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Thread: Nous Pauvre Couillons du Front

  1. #1

    Default Nous Pauvre Couillons du Front

    Nous Pauvre Couillons du Front!




    So, a new AAR... about the First World War.
    This is an AAR I have been thinking about for almost over half a year and planning for a few months, I've read tons of books, mainly from the soldier's perspective, since I intend to make this a soldier's stories. We will hear, for for the most parts, about this war from the an old man who fought in the war in his early twenties and who is now being interviewed. This does not mean that we won't read, for example, any letters or diary of soldiers fighting in that bloody mess.

    Note: I will try to use a Parlando [long sentences, writing like one would speak) style of writing at least for the first few chapters. Since a Parlando is hard to write and I don't know how it turned out until now I'd like that someone could say of I should continue with that style or if I've messed up big times until now.

    Mods:
    The Great War Mod


    Here some literature I've read (I will read some more books, so this is not a final list) and all of them are recommendations, they are really good:
    All quiet on the Western Front (Erich Maria Remarque)
    Steel of Storm (Ernst Jünger)
    Poilu: The World War I Notebooks of Corproal Louis Barthas, Barrelmaker, 1914-1918
    The Middle Parts of Fortune Somme and Ancre, 1916 (Frederic Manning)
    Verdun 1916 (Olaf Jessen)

    I've also got many information through the channel "The Great War" on Youtube. They do weekly reviews what has happened hundreds years ago in the war and videos on important people, events and technology. Check it out if You are interested in that stuff.


    Some loose principles which I will follow for the most parts:
    In the first few months I'll have to fight like in regular Napoleon TW, since the French tried to fight this way in early war. (more or less, there is not really a middle ground in this mod)
    I won't use any Howitzers or other heavy artillery for the first few months.
    No reloading (excepts if I misclicked, happens often...)

    Table of Content

    The links to the posts are for some reason not working. I will look after that as soon as I can. If somebody might know why that is, please tell me.

    Book One "Passion" - 1914
    [post=15118880] Chapter One - L'Interview [/post]
    [post=15118881] Chapter Two - Souscrivez! [/post]
    [post=15130923] Chapter Three- Avant La Bataille, 4th - 6th Septembre[/post]
    [post=15153268] Chapter Four - Bataille de la Marne, Le premier Jour: 7ième Septembre[/post]
    [post=15153671] Chapter Five - Bataille de la Marne, 8ième Septembre[/post]
    [post=15156096] Chapter Six - Bataille de la Marne, Les dernieres Jours: 9ième - 13ième Septembre[/post]
    [post=15169663] Chapter Seven - Bonjour Artillerie, Ca Va?[/post]
    Chapter Eight - LÀffût
    Chapter Nine - 19ième à 21ième Septembre
    Chapter Ten- Bataille de Verdun
    Chapter Eleven- Blessé
    Chapter Twelve- Beaucoup de malheure - ou pas autant?




    Does not contain any spoilers but You still may want to open after you have read the first few chapters
    Character

    Jean Bristol (Clope): A journalist who interviews Thomas Rampasse for an article
    David Merlin (Polar): A photographer and friends of Jean Birstol who just got interested un the stories. And he wants to see photos of the war

    Thomas Rampasse: An old man who gets interviewed by Jean Bristol. He subscribed for the war on the very first day.
    Andrieu Rampasse: The brother of Thomas Rampasse. The two got seperted in Macquigny.
    Marton Flambeux: An old childhood friend of Thomas Rampasse. The subscribed together.
    Louis-Jean Mandette: A war enthuasiast a friend of Thomas Rampasse. He likes old war stories.
    Michel Sartre: An old friend of Thomas Rampasse. Has a camera. Likes to take photos and drawing.
    Foillan: A Catalan and comrade of Thomas Rampasse. Doesn't speak French but still fights.

    Captain Francois Mallarmé: Captain of the 17e Groupe d'Artillerie in which Thomas served for a while.
    Arthur Trammaille: A university students serving in the artillery. He likes to talk.
    Henri Martime: A young soldier who modified Thomas' bayonet.



    The map of the current state of the front and held areas. Contains spoilers, you may not want to open if you haven't read the latest chapter (Book One, Chapter Six)
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The black point is the still French-held Verdun-Forts
    Last edited by theSilentKiller; February 27, 2017 at 11:53 AM.

  2. #2

    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon de Front

    Book One: August - December 1914 "Passion"


    “But perhaps I was destined for a more glorious end, one worthy of envy, as Victor Hugo said—like, for example, being pounded, shredded, asphyxiated, blown to bits in a cloud of smoke.”
    -Louis Barthas (1879 – 1952), Poilu




    Chapter One - L'interview


    The two men were walking, or rather labouring, up the steep, pebbly mountain path, the almost-noon sun burned down on them since the few trees close by were without any leaves thus could only cast the thin shadows of their branches onto the ground. One man, skinny and tall with a small hunchback and black hair, turned around and saw that he was far ahead of the another man, a small chubby one, with a flatcap on his head, almost the opposite of the skinny one, only their dark eyes were the same any.


    "Hey, Clope", shouted the skinny one, "hurry up! What you waiting for, setting sun?"
    "Shut up, Polar", yelled Clope back, "Maybe you should walk slower, enjoying the sight, like I do."
    "Enjoying the sight? Lame excuse, you can do better than that. Look, I am faster, even with my camera."


    Clope stopped and looked fiercely at his skinny friend who was smiling ill, his skull like head and spare hair looking out from under his cap made him look like a skeleton. He dragged himself further hoping he would finally reach their destination. After thirty gruesome -at least for Clope- minutes was this the case. The steep path got flatter and the trees began to have leaves. After a few more minutes disappeared the trees and the two, by now abreast because Polar was so kind to walk slower, reached a house. It was one of these old mountain houses which looked like as if it was taken out of a fairy tale. Wooden walls, small windows with embroided white blinds and, next to the house, a garden with various herbs and flowers whose scent tickled in the nose of the two compared to the fresh and neutral mountain air. Next to the garden stood a small shack whose door was missing, inside stood a old rusty bicycle and garden tools. The two stood in front of the dark door of the house.


    "Do you want to knock", asked Polar one his friend.
    "Hmm, you can do the honour", answered Clope.


    Polar knocked. After a short while opened a woman in her early twenties the door. She had a dark brow skin and long, charcoal black hair. The apron of her white dress had some dirt stains. Probably spilled coffee, Polar assumed.


    "Allô? Ah! Monsieur Merlin and Bristol, I presume?"
    "Correct", Clope kissed her on both cheeks and said: "I am Jean Bristol for the Le Petit Parisien me telephoned if you remember. And this", with a fast gesticulation towards his friend, "is David Merlin."
    David also kissed the woman on both cheeks, the small camera hanging around his neck made this small gesture more complicated than it should have, and added: "Photographer, but I think Jean told you everything, madame...?"
    "Lylou Belaide, but you can call me Lilly. Please, enter. I will inform monsieur Rampasse about your arrival."


    David and Jean stepped into the house and instantly noticed the enormous amount of book-shelves covering the walls for the most parts. On these shelves stood thick multivolume encyclopaedias next to thin booklets. Books about science, religion, philosophy and politics next to fairy tales, legends and folklore. Funny books, serious books, books about tragedy and loss stood behind books about love, friendship and happiness. The antechamber, the corridor to other rooms and the staircase were full of packed shelves. On the few dressers stood old photos of nature and people, some of them were working, some sleeping or looked directly to the viewer. The two were so baffled by this sight that they didn't notice Lylou leaving them and returning shortly after from another room.


    "Monsieur Rampasse is ready to see you, please follow me."


    The two men and the woman entered a room on the end of the corridor. The room was small, or at least seemed small. Two massy, wooden armoires occupied almost half of the room, in the other half stood a small table with a large, wooden box on it and two old sofas. David noticed dust floating in the sun light inciding through a small window behind one of the sofas. On it sat an old man in his sixties. He was bulky, or at least as bulky as over sixty years old man can be, and the brown suit he wore was almost too tight, the white shirt underneath even had to stretch around his chest. The old man's right face sagged down, very primitive plastic surgery, as Jean assumed, and the left side was thinner than the other and more wrinklier than a puppy pug's but the shiny, green eyes indicated a vivacious mind. The few grey hair on his head could not cover the dappled skin. The man said slowly in a deep, rough voice:


    "Monsieur Bristol and Merlin, Lylou has already announced you. I am Thomas Rampasse, but I assume you already know that. Please take a seat, well, a sofa. I am sorry to be so rude to not stand up but-"
    "No no, this is no problem, we understand", assured David as he and his friend sat down next to each other opposite of Thomas with the table between them.
    Jean said after he finished being surprised about how absurd cushy the sofa was:
    "I am Jean Bristol, I assume Lily", he looked at the door and saw that the woman had, to his disappointment, already left, "told you about me. I was the one who telephoned her. And this man here is David Merlin, a friend of mine who got interested when I told him."
    Jean took out a small notepad together with a pen, both had been in the wide pockets of his jacked, and said eagerly: "So, shall we get started?"

