew that this was not true because I’ve been eating together with him since our first days in the war. But it is interesting, he had developed a taste for soup in Rethel.
Well, anyway. The third one was the Franco-German Emile Germaine – his name is kind of ironic, obviously. We simply called him “allemande” [German] or “boche”. He wasn’t liked by many and often ate alone which raised our suspicion even stronger.

So, I started my first guard duty at the sentry post together with my friend Louis and Emile.
To give a short overview: There were three trench lines; One main fire line and two support lines. My company was in the second line and our entire division was deployed in north-west Lorraine together with other divisions from the 5^th army. Considering that we were in the second line, chances of finding an enemy at night were low. Nonetheless, since it was our first time doing something like that, we were overly cautious. At first, every cracking made us start up and shout “Qui vive?” [Who goes there?] – to the annoyance of our sleeping comrades. Louis even got hit by a flying boot once which made me laugh so loud that the second boot hit me on the head and Emile seemed to see a personal offence in this and started to curse at the sleeping men. One of them stood up, walked up to us and said angrily: “Y’ know, you’re sentries on the listening post. Listen, don’t shout!” We calmed down a bit and eagerly awaited dawn, when we could finally go to sleep. Peering into the darkness that was around us, we stood there and waited and waited but time seemed to elapse so abhorrently slowly. Louis started to tell us stories from the old books he liked to read, the story about the Chevalier d’Assas was one I found special interest in.

Then suddenly, out of the nowhere, erupted a thundering from somewhere behind the, in darkness shrouded, German lines. Total chaos broke out and everyone started to shout and ready for battle. It was as if Levefre ordered a general attack. Then there was utter silence for a few second, followed by a hiss, a similar sound to water drops falling onto a hotplate. Something, almost like a big, bright star flared up somewhere in the air between our trenches and everything was aflamed. The dark world around us turned black and white, as if this star in the sky illuminated everything but sucked out the colours at the same time. Now I could see my surroundings. The narrow trench, my drowsy comrades and their dirty clothes, the wall of earth in front and behind us, barely half a meter away from our bodies. Seeing this, panic spread inside me. Cold sweat wettened my underwear and despite the freezing night’s air my body felt as if I was burning. It was only due to my feeling of commitment towards my comrades that I didn’t started to scream or even try to leave the trench. I felt like a sardine in a can together with dozens of other sardines. It can almost be counted a success that no one noticed that I could barely breath.

At the meantime, the flare slowly descended towards the ground brightening the sky and revealing no man’s land, the strip of land between our and the German trenches. I finally found the source of always prominent stench of death thanks to the light of the flare. The land between the German and our trenches was riddled with shell holes and around them lay dozens of dead men. Some torn apart, their bodies twisted or convulsed into unnatural, weird positions. Some lay there, their body seemingly unharmed but faces half rotten where one side was white bone and the other one flesh covered by flies. And in our inexperience and naiveté we stretched our heads over the rim of our trench in an attempt to see better, to reassure us if what we were seeing was real. This was a fatal mistake. The distance between the trenches which was probably not longer than 200 meters was unknown to us. Moreover, the first and second line were exceptionally close to each on this part of the trench. Our heads were just the targets the German sentries were waiting for to kill time. A man next to me suddenly fell to the ground, dead, followed by a series bangs from the other side of no man’s land. Someone a bit farther away groaned and jerked before freezing in a weird position. Then he fell to the ground like the first one. We cowered just in time before a whole volley of bullets flew over our heads and hit the earth behind us. We called for a medic but it was already too late. The first one was hit in the head, the other one between his mouth and nose. Soon after, morning dawned and my rest started, or should have started. As I had to find out, every morning began with a barrage eliminating any chance of sleep. That’s how my first night in a trench ended – and the October offensive had just begun.”

Map of the current state of the front

Notes:
The Race to the Sea is a series of events after the German defeat at the (first) Battle of the Marne. The Franco-British and German armies tried to outflank each other in an attempt to envelop the enemy's army. While doing that the frontline expanded towards the north and stopped eventually at the sea. (Hence the name). This resulted in what is now known as the Western Front.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

This is - as always - a great chapter, theSilentKiller.

