"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 112th , 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