  3. #3

    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon de Front

    Chapter Two - Souscrivez!


    "Please, monsieur Rampasse, tell us something about yourself before the war started", said Jean.
    "Well", began Thomas, opened the box on the table and took out some old black and white pictures, "what is there to say? I was born in Offranville, a measly dump outside of Dieppe, in a small house in which my grandparents, my father and three brothers lived, my mother died during my birth, probably one reason why my father disliked me, something he always was content to show me. I had to sleep in one small room with all of my brothers, it was always stuffy, so we spent most of our time outside the house, also because we didn't like the smell of my grandparents, you know, this smell old people have, I probably smell like that too, anyway, we spent most of our time outside playing with marbles or using a stick to keep a wooden wheel spinning, I remember I once managed to roll it all he way to Longueil but on the way I back I realized I got lost and arrived not until midnight home, I was seven or something at that time, and boy, the beating I got was tough. My father also forbid me to go outside, a prohibition I never minded and I never got in troubles as long as I was home before my father who would return at eight or nine p.m., he worked at the docks in Dieppe and it's even with the bicycle a long way. My grand parents never noticed anything, they were always like petrified once my brothers turned on the radio, we even broke a glass once and they didn't notice it, though my father did when he came home and... well, I was the scapegoat.
    This was how I spent the first seven years of my life, with the immunity towards the bad of the world every child has even when one day, it was during a hot summer's day and we went swimming in Dieppe, my brother Andrieu, who swam alone separated from us got, entangled in a fishing net floating in the water. His body was never found and at that time I didn't understand why one of my brothers wasn't at home anymore. One year later I found myself in the first day of school. I always had a bad attitude towards school since I didn't like learning and authority, so I already started playing cards in the back of the classrooms at an early age... if only I could travel back and tell my past self to study. I was not the smartest kid I, so once I arrived at the Troisième [high school] I began to bunk off and did stupid things together with my friends. We always had great fun in stealing a bottle of wine from mademoiselle "Baleine's" [fr. wale], a rather stout Madame, market stall and drank it, imagine that, fourteen and we drank wine. I remember when I once walked home completely drunk on a day when my father was home, didn't turn out good for me, though my brothers had a good laugh when they heard this and despite the fact that it actually was completely stupid I also think it was funny, even today, partly at least. Haha. Anyway, when I turned sixteen my father eventually found out that I appeared only about every third day at school, back then it was easier to do something like that, and I received the severest beating I had ever received from my father, couldn't move the day after. I abandoned school soon after and started working at the docks in Dieppe where I worked until the war broke out, by that time I was twenty-two, haven't achieved anything and didn't know what I was supposed to do with my life."



    Thomas took one of the photos in his hands and gave it to Jean. Twenty men stood at the quay of an wharf and smiled squinting into the camera, their brown clothes and faces were dirty. "This is me", the old man pointed at a man in the photo. The bad quality of the old black and white photo made it harder to recognize something but Jean could still see the face of a young man with a chiselled face trying to shade his eyes with his hand which made him look like as if he saluted to the camera. He probably had bright hair but this was hard to see on the photo.


    "This was the day before the assassination of Jean Jaures. Some men began to march through the streets shouting "Mobilisation, Mobilisation! Suscrivez pour la patrie!" because some archduke's son at the other side of Europe was shot. My old childhood friend Marton said eagerly to me "You're also goin', right?" And I just replied "O' course, dipstick. What ya think o' me? Some kind o' limp-dick?" So we went to the recruiting office to enlist and a long queue had already formed in front of it by the time we arrived, all of them men between eighteen and twenty-five.
    Afterwards I ran home shouting "I am a soldier now! I will fight for France!" and my father just said with something that could be called pride "So, you are at least of some use.". Other volunteers, one of them my oldest brother Mathieu who also was a volunteer, twenty-eight at that time so one of the oldest, and I were sent to Neufchâtel-en-Bray where we got military training. We learned to use the Fusil Lebel, Fusil Modèle 1886/M93 I will never forget the term of that cursed rifle, it was too long meant to be used in line formation like in the days of Napoleon I. and marshal Nay. We also learned to march in lock-step, woe betide the one who marched out of order, I once heard someone had to clean the guns off every man in his platoon but I never met that poor guy, furthermore, we also received basic training in bayonet fighting. Grenade throwing, hundreds of pointless chores, only imposed on us to tame our young freedom seeking spirit, and standing in the sun for hours was also part of our curriculum. It was during this time, the July and August of 1914, that I met Louis-Jean Mandatte, a twenty years old volunteer in my squad from Aumale, a town somewhere in département Seine-Maritime. He was an ectomorphic, book-wormish war enthusiast who followed the call to arms, so to say, since he always like the old stories of brave warriors and hoped now to join the ranks of people like the intrepid Bertrand du Guescelin, the tragic Chavalier d'Arras and the many others famous heroes of the past immortalised by fighting for France, at least that's what he told me, but his rather weak body proved to be a burden when he had to raise the heavy Fusil Lebel, well it wasn't actually that heavy but it's length did have an effect especially with Rosalie [slang: Bayonet] on it, anyway, he often had to carry buckets of water, one of the harassments of our officers, and, what he hated most, running through the mud field, the thick boots alone we wore were cumbersome but raising the legs when being ankle deep in mud... that was even for me, the squad leader and the fittest man in the entire squad, maybe even in the platoon, even for me was it an arduous task. Louis looked weird in the uniform, his thin neck grew out of collar of the thick grey coat, the blue serge Kapi [cap] was almost to big for his small head and the red trousers were too wide, and overall, he looked more like a bad clown than a brave soldier heading to war. But I grew a liking towards him, he often told me stories of long gone times and I helped him enduring the laborious chores by trying to influence our noncom [non-commissioned officer] by giving him some of my cigarettes.
    The two months of our training eventually ended in mid September when a shocking message arrived, not from the east as we had expected but from the north; Germany had marched into Belgium and took Brussels leaving a trail of destruction in their path, stories of raped women and baby-eaters appeared in the newspapers, demands for revenge for "Belgique Violé" and things like that circulated so moral was at it's peak, these stories were like fresh logs for the already burning fire. About fifty divisions, including the one I was in, were sent to the north of the Picardie. I was stationed in Macquigny, a beautiful village with a wonderful, small church, and waited there for forty other divisions from the south. The people there were nice and greeted us with rejoicing when we marched, well, it was more like parading considering the marching band playing the most flamboyant music they knew, into the village and some were offered rooms in the houses of the inhabitants but I unfortunately had not the luck to get one so I and twenty other men had to share one small barn, and well... it was early September and the summer of 1914, the hottest summer of that century until then, still made us sweat under our thick uniforms and imagine being in one room with over a dozen heavily transpiring young men who hadn't had a bath in a few days together with the horses which refused to leave their roof over their heads; it was almost unbearable but I was used to things like that from my childhood sleeping in the same room as my pubescent brothers so I think I was one of the few who could regain some vigour which was lost during the long marches. The people there were nice and we found especially liking in the women there, one of the jokes back then was asking where the road to Berlin was and the woman or girl would point at their house and say "there", some soldiers got a good room that way but I heard a story that in one case the fiancé of a young girl coughed her in the bed together with one of our men, this caused a lot of ruckus and the soldier was punished to a few days in a cell. But this didn't stop some to do this even later in the war. Well, young men, I guess... Anyway, the first day there went by too fast for our liking and I originally had intended to take a bath in the nearby river but the very next day after the noncom shouted during the inspection, we stood in a line and he looked at the uniform and posture of every single soldier, that we would leave the city. My brother had to stay in the Picardie as garrison but I my friend Marton joined our platoon before we left. We marched, to the surprise of many, not north but south-east, we went from town to town and after the incident with the fiancé in Macquigny were we forbidden to accept any offer to sleep in the houses of the people and our officers were very careful when choosing who was allowed to sleep in a house of the inhabitants. We, my platoon and I, I mean, so, we always had to sleep in a barn or tent because there was a guy, some bearded catalane whom nobody could understand, in our squad who tended to provoke people into a fight with him. After a few days of marching we we began to thank that we would be stationed in Reims maybe for a parade or something alike but we didn't even stop at Reims at all, well, we did stop at Reims for one very short night but left the very next day and headed south to Espernay. It was there that I took my first bath in two weeks and slept in something remotely to a bed, videlicet: a slightly better straw sack, until then I always slept on raw straw with lots of lice or simply on the ground with a sheet of cloth between, so the straw sack felt like heaven to us.
    We stayed in Espernay for three days during which we paraded five times but did only a little to none training and we also got some better food so the general mood was overall pretty good. The good wine there was probably a reason for that too, and our officers soon began to gave up on putting every drunkard to court-martial, drinking was strictly prohibited, but there was hardly a night we didn't rinse our throats with Pol Roger or Cervoise Lancelot, especially Louis liked the latter one and he could drink like no one else, something you might not think of him when you see him. And then, the fourth of September, a windy day as far as I remember, our noncom Martiam Farnaque walked up to us during one of the cigarette breaks and told us: "Up boys, we head to battle!" Our first reaction was incomprehension which was then followed by joy. The Germans had crossed the Rhine and were somewhere close to the Départemen Marne where we would face them. Finally, we said, finally a battle. Louis looked exuberantly happy at me. "Finally we can clobber some of the boches [slang: Germans]", he said and I answered with a simple smile with the a cigarette between my lips and inhaled the luscious scent of pre-battle. We headed east from Espernay, eager to meet them. Say, Jean or David, do you know what battle we headed towards? How they call it today?"