Your descriptions of the ordinary little bits of behaviour do so much to make the whole picture a convincing one - people are still people, even in the midst of horror, and you have to do something in between attacks, so why not ordinary things like reading, and throwing boots at people who wake you up? I also found it terrifyingly easy to believe that newcomers to the trench might stick their heads up to see what's happening...

[Alwyn]

I agree, the everyday irritations of trench warfare, such as sentries waking up sleeping soldiers, are done well - and this provides an effective contrast what happened next.

[Scottish King]

Just read this from the beginning and this is amazing. You have crafted a great story here. Look forward to more updates. Also great to see someone else also watches the Great War YouTube channel

[theSilentKiller]

Thanks for the nice comments!^^
@Scottish King First of all, thanks for reading. Second, TGW is a great channel and a good source for knowledge! (And Indy surely has style... except that he doesn't wear shoes while recording)

Chapter Fifteen: Dans Nantillois

“Nantillois itself was an integral part of the front. The first trench line went alongside a road to the north and around the center of the village, so that we had most of the building in our backs but could use the few houses east of the center for cover in case of an enemy attack. The trench went further south in direction of Bar-le-Duc. My platoon was stationed between the village and a small forest north of it, in the second line which also went along a road parallel to the first one. This road was distinctively higher than the ground east and west of it, so we could conveniently use it for cover. However, the bottom layer of the road… I think I need to explain this: Underneath the pavement were layers of different kinds of materials. Mostly sand, gravel and solid earth. And when we dug our trench there, or in my case, we went run into danger of being buried by these layers. Especially the sand and gravel was very soft. So we had to take sandbags and planks to reinforce the walls of the trench which were touching the road. This is what we did the first days. Trenchwork, digging latrines at countless positions and helping transporting ammunition to the first line. After about five days Lefevre told us that we would go to the first line. We went there eagerly awaiting the order to attack. But we were disappointed, our trenchwork continued. The daily barrages every morning sometimes lead to the collapse of the walls of a trench or riddled the roads to the trench so that supplies could not be delivered and it was our duty to repair everything. This meant to us a lot of digging and sometimes, although not in Nantillois, mining.

Pictures

A postcard from Nantillois Photo of Nantillois from the countryside

But the days that weren’t filled with trench work were sometimes even worse. We weren’t allowed to leave the trench, often not even to go to another section. Our entire world was shrunk to a few hundreds of meters of trench.

It was then on the 17^th, we were sitting together to play cards before dinner, when Levefre walked up to us and said, that we would attack the Germans the next day, the 18^th. At first we didn’t even realize what this meant but then a feeling of exaltation slowly spread along the trench lines. That evening, my friend Michel came to me, holding his camera as he always did and joked that he would soon be able to make photos of Berlin. We were confident that we would break through, relieve Verdun and swiftly proceed to the German capital.”

Map of Nantillois

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Somehow the soldiers' confidence is more worrying than their apprehension would be...

[Owlparrot3]

It feels bad to be imprisoned in your own trenches though i smell the coming of some tragedy?Great writing,you always keep the readers on their toes .

[Alwyn]

Good chapter! I wonder of Michel's confidence is well-founded - I am guessing that it will be more difficult than he claimed to be.

[Roman Heritage]

Nice to see this keeps being updated, it easily is one of my favourite reads. I agree with Caillagh - the soldiers' enthusiasm truly breaks one's heart, if we think of how many of them, enthusiastic as they were, found a miserable death in the mud of French trenches. Waiting for next update!

[Rabbit55821]

I too wonder if the confidence of the soldiers are well-founded, and I can't wait to find out! Good chapter!

[theSilentKiller]

Thanks for all the encouraging comments! Yes, being over confident was probably not appropriate considering the circumstance...

Chapter Sixteen: À l’assault!

The morning of the 18^th of October of 1914 was surprisingly warm despite the fact, that a carpet of clouds hid the sun. Only here and there, between two clouds which were separated by a small gap could light break through this carpet, bathing the many-colored autumn landscape in sun light.