    David nodded and said: "The Marne-Slaughter."
    Last edited by theSilentKiller; November 10, 2016 at 08:23 AM.

  4. #4
    waveman's Avatar Decanus
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    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    Whoo, that's an ominous ending for part 2. I like the style a lot, but if you're looking for input I'd say a little more sentence variation would be better. But overall I'd say the Parlando style lends the story a feeling if authenticity.

    I also liked stuff like this: We, my platoon and I, I mean, so, we always had to sleep in a barn or tent because there was a guy, some bearded catalane whom nobody could understand, in our squad who ...

    Again, authenticity of a story teller, realizing second guessing and realizing he needs to elaborate. Keep up the good work!

    +rep of course!
    Last edited by waveman; September 16, 2016 at 12:33 PM.

    My AARs/writing: Link
    Letters for writing: þ, ð æ Æ

  5. #5
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    I am impressed with the historical research and planning which you have done and by your chapters so far. (I suggest using shorter paragraphs and, occasionally, shorter sentences. I like the idea of writing in Parlando style. If the idea of Parlando is to write as people speak, could this sometimes lead to short sentences? For example, I imagine that a soldier who was very tired, maybe after standing in a trench for many hours or a long march, might use short sentences. Also, as waveman suggested, some variety in sentence length helps to make a story easy to read.) If commanders will be sending men to fight using tactics from the Napoleonic wars, I expect there will be heavy casualties!

  6. #6
    Caillagh de Bodemloze's Avatar to rede I me delyte
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    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    I'm beginning to think you're aiming to have an ongoing AAR in every sub-forum!

    (If you manage it, I'll read all of them. )

    Alwyn and waveman have given you the advice I would have done, I think. I very much like your idea of using a conversational style, but I agree with Alwyn and waveman that variation is good.

    I'll look forward to the next chapter.






  7. #7

    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    Thank you guys for the encouragement!

    @Alwyn This one of the difficulties with this style; Finding the right sentence and paragraph length (well I guess that is always inportant). Especially when looking at a screen it might become tedious to read. I will experiment a little in the first chapters.
    @Caillagh Oh snap! I've been seen through! Nah, but with my Skyrim AAR (which I haven't touched for a while
    ) I will most likely forever have 2 on going AARs. Understood, I will look more after sentence variation and such. These are the kinds of things you don't learn in English classes (in a country with a different language)

    Chapter Three: Avant la Bataille, 4th - 6th September


    "From Espernay we marched to Vaudemange, a village on a knoll from where we had a good view at the flat farmlands of the Paris Basin, furthermore, we could see, with the help of binoculars, something more interesting to us: Mourmelon. It was one of these modern towns, well, back then they were modern, with countless new factories. Ugly steel and concrete buildings with long brick chimneys belching oodles of black smoke soaring high into the sky. Usually they were producing machines for mining and agriculture but with the start of the war they started spitting out guns and cannons, mainly the Canon de 75mm which our military brass favoured so much because of their rate of fire, 20 shells a minute, I think. Some of the workers there lived in Vaudemange, many of them fairly old since most young men had enlisted and were stationed either somewhere in the Picardie or in the Département Marne. They, I mean the towns people, were 'decent folks' as Marton described them at our arrival, something we could agree on until later the same day, we had arrived at noon, Espernay and Vudemagne are not that far away, anyhow, in the afternoon one of our men, the Catalane who also cost us a nice sleeping-place in Macquigny with his quarrel-seeking nature, that very same person got into a fight with three town's people.


    We, two of my comrades and I, were talking with three girls in the streets outside a bar when we suddenly heard some ruckus as if people fought from inside the bar. When we opened the door we saw the Catalane. He was, well... saying he was slightly drunk would be an understatement but I think he was not completely hammered since he was big, almost one head taller than I was and at least double as vigorous so he could drink a lot, anyway, the Catalane was standing in the middle of the small bar, two tables were overturned, and seized one man by the collar while two others were lying on the ground. These were the only guests, it was still early afternoon. One of the men on the ground spit blood and shouted: "Merde, con!", but the Catalane simply threw the man he held into one corner of the room and left the bar. We helped the injured men and they told us that the Catalane had been drinking one bottle of wine after another while wearing his uniform, so the three guys had asked him if he shouldn't stop since drinking was strictly prohibited but he just bawled something they didn't understand and even spilled one man's clothes with wine, so, all four, each of them at least half-drunk, began shouting at each other and one said something about him being a 'stupid, brainless Catalane' and the next thing he remembered was flying through the room. The Catalane was so bulky that the most hits only hurt the man hitting him. That sounded plausible to us and considering our past experiences with the Catalane be believed them.


    Leaving the bar we saw the Catalane talking with our lieutenant Simon Lefevre, well, it wasn't really talking more like wild gesticulations, as you might imagine, this is somewhat less than perfect when you want to explain a complicated matter to someone who is several ranks above you. We decided to step in and explain the situation in favour of the Catalane since we didn't want him to get into trouble, even though he hadn't been the best comrade thus far we were dead sure we wanted him to fight alongside us. Lieutenant Lefevre was satisfied with the story we trotted out, I think it was something about how the men in the bar insulted him for being an illiterate Catalane, illiterate in a sense of not being able to read or write, not even speak proper French. Lefevre simply shrugged and walked away without loosing a second thought about this matter, he would later engage lots of criticism from other officers for not investigating the incident any further, he, however, never bat an eye for the opinions of the others of his rank, this was probably the reason why we like him more then any other superior.


    The next day, the wakening call was, to our surprise since no one had told us, earlier than usual, I think it was still dark and a little bit foggy, anyway, we left Vaudemange on that day, the 5th, and marched to Châlons-en-Champagne.
    Do you remember the forty divisions of reinforcements from the south which were sent north to fight in Belgium? One division was used to strengthen the Picardie and and the others would join together with us, however, there was one problem; They arrived on the 4th in Paris, so by the time we were in Vaudemange they had marched into Paris, not Reims as originally planned. But general Joseph Gallieni had an usual plan, something never done before, it was one of the many new things of the Great War. He ordered the swift transport of thousands of soldiers from Paris to Sèzanne in Parisian taxi cabs. "Les Rivière Marne Taxis, les saveurs de la France!" as the newspapers later wrote. Unfortunately, I was not allowed to take a horse and ride to Sézanne to see the taxis thanks to the Catalane so I only heard about the small, elegant automobiles transporting five or six men at once. The only car I had ever seen before was from afar so I was heavily disappointed. But as I later after the war found our; this was nothing but one of the countless propaganda operations. Only about six thousand men had been transported by the taxis, the rest reached the Champagne after a twenty hour forced march on the sixth of September. I saw some of them, not more than half of a company, that's about seventy men, passing by Châlons-en-Champagne, the town was already cramped with soldiers. They were completely exhausted, I could only imagine their sore feet. Together with the thirty-nine divisions of the south were 900,00 men ready to fight the Germans, or boches, as we called them."

    --------------------

    Notes:
    Joseph Simon Gallieni (1849-1916) was a French general, minister of war and governor of Madagaskar. He fought in the Franco-Prussian war where he got into captivity for one year. He is most famour for his decision to use taxi cabs to send people from Paris to
    Nanteuil-le-Haudouin, though this happened on the second day of the Battle of the Marne.

    For the people who like old cars: The cabs were Renaulds Type AG.

    Last edited by theSilentKiller; November 10, 2016 at 08:27 AM.

  8. #8
    Caillagh de Bodemloze's Avatar to rede I me delyte
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    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    Quote Originally Posted by theSilentKiller View Post
    @Caillagh Understood, I will look more after sentence variation and such. These are the kinds of things you don't learn in English classes (in a country with a different language)
    Hey, no problem. I'm pretty sure it's the kind of stuff I didn't learn in English lessons either, and I grew up in England. I think it's the sort of thing you can only work out by experimenting.

    I like your new chapter. The way you outline Lieutenant Lefevre's character in just a few words is very nice - and I liked the story about the propaganda taxi-ride.

    [Edited to add:]I just looked up the cars. (This seems to be the English Wikipedia page.) Very nice!
    Last edited by Caillagh de Bodemloze; September 30, 2016 at 04:08 AM.






  9. #9
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    I agree with Caillagh, the story about soldiers arriving at the front by taxi is a good one, even if the reality for most soldiers was an exhausting forced march. 900,000 men sounds like an enormous army, I wonder if their numbers made them confident (or over-confident?) Good chapters!

  10. #10

    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    @Caillagh Thank you, couldn't find the page for the cars!
    @Alwyn Though I think it is also a sad story. If you look at film footage of the Taxis transporting soldiers to the front they look so happy, I mean, getting a car ride was still rare back then, but one has to wonder how they looked after a few months. 900 000 men is even bigger than the Grande Armee... and in the battle at the Marne over 1 750 000 men fought in total.

    I originally wanted this to be one chapter but it was way too long, so I am going to upload two other chapter today or tomorrow



    Chapter Four: Bataille de la Marne, Le premier Jour - 7ieme Septembre


    Aerial photo taken from a hot-air balloon.


    "I remember waking up with the feeling of a child on Christmas Day, only that I had slept in a tent on the ground wearing the clothes I had worn for weeks. I think I hadn't washed them for days. It's weird, these kind of things stop bothering you after a while, only the lices were a great vexation to us. While I was checking my haversack wether everything was still where it was supposed to be, Michel Sartre, an old friend of mine, payed me a visit. This surprised and cheered me since we hadn't seen each other for years, I think when I left school, so, for about six years. He hadn't change a bit, as far as I can remember."


    Thomas gave a photo to Jean. Jean saw two young smiling boys, one slightly bigger and more muscular than the other one but ohterwise nearly identical.


    "We were best friends for our whole school lives during which he always shined compared to me except in sports where I was on the top of the class, we got somehow out of touch when I started working at the docks. I think it's understandable that when we met each other after the many years we had much to tell to the other, however, there was unfortunately not enough time, we could hear the trumpets to order us to fall in line. During our way to the fields outside of Châlons-en-Champagne, where my division was supposed to form up, Michel told me he had started a career as an artist. This didn't surprise me, he always had been good at drawing but when I asked him about his paintings he said that he didn't use a brush but something more modern and proudly presented me a brand-new camera, the portable once were still quite new for the common man. For me, who had only seen and was photographed by the heavy ones with tripod, was this small camera almost incomprehensible, so he showed my how it worked and attempted to explain me the mechanical details to me but once he started to talk about refraction and such I got confused. This remembered me why I had left school, haha.


    Eventually, we had to search for our platoons, which was more complicated than you might think. Imagine a small village surrounded by farmland. On this farmland walked, marched and ran hundreds, no, thousands of men or cluster of men in the more or less same clothes up and down and the only thing you know is, that if you don't find the correct cluster of men you will be punished, maybe even for desertion, so I began to panic a bit as I desperately tried to orientate myself on the trampled fields. Thinking back I can only feel sorry for the farmers, parts of the fifth and fourth army treadded on their living, you should have seen the ground, it was a mess - and the battle hadn't even started yet, it was only the mere presence of the army that brough so much turmoil into the lives of the people, yet they always extended a warm welcome to us, we were hailed as the heroes of France by almost everyone. But back then I didn't think much about these things, I was impressed by the number of people in one place and suddenly felt a surge of courage and a thrill of anticipation.
    Michel did a photo showing the masses of men on the fields but it got destroyed during the war, a shame I think. Anyway, I eventually found lieutenant Lefevre who led me to my platoon. It was deployed somewhere close to Pogny, that's about forteen kilometers away from Châlons-en-Champagne!

    Wait, I think I have a photo from that day. After the war I collected photos."


    Thomas reached for the box and scattered it's content on the table, mainly photos displaying various battle fronts and medals.


    "There! This is from before the battle. It was taken by an officer from inside the building so it has this weird angle but it gives a good overview at the numbers - in Pogny alone.

    Every division between Sommepy-Tahure and Romilly-sur-Seine, if I recall correct this was about sixty divisons, was deployed as Ferdinand Foch and Papa Joffre had planned. My company marched in formation between two other companies of the 3ieme Régiment D'Infantrie from Le Croix-en-Champagne towards Dommartin-Dampierre where one German division took up positions and, unlike us who marched through open field in tight formation and an ensign for every company, had prepared for battle by digging some sort of primitve trenches. These were like the ones used in the U.S. Civil War and, more temporally closer, the Russo-Japanese War, well, back than it was temporally closer. These early trenches were nothing compared to the elaborate ones from later in the war, merely deeper ditches and sometimes wooden logs or sand bags.


    Thus , we marched towards Dommartin-Dampierre, I was in the first line following captain Lefevre who marched a few feet in front of us holding a saber, imagine that! A saber, he didn't even bother bringing a gun! The temporal distance to Waterloo seemed so little to us, we didn't question his decision.
    After half an hour marching through the fields, the noon sun was fortunately hidden behind some clouds, we could hear the thundering of artillery in the distant, ours and the germans'. Somewhere to the north, I think in Hans, had the battle already begun. The banging of guns and the explosions of shell reached even to us. And then, without any prior warning, surprised us the maddening shrieking of the 10.5 cm shells of the boches travelling through the air.


    One company had advanced about twenty meters further, I think their captain had received some wrong instructions, I don't know, but they definitely had marched faster than they were supposed to and this was their doom. A shell landed right in the center of said company and about a quarter of the 150 men were simply blown into bits, parts of their body were thrown into every direction, and the rest was floored by the concussion. I could see one man being catapulted into the air, he was squasched into some sort of meat ball but then he suddenly exploded as if the stress on his body had gotten too strong. His blood rained down on the rest of his company - the rest which was still alive, conscious and not occupied with screaming in pain. Earth was simultaniously tossed high into the air and buried some when it landed. After the dust cloud had subsided we could see that ten or twenty men trying to stand up but only half of them managed to.



    The shelling with which the advancing soldiers were greeted



    This whole incident lasted only three or four seconds and before we could react in any other way but a simple and short cringing landed shells right, left, behind and in front of us. The ground quoke as if the gate to hell itself had opened somewhere but the thing is; it was already open and we were bravely marching in formation right at it. None of us thought for a second to turn around and run away, I don't know what madness had possessed us back then we kept marching towards Dommartin-Dampierre, too long had we waited for this moment.
    Nonetheless, shells kept falling like a relentless torrent of steel and the once calm meadow and fields were soon riddled with shellholes and corpses or wounded. One shell exploded especially close behind my company and the small fragments whacked the last line. I don't know how many were hit but another shell, this time a shrapnell, exploded in the air into a white smoke cloud and spit a load of steel at us, three men to my left were wounded, I think one's kneecap was smashed.


    We kept looking straight forward. Dommartin-Dampierre stood behind a small hill preventing us from seeing it until we were on said hil. Once we had seen it we were reassured that we would soon get retaliation for our killed comraded. We could see the white smoke clouds hanging in the air of our own shrapnell shots even before we had climbed the hill. Our artillery had shelled the Germans good too, at least that's what we thought. As a matter of fact, the ditches they dug had protected them from serious blows thus far but only seeing our shells explodings in the air spewing hot iron filled us with a weird, funny feeling which is even weirder considering we had just witnesses a few douzens comrades being blown apart.