Thomas squinted at the clouds. Around him were men preparing for battle. He could see men reviewing the number of bullets and clips in their ammunition pockets. Men organizing the knapsacks, examining their uniforms meticulously, if there weren’t any holes or impermissible crease, or doing mundane things like checking their watches and combing their hair. Thomas, whereas, stood calmly, leaning on his rifle, amidst the excited men in the trench, a wider part.
He woke up two hours earlier than usual due to his excitement and prepared long before dawn. Now he awaited the order to line up and the scrutinizing look of Sous-Lieutenant Lefevre who could find even the puniest of irregularity on his men’s uniforms. After that, Lefevre would give the signal to climb over the top of the trench and attack the Germans. Thomas would run across No Man’s Land, jump into the German trench and fight alongside his comrades to relieve Verdun. Or so he thought.

The first thing that heralded the French attack was the barrage of 75mm shells, which the Germans answered with their howitzers. The ground shook. Cans, bottles, cigarettes and all kinds of loose object lying on the ground, on boxes or in small niches in the earth started to tremble and dance up and down.
When the Sous-Lieutenant, who had already unsheathed his sabre, blew his whistle after the inspection of his men some soldiers of the 12ieme régiment fusiliers were already raising their heads to spy over the parapet to see what lay in front of them. Then they climbed the ladders or jumped over the top where the trench wasn’t as tall. Thomas was one of the first to set foot on no man’s land. He could see some men left and right of him, he heard the ‘click’ sound of Michel’s camera behind him but no one was in front of him, only the shell-hole riddled ground and the dead who hadn’t been buried. And explosions. Big ones and small ones. But all of them catapulted earth high into the air and left shell holes.

He started to run towards the German trench line, his rifle in his right hand. The German bullets weren’t long in coming and soon projectiles started to whistle past Thomas ears. One shell exploded relatively close to the young French soldier. Earth was thrown into the air and rained down on him. He heard screams of pain – and the agonized scream of men who were fatally wounded, but still would survive for hours.






German Howitzer on a post card


When the staccato of the machine guns began and one volley hit the ground only one or two meters in front of Thomas, he jumped into the next shell hole. It was a deep one, one created by a German 10.5 cm shell. When he landed on the still warm and soft earth he sunk almost hip deep into the ground. He tried to free himself, dig with his bare hands but the earth was too soft, almost like fresh potting compost. He panicked, screamed for help but the noise of the battle and the earth around him drowned his voice. The ground trembled heavily, a shell must have exploded close. Earth from the walls of the hole buried him chest deep. He moved his arms, flailed, paddled as if he was swimming but nothing helped. He was stuck. Thomas stiffened, he didn’t move a single muscle, not even blinked. Good, at least his wasn’t sinking deeper into the earth! The air around him was dusty. Smelled like gunpowder mixed with earth. It reminded him of the Marne. After inspecting the hole Thomas concluded that he probably would only have to duck slightly to hide inside. The small Michel could stand in here, Thomas thought.

He heard something, someone close to the hole saying “Allez youp!”. A person landed on the earth, missing Thomas only by the quarter of a meter. The man sunk only ankle deep into the ground. And Thomas new why. It was the skinny Soupe-Louis! And he didn’t wear his back bag for some reason.

“Thomas”, Louis shouted, “how? What? Wait, let me get you out! Hnnng!“

Louis grabbed both of Thomas and pulled. It took him all of his strength but Thomas was eventually freed from the earthy trap.

“Thanks.” Thomas looked at his friend’s earth-smeared face and then at his own clothes. Everything from his chest downwards was covered in a thin layer of earth.
“Merde, look at me.”
“Took a swim in café, eh?
“Pf, doesn’t matter now. How’s it outside?”

Thomas, still ducking carefully raised his head.

“Think the German in the woods have been shelled fine.”
“Can see tha’”, said Thomas peering over the top, “Trees been blasted by shells. I think I can see some parts o’ the boche’s parapet. We’re pretty in’ close to their trench.”
“You ran off like a made horse, charged like the Guarde Impériale. And since I didn’t see you for some time, I reckoned you’d already be in their trench.”

Thomas spotted a German machine gun position at the rim of the forest. It was well hid shooting at something right of the shell hole he was in. How far is it? Hundred meters? Hundred and twenty? He could cover 100 meters in 22 seconds.

Louis was next to him, also peering. Suddenly the machine gun turned, aimed at the two and fired. The men let themselves fall back deeper into the shell hole, not a moment too soon. A volley hit the ground around the hole. Thomas heard the dull ‘flopp’ sound of bodies getting hit, their cracking bones and bullets being reflected by something metallic.
Louis said “Ah!” and remembered that he had a small mirror in one of his many pockets. He attached it to the muzzle of his Lebel with a string and carefully raised it, pressed himself against the earth wall and tried to get a look at the battle field around him.