    We could see the German positions halfway to the village and shortly after they opened fire at us. Bullets whizzed past our ears and hit the ground around us - or men. We kneeled down at captain Lefevre's command and waited until the Germans had to reload. This was how we were trained; we would wait until the enemy had used up their bullet and advance about 200 meters while they were occupied with reloading. This worked well at the beginning and our far left flank pushed forward into the Charre Forêt, a small forest at the edge of Dommartin-Dampierre where they had a gun battle with the germans. Soon the forest was shrouded in gunfire and smoke. My company approached the town from the far right but we were forced into a battle with some Germans behind wooden logs while we were in open field. We kneeled down and repeatedly shot at the Germans for hours, the distance was not bigger than two hundred meters and the enemy had a clear advantage. Most of our shots hit the ground or wood but occasionally would find it's was into a German's head. Soon the German Howitzer became aware of our presence and shells began explode around us.
    We hurriedly hit the ground and covered our heads with our hands to protect us from the earth showering us whilst we still were shot at by the infantry. I shouted to Louis-Jean who lay next to me something like: "We need to get some cover! Where is the captain?" Louis pointed with his rifle at a corpse lying in the grass a few meters in front of us, a grenade had ripped of it's arm. So I decided to take charge of my squad and shouted: "Follo' me, if ya wanna fight those damn boches!" and ran to a shell hole.



    French soldiers advancing into the Charre Forêt



    A shell exploded behind me just before I arrived there and trew me into the shell hole, I miraciously was unscathed. After I managed to pull myself together I saw that Louis, the Catalan and two other men had followed me and were now lying in the crater-like hole looking at me expectantly. I, however, didn't know what to do. We were protected from the gunfire but a shell could have landed right between us any second. Before I could make a decision ran, well, it was more like tumbling more men into the shell hole. They said they were from another company and that they got mowed down by a machine gun. One of them was Michel with his camera in his hands. He told me: "It's insane out there! Dunno if I even hit one of those swines." We, we were about ten men couting me but I am not entirely sure, anyway, we discussed what to do next and decided that we had to check our current situation and if we were able to fight some Germans from within our hole. I carefully peered over the rim. Hundreds of dead French lay scattered around the fields yet some companies managed to stay together and still advanced and fought in formation.
    White smoke covered the sky above us and amid the gunfire and explosions I could hear the continious rat-a-tat of a machine gun. Half a company running in lock-step towards the Charre Forêt was mowed down within seconds and the other half shredded into pieces by grenades. Our hole was about two hundred meters away from the Germans and between us were about two dozen more shell holes. In the ditches of a field lay almost an entire company, well, it was hard to see if there actually were more than on hundred men so it probably were only two or three platoons half buried in the soft ground, effectively using the earth as cover from the enemy fire. We decided, after I told them about this position in the field, that we should go for it and reinforce the men. We forged a bold plan to get there; Five men would stay in the shell hole and give covering fire while the others ran to the field and after they reached it they would give covering fire for the men left in the hole. The Catalan, I think who probably didn't even understand the plan, Louis-Jean, Michel, Yannick Granaî, a eighteen years old boy from another company, and I would go first.



    The French 75mm cannon providing covering fire and shelling the enemy positions


    With a loud "Vive la France!", well aware these might beour last words, we jumped out of the shell hole and ran towards the field, it was only a short distance but bullets whistled past our ears the very moment we had left our cover. Yannick was hit and fell screaming to the ground but I only looked at the goal and covered the distance with four or five wide leaps, threw myself into the dirt, crawled into one of the ditches and looked back. A shell exploded behind Louis and threw him into the middle of the field, Michel managed to get to me unharmed and the Catalan kept running and hit the dirt close to Louis. Michel and I wanted to crawl further to see if Louis and the Catalan were wounded but a machine gun prevented us from doing so, if we had only raised our heads we would have been killed. Ah! I remember that Michel's iron pot in his haversack received one hole, he screamed because he though he had been hit.


    I don't know how long we were lying there but that machine gun stopped eventually as the sky got darker and darker concluding the first day of battle, yet the battle didn't stop; we could still hear the fiercy fightings in the Charre forest. Michel and I used the darkness to slowly crawl to Louis who miraciously had been spared from any serious injury and the one wound, only a scratch on his forearm, had been bandaged by the Catalan who finally told us his name: Foillan. While we were still lying in the soil, our clothes were already dirt-stained and earth was entangled in our mustaches, hah our poor mustaches! Thinking back, we should have shaved them off... but I am wandering off the point. So, while we were still lying in the soil completely dirty he showed us a small black and white photo of him with a young woman holding a baby, and another photo depicting a factory. He said something we couldn't understand but we assumed he was telling us that he came to France to work in one of the many factories in the south and now he had to fight in this war, at least this is the way how Catalans usually ended up in the north of France, especially in the later years of the war. Anyway, seeing his wife and child Louis, Michel and I decided we would do everything to get him alive through this battle. Shortly after we crawled to the men which had already been in the field, they told us they were from our regiment but the machine gun forced them to seek cover in the field. We quietly talked about what we would do the next day and how would approach the German position. As eager as we were we were already content with advancing further towards the village while the darkness of the night hid us from the eyes of our enemies but in the very moment the first one had gotten up on his knees a loud bang drowned the clamour of the distant forest battle and the man fell dead to the ground. Louis was the first one who realised what had happened; Our bright red of our Képis and trousers were clear targets in the moonlight. Thus we stayed lying in the ditches too scared to even move a bit. When morning dawned the machine gun started to fire over our heads shooting at something behind us. "The men in the shell hole!" Louis suddenly shouted.



    Notes:
    Ferdinand Foch was a French marshal. He gained a lot of influence in the French military in the later years of the war but already had a high position before the war. Especially his contribution in the battle at the Marne and Artois Offensive(s) in 1915 are famous. He wanted to order more Offensives but even the French military viewed his aggressive tactics as a bit too adventurous.

    "Papa Joffre" (Joseph Jaque Césaire Joffre) is probably the most well known French general of the Great War aftr Petain. He served the French Army long before WW1, especially in the colonies and in Asia. He created the Plan XVII which said, if Germany declared war on France, all the French had to do was to secure the north (he expected a German advance through Belguim and the Netherlands) take Alcasse-Lorraine back and march right towards Berlin. (Spoiler: Didn't work)
    Last edited by theSilentKiller; November 10, 2016 at 08:21 AM.

  11. #11
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    The excitement of the young men encountering new technologies (cars and cameras) provides an effective contrast with the grim conditions in which the soldiers live and the horrifying death-toll on the battlefield. Your use of black and white images works well for me. The images and the comments on the tactics and strategies of the early stages of the war (such as the primitive trenches) create a powerful impression.

  12. #12

    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front




    Chapter Five: Bataille de la Marne, 8ième Septembre


    We were thunderstruck. We completely forgot about them and now, I used the clean blade of my bajonet to look back, I had to watch them being gunned down one by one, they probably couldn't bear the hole any longer. Flames of anger inflamed us. Revenge for our fallen comrades and redemption for our stupid mistake was in our mind and we had almost gotten up if it wasn't for Foillan who bottles us up with his strong arms and squeezed us against the soft soil. He yelled loud and angry at us and even though we didn't understand a word he managed to get us back to reason, I am most certain if I had actually stood up back then I would have died, it's solely due to Foillan's savvy that I am sitting here.


    I felt tired, sore and dirty at that time but the roaring cannons and firing guns restrained me from any sort of rest and I think my comrades were experiencing the same. But the worst was the feeling of being trapped in that field, every movement might have revealed a part of our body which would have been only another target for the machine gun. We were completely detached from the rest of the battle so we didn't know what was going on, for some rason we were dead sure that we were winning. I don't know how we came to this conclusion, the idea of the Élan Mystique which would grand any soldier the power to defeat the enemy as long as he fights as fierce as he can without taking a step back might could be a reason for this kind of disjointed reasoning.