“It’s hitting some bodies around us”, he whispered as he watched bullets hitting corpses, breaking their bones and twisting their limbs. “There is an earth-heap where we could hide behind. Only forty or fifty meters towards the gunner’s position. Should we try it? The machine gun is now firing somewhere else.”

Thomas looked at Louis. What he lacked in body mass, he clearly made up with boldness. Thomas smile. “Let’s try it!”

Louis put his mirror back into a pocket. Both man held their rifle in their right and prepared to crawl out of the shell hole. They looked at each other and nodded. Then they put their hands on the rim of the hole and pulled themselves up. They started to sprint, Louis leading the way.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

This is lovely writing, tSK.

I like the way Louis seems to be so resourceful - thinking of using his mirror as an impromptu periscope, for instance. I hope he'll make it to the pile of earth along with Thomas.

[Alwyn]

Lovely writing indeed, your story brings the sounds, sights and horrors of a First World War battlefield to life. Thomas and Louis are in a dangerous situation, I hope that they will make it. Like Caillagh, I am impressed with the resourcefulness of Louis.

[Roman Heritage]

Nice update! I agree with everything Alwyn and Caillagh already said, Louis does indeed make up for his frail constitution by an incomprehensible boldness in face of such dangers.
As a sidenote, I really like your last screenshot - it truly conveys the huge damages brought by both parties' heavy bombardments, and gives depth to your already convincing descriptions.

[theSilentKiller]

"Oh my, TSK, you really took your time, not even replying to the comments. Shame on you!" Says may conscience. "Yes", I respond enfeebled, the feeling of guilt robbed me of every last bit of strength, "Lambs to the cosmic slaughter! But alas, I did not have much time - and I am so forgetful"

Thank you all for your nice comments! Very encouraging!

Chapter Seventeen: Décevant

The noise of the battle dazzled Thomas. The machine guns, explosions of shells and grenades, rifle fire, horse screams were significantly muffled when he was in the hole. But now, running across the shell-hole riddled field, it almost overwhelmed him. Yet he kept running, following Louis to the heap. Covering the short distance, barely fifty meters, felt like an eternity. The two had to jump over all kinds of obstacles. Dead bodies, the half-living, piles of earth, randomly dispersed ripped-off extremities…
Thomas could almost feel Germans aiming at him. But nothing, neither shell nor bullet, hit him, miraculously. When he had almost arrived at his target, Louis was already lying on the ground using the heap of earth as cover. Thomas threw himself to the ground and crawled the last few meters.

He took his rifles, raised his head to peer at the machine gun position and prepared his Lebel to fire using the earth to steady his rifle. The machine gun was about fifty meters away from Thomas’ position, protected by sand bags. The position was several meters outside of the forest to the right, which meant Thomas could use the pile to protect himself from the left. There was nothing between him and the machine gun, he had a clear shot at the three men behind the gun. One to shoot, one to spot enemies and one to reload. Exactly three Germans, one for each bullet in the clip. Thomas was sure he could get all of them. He aimed. He exhaled. He shot. He didn’t even reassure himself if he had actually hit the man he aimed at, the spotter. He unlocked the bolt, opened the breech, let the empty cartridge being ejected and a new one slide into the breech, closed the breech and locked the bolt. Everything in the matter of two or three seconds. Then he fired again. After doing the same procedure again he checked the result. All three of the men were dead. The gunner leaned against the machine gun and the spotter against the sandbags. Thomas couldn’t see the loader, he assumed he was somewhere on the ground.

He nodded at Louis and the two peered over the pile. Sixty meters? Not more than sixty meters and they would be able to jump into trench. The trench! It was the first time that Thomas had such a clear view at the German trench. They surely used the surroundings well. The parapet was mostly done with wooden logs. Bushes had been used to camouflage some parts, especially the pill boxes made of sand bags and wood were nearly invisible to anyone who didn’t have a keen eye like Thomas. Some blasted and burned trees were in front of the trench but most had been cut down due to strategic reasons or in a need for wood.