    Anyway, we were lying there in the field waiting for something to happen, only a forty or fity meters away from a machine gun. Some of the men who were in the field before us tried their luck and stood up and ran towards the enemy position but were gunned down, most of them couldn't even take two steps. The enemy was always awoke.
    As the setting sun and decaying gunfire heralded the end of the second day of battle, the eighth of September, I started to feel a deep hole in my stomache and a disgusting queasiness. My last meal had been the one in the morning of the first day of battle, two eggs, ham and buttered bread, that's peculiar, I can still remember the breakfast of that day, a day forty years ago. But despite my famine I still did not dare to take off my haversack and eat the victualls, 15 ounzes of bread and ten ouzes of cheese, enough food for two days, at least that's what the military had told us. Every strong movement might have revealed a part of our body to the enemy, thus we hungered. The night was colder than expected, even the fighting in the woods, which had been going on since the first day, paused for a few hours only to continue in the morning. By dawn my fingers were completely stiff and the stuff in my haversack clattered due to my shivering, we probably sounded like rattlesnakes to the enemy. Louis' lips were completely blue and he started to cough. But still, there was no relief for us.




    I was lying in a ditch simiar to this one


    At noon something happened, bullets were exchanged over our hands and suddenly, out of the nowhere, landed a shell in the middle of the field and earth almost buried us. A man in a khaki uniform jumped into our ditch and crawled to us. He shouted in broken French, "I am from the British Expeditionary Force! We came to reinforce the men in Dommartin-Dampierre! More French companies will soon arrive here."
    Louis' blue mouth smiled. Finally, we though, finally we'd get these damnes boches. Shells were exploding around us and lead flew over our heads but suddenly the machine gun stopped, only rifle fire could be heard. This was our chance, we thought, jumped up, almost fell over due to this weird feeling one gets when quickly standing up after lying or sitting for a while and ran ungainly to a wall of sand bags standing only five meters away from where the machine gun had stood earlier. It was pure luck that I survived, the germans concentrated their fire on the reinforcements behind us and completely ingnored my comrades and me, however, it occured that sometimes one was hit by the crossfire. While I ran I could get a glimpse at how many men had been lying in the field, almost seventy comrades, now completely covered in dirt, one could only guess what grade of red or blue the uniforms once had, which was actually good for us since it made us blend in with the environment but back then I could only think how discraceful we must be not representing a proper French soldier.


    Anyway, when I reached the wall I looked back and almost lost my heart to fight to the view. The fields and soft hills surrounding Dammpierre-Domartim were part of a scene of dustruction and death. Countless men in Blue and Red uniforms lay everywhere. In clusters, in lines and sometimes alone but always clearly in a position which suggested they had been moving towards the village, not a single one had thought about turning around and run. The landscape itself was inrecognizable, shell holes and smoke covered most of it. Nonetheless, I fought. A shoot-out between us, my comrades and I, and some Germans covered behind logs flared up but it ended shortly after, at least for me, when the colonel of my regiment suddenly appeared behind me, I don't know from where he came but for some reason he was completely clean and showed no sign of exhaustion or distress, anyhow, he said to me and Louis who stood right next to me aiming over the wall at some Germans, "You there! We need more men in the village. Go there, the British will take on the boches over there." With 'over there' he meant the Germans we were fighting. We had no chance but to follow and prepared to cross the plane between us and Dommartin-Dampierre, it took a great chunk of courage to leave our cover only to find oneself on open field.


    One company was already running to the village, in formation with the major ahead, incidentally, so we decided to simply follow them, fortunately for us we weren't ordered to regroup or something like that, and I honestly don't know how much of my company was still alive by that time to line up. The Catalan and Michel were running beside me, Louis was slower but we couldn't afford to slow down. Bullets were whistling past our ears, I could feel heat of the projectiles passing, and shells threatened to blow everyone to pieces; the fomation for example, the one which were already running to the village; a shell exploded next to them and their entire left flank was frazzled yet the formation held, at least what remained of them, they even managed to reach the village. I hadn't even covered half of the distance by the time the formation entered Dommartin-Dampierre when my running turned into some sort of faster shuffling consequent to my lunge not being capable of providing my body with enough oxygen any longer.
    If it wasn't for Foillan who kicked my into the next shell hole it would have been only a matter of time until I would have been hit my some random bullet. After a short while I had regained my breath and Foillan and I continued further, Louis and Michel had already proceeded. It was, again, pure luck that I arrived savely in Dommartin-Dampierre considering the amount of bullets fired at us, each of them a possible deathblow. On one occasion exploded a shell somewhere and a splinter brushed my left arm, leaving a deep cut.



    Crossing a field like this was a deathwish. The white thing in the three is an exploding shrapnell


    Back to the village: It had seen fierce fightings and was completely taken only a few hours before my arrival. Lucky for us, the town was too close to the German positions to be bombarded so we knew we were more or less safe for the time being. Since the day was about to end I was billeted in a small house. I had broken windows but everything with roof was fine with me after a cold night in a ditch. In the house, I think it was somewhere close to the town hall in the center, I met again Louis, Michel and, to my utter surprise, Marton. My old childhood friend who enlisted together with me, do you remember? He had been in the same company with me but in a different platoon so we hadn't seen each other since the evening before the battle. He looked completely distant at me and only smiled sad. One man told me, that Marton's platoon had been forced into open field and was almost completely gunned down, after they managed to get cover one of our observation hot-air balloons mistook them for enemies. "Poor buggers had been shredded by o' own in' artillery fo' hours. But couldn't leave their cover, wer' behind a rock in open field", he said.



    Only people who couldn't walk anymore had an excuse to go back


    We quietly ate our whole ration and went to bed early. Well it was more like falling into the beds, I think Michel was the last one who fell asleep, he was scribbling in a sketch block and checking his camera. Around midnight a loud bang woke us up, a shell had exploded in the streets of the town. Some splinters destroyed the lamps of said street. We went back to our sleep after we were told that no one was hurt.


    "Le soldat mourant" - Michel drew the sketch for this that night.



    Notes:
    The first screenshot was taken in the game "Verdun"
    Last edited by theSilentKiller; November 10, 2016 at 08:25 AM.

  13. #13

    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front


    Chapter Six: Bataille de la Marne, Les dernieres Jours: 9ième-13ième Septembre



    The next day, the ninth, we were regrouped and counted; From my company only twenty had reached the town thus far, twenty out of one hundred and eighty men!

    Our colonel was discussing with out captains if we should help our comraded in the Charre forest or attack the German position next to it. By noon they told us we would take the German position and left, after increasing the numbers per company by merging with the brits, to meet them. By the time we left the Dommartin-Dampierre I started to smell something weird. It was a very intensive and sweetish scent, like week old pig meat. It bit in our noses and some almost had to throw up. Then we realised what it was. The stench of death. Thousands of decomposing bodies were scattered around the villages and had been lying there for one or two days, only some were actually carried away and buried. I saw in a side street of the village a dead civilian, one of the few who had stayed, it were mostly the old people who didn't want to leave their homes but this dead was a woman - no, she was still a girl, not older than eighteen. She was lying on the side as if she was sleeping. A brick had hit her in the head and split open the back, thick black flies rallied around the wound and her colourless mouth. Her face was a mixture of yellow and grey, her eyes were wide open but glassy. I saw her corpse lying in the dirty side street for only a few seconds while passing by with my company but I almost couldn't keep walking straight. My insides were turned up. She might be the first civilian casualty of the war.


    We left the village a few hours later and st seemed that our commandants hadn't learned a thing making us march up to the enemy in line formation and the crazierst thing: We still had no problem with that. "That how battles are fought.", we told ourselves. We lost a good chunk of our men to shells landing too close these tight formations and hitting someone from afar when shooting at a line was not a difficult task for the Germans yet we managed to seize one of their trenches, just to remember you: The trenches were only deeper ditches and kneeling was almost not enough to get cover. By that time we outnumbered the Germans one to three or something like that, at least where I was fighting. Well, I didn't fight that much during this time of the battle. My company was tasked with securing the back so that no one could attack us from behind. We fought from there for almost the entire day and even slept in the trenches.


    On the fourth day our troops in the Charre forest had finally managed to defeat the Germans and were now able to surround the enemy position we were attacking. After a few hours of fighting the Germans had to retreat and we managed to capture their Ligth Howitzers. With this ended the fightings around Dommartin-Dampierre for the most parts. Shells were still traded en mass, however, posed almost no danger to us. The Battle of the Département Marne, however, would last three more days but my regiment was send back to Châlons-en-Champagne.


    French infantry flanking the German position


    If I remember correctly, the result of six days of battle was: 600,00 dead or wounded Frenchmen and Brits of the one and a quarter million which had fought, 550,000 dead or wounded Germans of the 900,000 which had been deployed and the Germans were pushed back to Étain. 78,000 men died in Dommartin-Dampierre, but it was praised as the most successful strike on the Germans by the newpapers back home. Though I am not sure about these numbers. I read it once in a book, it's not like they told us soldiers anything.




    Men were not the only casualties









    Notes:
    The real Battle of the Marne (7th - 12th September) was the second major battle on the Western Front and the first French victory. There they stopped the German advance. The battle marked the end of conventional warfare and the dawn of trench warfare. I could write a lot about the battle but there is way to much to it so I suggest (or rather recommend) to read about the battle in a book or on the internet. (The Wikipedia pages gives a good overview).
    Even though this battle started Trench warfare I will still continue to use "normal" tactics for a few more battles, since the Battle of the Marne was the first battle in my campaign (the mod more or less ensured that a battle will happen there, at least on the hardest campaign difficulty).



    Last edited by theSilentKiller; November 10, 2016 at 08:20 AM.

  14. #14
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    Your AAR presents a vivid picture of the life of a soldier in the early days of the war - hungry, cold, afraid - and sickened by the stench of death. The combination of the image from the game 'Verdun', with your black and white screenshots and the images of the map, helps to build the historical atmosphere and give readers a clear impression of what is happening in the war. (I like the way that you draw on both battlefield and campaign maps, to show the movement of the armies.)

  15. #15

    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    @Alwyn -Thank you, WW1 one is probably the oldest war with such a mass of detailed reports and notes from the people who fought there; I'd feel bad if I wouldn't mention the problems of the people who experienced that. (Not saying that I have an understanding what these people went through just because I read some books. I am just trying to use the information I have)
    -Though, I am still thinking about how I will "represent" trench warfare on the maps, maybe I will only post the battle maps and only update the map in the very first post. (The mape of the current state of the front.) But then there is the problem that this map is not as accurate, since it shows the whole of europe, asthe campaign map where zooming in is no problem, and nobody will knows whatI mean when I speak of "Between Étain and Avoudrey"... even I have to use Google Earth


    Note: I have written in the titles but also in the chapters that it is november in-game, which is wrong... it's still september. I have corrected the titles and textes, just keep in mind that there are still three and a half month in 1914 to go.



    Chapter Seven: Salut Artillerie, Ça Va?


    We were billetted in barns when we arrivd in Châlons-en-Champagne ... technically they were not in Châlons-en-Champagne but in Recy, a small village, -well suburb would describe it better- which was mainly used by the farmers for their animals and the cheap workers from the south. The barn I was billeted together with fourty other people was one of the biggest but also most derelict. The farmer who had owned it died several years before and no one had used it since then. It looked ramshackle even from far away and I could only guess what kind of red was painted on the old wood. When we walked to the wide double-door to enter the barn we realized that the entrance was being blocked by broken beams and even with the strength of several dozen men we couldn't open it.
    So we wanted to get some horses and make them pull open the door of the building but there was one problem; All of the horses had been requisitioned. So we asked the towns people for ropes and if they would give us some ox but they didn't want to. Even our status as heroes had it's limits.


    It looked like as if we were forced to sleep in the cold at the end of the first day in Châlons-en-Champagne if it wasn't for Francois Barrage, a nineteen years old, energetic boy from my regiment. He casually took the ropes and climbed to one of the open windows of the old barn. We surely marved when we watched him sticking his hands skillfully even into the smallest gaps in the wood and pulling himself up until he reached the window. He then fastened the ropes on a beam and threw the other ends down to us. It looked like as if we had to enter the barn via the ropes for the time we were in Châlons-en-Champagne. The inside of the barn was even worse than we had expected; Mildewed straw were our beds and falling asleep while coughing due to the dust but also due to the fact that many hadn't slept in a warm room for quite some time, so getting sick was common, especially during the first months were harsh, I witnessed, weeks later after my first battle, how deadly a simple flu could be if not treated, and even treated flus killed more people back than than today. Anyway, to get back to the barn; falling asleep was hard, there was not a single minute without one coughing or sneezing, - however, the exhaustion due to the efforts of the past days and the arduous way of entering our billet eventuelly put us to sleep, at least we didn't have to fear the cold of the autumn's nights anymore, being stuffed into this barn, which big but too small for fourty soldiers along with their gear.


    The next day, the twelfth, we paraded on the main square and I went to the medical officer in the afternoon since the cut I received during the battle became infected and started to suppurate. Some men who already went to the M.O. warned me that monsieur "Débouter" [fr. Reject], as they called him his real name was Sofian Dévouter, would not accept any excuse for asking for a time off. Monsieur Dévouter was an old, established physician and when I saw him for the first time I almost was too scared to talk to him. His grey hair were looking out from under a white cap and his face had deep wrinkels which didn't necessarily adorn his already unfriendly look. Overall, he looked more like a cold general or field officer than a doctor. So I tod him why I came and after removing the bandage around my left arm to look at the suppurating wound he simply said "That's why you are here? Just a scratch. Go to the Lieutenant Colonel, he told every one to send you to him.", and almost pushed me out of the room.


    While walking to the military office in Châlons-en-Champagne I tried to absorb the mood and atmosphere of the town. I had slept bad and was tired but the people there were cheerful and calm, one might not have guessed that there was a battle going on only 25 miles away let alone a war. But as soon as I entered the military office in the middle of the town and stepped into the room of lieutenant colonel Dupont I suddenly felt a surge of suspense. The room was small and behind a wooden desk stood three men in uniform next to a chair, lieutenant colonel Dupont in the middle. All of them wore small, round glasses through which they looked at me serious and with a cold expression.


    "Sergeant Rampasse", Dupont said. It was the first time someone called me by my title, I almost had forgotten that I was a sergeant. His sharp voice almost cut into my ears. I stepped closer, now I stood behind a small chair opposite to the empty chair of the lieutenant colonel amd my fingers clutched it's back. I suddenly felt like back in élémentaire [primary school] when I had to stand behind the teacher's desk in front of the class and read a passage from the text book; I hated these kind of moments. Dupont hadn't said anything yet but I already felt small and as if he looked right into my thoughts.
    And while I was thinking why he might have summoned me he proceeded with: "We have been told that during the advance towards Dommartin-Dampierre you took command over several men, not only those of our squad but also from others, and disregarded the orders of your captain to hold out until a move order is given. Is that correct?"
    When I heard this I almost lost my consiousness. You see, this was insubordination, a case for the court martial, and nobedy wanted to be sent to the court martial.
    But I could only affirm, I actually disregarded the orders of Captain Lefevre, that is a fact; I disregarded an order of a superior commander.


    So Dupont said: "And you do know the punishment for disobeying a lawful command given by a superior officer?"


    And of course I knew, everyone knew this. Penal servitude, which was the punishment, was feared among the ranks, since it was the most shameful punishment, one was not allowed to fight for one's country, no chance of getting glory in a battle and it is an official crime which means one is a criminal. But then Dupont said something I didn't expect.


    He said: "However, I do not intend to let one of my most successful men to go to waste. You will be stripped off your rank and sent to the 17e Groupe d'Artillerie. Report there to Colonel Abeau Baumé. Tell him you will serve there for three months until you are allowed to come back, understood? You are dismissed!"


    I didn't know how to feel, I mean, I felt relieved to not experience penal servitude but I felt deeply ashamed when I left the building. Being degraded and moved to the artillery was the greatest dishonor one could receive without being discharged or punished for a crime. You see, being sent to the artillery was shameful for us soldiers back then. There was no bravery involved with reloading, adjusting the cannons and shooting from several miles afar from the actual battlefielda and still, most of the physical fit men ended up there as it required an enormous amount of strength and stamina to shove the heavy shells into the barrel of the cannons for hours and hours. The artillery was worse for officers as if it was a testimony of their failure in battle or that the military doesn't trust the officers there.


    Anyway, there was nothing I could do about the lieutenants descision so I went back to the barn, took my gear and walked to Thibie where the 17e Groupe d'Artillerie was stationed. Fortunately for me there was no one from my company in the barn when I left, I think I would not have been able to tell Louis or Marton that I was degraded and sent to the artillery.


    So I walked down the long dirt path connecting Thibie with Châlons-en-Champagne and observed some crows trying to find something to eat in the long-ago harvested fields next to the path, the scare crows quietly observed them, like me.
    Seeing them fighting over some corn kernels somehow remembered me how I used to stroll around the fields with three friends of mine while the other boys and girls, though they were separated in two buildings, sat in the school and studied when I was fourteen or fifteen. During this time of year we always waited until the farmers had disappeared, we would then go to the scare crows and steal their heads. We collected them in a small shed we once found while we maundered around the region. It was a teensy shed, enough room to store tools but it was empty by the time we found it -well, it was full of spider webs and dust ... and dirt. It took us several days to clean and empty it but then we used this shed as some sort of base.