German positions after they had been shelled

Thomas stood up, jumped over the pile and sprinted towards the trench. He did it without thinking, as if his body moved on his. He heard Thomas shouting something behind him, but it was drowned by distant explosions. The French barrage had already stopped and the German artillery would not dare to aim this closely to their lines. But somewhere far behind Thomas was the storm of steel still raging.
He could now see the Germans. Their upper bodies protruded from the trench and their rifles jutted out like pikes from shield walls in ancient times. They fired relentlessly at the charging French. Yet they miraculously didn’t see Thomas while he was crawling closer meter by meter. Between him and the trench was a line of Chevaux de Frise, some of which had already been blasted by shells. The dead serious and fierce faces of the German soldiers and their “Pickelhaube” on their heads became more and more clear to the young French man. Thomas was now lying in a shell hole deep enough to hide two or three lying men between two destroyed Chevaux the Frise. Ten meters! That’s the distance he approximated by peering carefully over the rim. Dust and smoke covered him and hindered the Boches from shooting at anything behind Tomas. In the position in front of him were five Germans, each of them resting their Gewehr 98 on the parapet. Their right eyes looking through the iron sight, searching for a careless or over-excited “Franzenmannen”. Thomas suddenly heard something behind him. Next to him landed a man in blue and red. Blue eyes and dirty blond. Emile Germaine looked at Thomas and whispered without hesitation:

“Thomas, we are ordered to retreat, the Boches will soon counter-attack.”
“What? you, we’re so close! You damn traitor want us to loose.”
“Screw you, Rampasse. I am following orders.”
“The order of the Kaiser maybe? I should just-“
Emile pushed him and said angrily:
“It’s the last order of Lefevre. He is dead.”
Thomas suddenly felt weird. Cold - he was shivering. The Sous-Lieutenant dead? He peered over the rim in every directions. The trench so close in front of him and smoke and screams behind him. He was so close, but he couldn’t risk disobeying another order. He was confused.

“, ok.”
“The smoke will cover you. Fast, before the wind blows it away.”
“And you?”
“I have something to do!”

The young Franco-German had two sandbags, which were cut so that he could wear them like a handbag from one shoulder to the hip of the other side. They were filled with grenades. Thomas knew. He readied himself to jump out of the hole and sprint to his own trench.

“I’ll follow you as soon as I can!”

Thomas knew that Germaine wouldn’t do that. He left the shell hole and started to run. He looked back and saw Emile Germaine standing on top of the rim of the hole and throwing grenades. Their explosions were drowned be the falling shells around him. Suppressive fire by his own country man shook the earth around him and the 105mm transformed the landscape in front of Thomas. While running he was pondering. Sous-lieutenant never liked Emile, since he was part German. Lefevre lost his father during the war of ‘70/71, right after he was born. He always had a dislike for Germans. Was this the reason why he chose to sacrifice the Franco-German to save Thomas? How could he even know where Thomas was? He always favored Thomas, Lefevre liked to call the young man from Dieppe “the epitome of French militarism”. But now one of his comrades would die in exchange for his life. Was that right? He looked back. Nothing but smoke, dead or dying soldiers and explosions. Why would Germaine even do that`? Sacrificing himself? This doesn’t even make sense! Maybe he-
When Thomas was almost in his trench he stumbled over something. It was a French soldier from the 112^th , he recognized the badge. He was still alive, his entire chest painted red.

“Oi, comrade”, said the soldier dryly, “help me! Water. Please. … can you … carry me? My wife.”
Thomas crawled closer, before he screamed horrified. His rifle fell in the mud. Both legs were missing. In fact, everything from the hip downwards was nothing but a red-brownish sludge, with bone fragments here and there. The left part of the head was open and three bullet holes adorned the medal on the right chest. The face of the soldier was almost like stone, his glance idle. In one of the hands was a blood-soaked piece of paper. It was a photo. The soldier, young and happy, in his uniform. Next to him a young woman holding a baby.

Thomas grabbed his rifle, turned around and ran - his eyes closed.

Dead French soldier during the assault

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Well, I'm in no position to complain, given how long it's taken me to produce a chapter.

Whatever he sees, there always seems to be some new horror left for Thomas to experience. Having to leave Emile to die, and then coming across the destroyed body of the dying soldier.

[Alwyn]

As Caillagh said, your story brings the horrors of this war to life in a powerful way, particularly when Thomas encounters the wounded soldier who is holding a photo.