    And as I said, we stored there the scare crow heads but also all kinds of things we randomly found. For example old metal pieces, weird looking stones and once the skelleton of a cat we found lying the woods. But there were two things beside the scare crows we stored en mass. One was wine stolen from madame Baleine which we would drink later and the other thing -or things- were sticks which resembled rifles or pistols. We even added a room to the hut with the help of stolen tools and wooden planks. We called it our personal armoury where we carefully and in a neat manner placed our "rifles" next to each other.


    We used these "rifles" to play Bataille de Dresde [fr. Battle of Dresden] where three of us represented Prussia, Russia and Austria whilst the other one was Napoleon, he always had to win, of course. We went to empty fields, this was hard during summer but once we found one we acted as if we had a whole company behind us and "shot" at each other, must have looked weird to an observer, haha!


    Anyway, back to the Thibie. It's a small village, the only notable building there is an old church in the center. Around the church stood about thirty houses and, a little bit offsite, rows of artillery pieces, predominantely the the 75mm cannon covered by brown felt blankets. When I entered the village, well I can't say when exactly I entered it, there was no clear border since Thibie was ... -hmm let me think ... a accumulation of houses. Suddenly there were buildings around me. If you've never been to these kinds of small village you probably won't exactly understand what I mean.
    So, when I was in Thibie I asked the first soldier I met where Colonel Abeau Baumé was. I was directed to the townhall which essentially was a slightly bigger and a little bit less unpretentous building. Two officers brought me to the colonel who had his office in the attic. He was a small, pale man with charcoal black hair and his eyes were covered in the shadow of his blue and red képi. I explained the situation to him and he Abeau said I'd join the 2nd company of the 5th battalion and told me where to meet the captain and I immediately went to the adress he gave me.


    The Captain, Captain Francois Mallarmé, and some of his men were inside a civilian's house playing cards in the basement. I though, they despereately tried to comply the cliché we had of men from the artillery, when I entered the room full of wads of smoke. Seven men sat lazily and smoking at a table and played poker, all of them wore their uniform nonchalantly. I told Mallarmé why I was there and he simply replied whith a cigarette in his mouth: "You want to play with us?"
    Thus began my days as artilleryman.

    Last edited by theSilentKiller; November 10, 2016 at 08:26 AM.

  16. #16
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    Great chapter! I enjoyed Sergeant Rampasse's meeting with Lieutenant Colonel Dupont. In wonder if Dupont's decision saved Rampasse's life. The title of this chapter, with its breezy informality, fits well with your description of the nonchalant artillerymen.

  17. #17

    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    Thank you Alwyn! Maybe it will save his life But the artillery wasn't always that save...

    Chapter Eight: L'Affût


    "The German retreat all the way back behind the Meuse was officially announced in the evening of the tirteenth of september, which was also the last day of Battle of the Marne but the fact that we managed to stop the German advance was already known in the early morning. At that time it was formally a victory against the Germans but the battle actually weakend our armies more than our enemy's, so it is arguable if this was an actual victory. These kind of things were twisted quite a bit in the war, perhaps it is the same in every war, moral, be it the soldier's or the citizen's, is one of the most important factor after all.
    Nonethelss, elation was palpable when I was walking down the streets and even the wagons full of corpses which were transported from the Châlons-en-Champagne-Train station to Paris and from there sent to the hometowns of the dead soldiers couldn't diminish this cheerful atmosphere, we soldiers even had some good time with lots of wine in the evening together with our officers.


    But before that I had to, as the thirteenth was my first day in the artillery, catch up on many things. I had to visit a geometry and physics lesson, which was obligatory for every artilleryman ... I wasn't exactly too keen on this but there was no way around it. Lieutenant Joséph Anglais, whom we secretely called Professeur Angle because he was always talking about angles, lines, points of intersection and such, was appointed to teach us everything necessary. With us I mean me and two corporals who also had been transferred to the artillery.
    Although I actually never visited a single physics class which dealt with anything more or less advances Lieutenant Anglais somehow managed to explain everything in a way that even I understood it - maybe it was his charisma; he was a calm person who never raised his voice even only a bit yet he didn't have a monotonous one and when he explained something he had this certain body language - I can't exactly explain what he did but it definitely left behind an impression, just imagine a person who is really good at explaining and whom you want to listen to. The only thing that bothered me was the "class room." It was small and close, only two rows of desks which stood about two meters away from the board. But still, after four hours of "school" I actually looked forwards to the next day's classes despite the awful room ... but that doesn't mean I understood much of what was taught but I felt I learned something.


    In the afternoon, after parading in Châlons-en-Champagne, I went to the cannons which stood outside of Thibie, and Arthur Trammaille, a university studing of my age who enlistened for the artillery showed me how the mechanism of the 75 mm guns worked and I was told that there was an excercise and I would help to reload the cannons.
    At this point I must say the modèle 1897 cannon was a remarkable technological achievement and astonished me in every way possible; It wasn't a heavy artillery piece, which we, I mean the French army, lacked in general and thus relatively small yet it was heavy enough that three several horses were needed to draw it. Three people plus one officer were required to effectively use it, one to loose the gun, one to aim and spot the enemy and one to reload. This way up to twenty rounds per minute were possible but only if the crew was practiced, 15 rounds per minute was seen as the norm. For me today the most interesting thing are the mechanical details of the gun. Paul Vieille's smokeless gunpowder used in the 75 mm shells, which contained both, the poweder and the ammunition, paired with a hydro-pneumatic short recoil mechanism and Nordenfelt's breech built created the probably most modern cannon of that time. Readjusting the gun after firing it was no longer, except if a new target was to be shelled, needed and allowed to maintain a high rate of fire.
    But still, the lack of heavy artillery would later prove to be a serious obstacle for the French army.


    Back to the thirteenth; After seeing the cannons from close I went, together with Trammaille, to Fagnières, a suburb of Châlons-en-Champagne, where the artillerymen, even those from other regiments, met to celibrate the victory in a Café -we chose this place to celibrate because it also served wine, a conjuction which our colones didn't know of and therefore didn't bat an eye when we said, we wanted to go to a Café. The wine there was even cheaper for us soldiers and therefore many a men didn't find the correct route back to their billets. To be honest, I woke up in a ditch next to the road to Thibie. Almost every part of the army went somewhere that night - I heard that many from the seventh infantry devision were punished for drunkeness but the vast quantity of people who would have needed to be punished was so big that over all only a small percentage of the drunkards were actually put in front of the Court Martial.


    The following days were days of uncertainty; We didn't know if Joffre and Foch were intending to follow the Germans to deal a decisive blow or if we were supposed to wait for reinforcements first. So we could do nothing but waiting and doing drills, during which I learned to reload -well, okay... this wasn't a complicated task but I had to aquire a certain rythm in order to reach the 15 rounds per minute mark, though I never reached this number during my time in Thibie, 12 rounds were the maximum with only a few days practice. This cycle of parading, waiting and doing drills lasted for a few days until an order arrived, on the eighteenth, I think. The Germans had managed to take Brussels and the British were now planning an offensive in Belgium and the third amy, was now to be sent there. I had to say Adieu to come comrades on the nineteenth. And two days later I had to say adieu to Châlons-en-Champagne for the reinforcements had arrived together with the order to attack the Germans in Lorraine."

  18. #18
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    For a moment, I was surprised that Private Rampasse - and other ordinary soldiers - would be drinking wine with the officers; then I remembered that this artillery unit has a nonchalant, informal style.

    I enjoyed your description of 'Professor Angle' - stories are more convincing when minor character seem like real people. In a similar way, the details about the 1897 model 75mm cannon help to make your story come across as historically authentic.

    The order to attack the Germans in Lorraine - and the comment about the lack of heavy artillery in the French army - sound ominous, I hope that Rampasse and his fellow artillerymen will be okay.

    I wonder if you would like to enter the MAARC.
    Last edited by Alwyn; November 26, 2016 at 09:36 AM.

  19. #19

    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    I find myself enjoying this AAR! I, like Alwyn, wonder if Rampasse will be okay! Looking forward to the next post!

  20. #20
    Caillagh de Bodemloze's Avatar to rede I me delyte
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    Default Re: Nous Pauvre Couillon du Front

    I haven't been around for ages (sorry - real life took over for a while), but I'm so glad I've come back to find this still going. It's a fascinating story, and I think the writing is getting better and better!






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