Those Who Fought for Us

by D. Allen Henry

  Fig. 6 Depiction of the Second Battle of the Marne

  The Following Morning

  Robert shoved Alastair awake, exclaiming, “I say, we must be moving. They are retreating this way, and they appear to be doing so quite rapidly.”

  “Och, it still be mirk! What time moost it be?”

  “Tis yet a couple of hours before sunrise. Since there could be more artillery fire at sunrise, we must be settled into a safer spot before the battle arrives here. I should think they are at the moment perhaps a half mile to our south. Once the sun comes up, the Allies will surely attack. If they continue to progress, they shall likely hold this ground by nightfall.”

  “Och aye, but where might we be able tae hole up, Robert?”

  “I’ve been scouting about while you were sleeping. There is a tank a couple of hundred yards over there. I’m afraid it will have to do. I say, shall we?”

  “Reit,” Alastair responded, following as quickly as he could in the dark. “Won’t they grab the tank fur their oon purposes?”

  “Not likely, tis wrecked. Tread’s been knocked off.”

  “Och, then perhaps they’ll be wantin’ tae get in it themselves fur protection.”

  “Right. That is in fact a distinct possibility, so we shall avoid hiding within. Instead, we shall hide beneath it!”

  “Oonder it! That soonds quite dangerous tae me, Robert.”

  “I say, Alastair, there is absolutely nowhere we can go that isn’t dangerous at the moment. This seems to be the safest alternative, given our somewhat limited options.”

  “Reit,” Alastair replied doubtfully, by which point they had arrived at the tank. Although it was still quite dark, they could see well enough in the moonlight that Robert was able to point out a spot on the far side of the tank where there was a bit of an indentation that had been made by the now haphazardly strewn tread.

  “Alright,” Robert commanded, “We dig here. And we dig fast, because we must be in hiding by the time they come this way, and that could well be within the hour. So let’s get to it! When we’re done, we’ll crawl under the tank and pull this tangled tread up around the opening. Hopefully, that will protect us from the coming onslaught.”

  “Reit,” Alastair responded, the two setting immediately to their task. It was back-breaking work, but they had no alternative.

  An hour later they burrowed exhausted beneath the tank, the pair tugging the tail end of the detached tread behind them as best they could. There was scant room within their hastily prepared cocoon but, all things considered, it was the best that could be done. Little did they know that they would spend the next two days trapped in the middle of the most massive offensive of the entire war.

  A half hour before sunrise the artillery fire commenced, and it was so close that the ground shook incessantly. The shelling continued for perhaps an hour before it stopped suddenly, thereby creating an eerie silence. Gunfire broke out within seconds, and in under two hours the entire German army was upon them. What sounded like an entire battalion set up camp directly adjacent to the tank, thereby causing Robert to question his choice of hiding places. Still, they were quite well protected within their shelter, the metal tank deflecting any and all projectiles that came their way. Through it all, the pair maintained absolute silence, sleep for obvious reasons entirely out of the question.

  The German line held directly overhead for the entire day, gunfire enveloping them, and constant guttural shouting heard from every quarter by the retreating army above them. Both Robert and Alastair found it necessary to eventually relieve themselves within their lair, but under the circumstances, the smell of urine was completely obliterated by the far more noxious odors that pervade a major battlefield.

  Toward dusk, Robert heard what sounded like a high ranking officer giving something like a briefing to other officers directly adjacent to the tank. He dared not hazard a peek, their safety dependent on absolute immobility on their parts. The supposed briefing ended quite abruptly, and to his ear, it appeared that the Germans were about to retreat from their current position. Within minutes it had grown deathly silent, not a single person to be heard nearby.

  Eventually, it being clear that the enemy had in fact moved some distance northwards, Alastair was prompted to whisper, “Appears they’ve goon fur the moment, Robert.”

  “Seems so,” Robert responded. “But perhaps we’d better stay put, just to be safe.”

  “Reit, but jist tae humor me, tell me somethin’, Robert.”

  “Like what?”

  “When was the last time ye saw Margaret afore she died?”

  “She tended to me at the hospital right after I was shot. Must’ve been, let me see…oh, right, early July, right after the offensive began in 1916. Why?”

  “Jist wonderin’ idly…somethin’ tae talk abit, ye kin.”

  “If it will make this hellhole we’re trapped within any more pleasant, tis fine with me.”

  “Did ye take a shine tae her, Robert?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dinnae bandy aboot with me, Robert – ye had a thing fur her, dinnae ye?”

  “I suppose I did, but I also had a thing for Elizabeth, if you must know.”

  “Dinnae we all!”

  “You too, Alastair?”

  “Reit.”

  “Which one?”

  “Ah dinnae kin. Besides, it dinnae matter noo, seein’ as hoo Margaret’s gone. There’s one thin’ though, Robert.”

  “What might that be?”

  “Weel, Ah was in the hospital mind ye, but if memory serves, there was some strangeness went on while Ah was recoverin’ in Paris.”

  “Strangeness? What sort of strangeness?”

  “Dinnae reitly kin, but some smart-arsed officer came tae my bunk one day, claimin’ Elizabeth had fraternized with the troops. Wanted me tae sign an affidavit.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Weel, Ah dinnae want tae be telling’ ye this, seein’ as how ye were all soft oon Elizabeth, but she gave me a look, and quite a look it was. That was when she thought I was dyin’, I suppose. At any rate, Ah toold some lad who was himself dyin’ that she’d give me a look, ye kin, as sort of a gooin’ away present, jist afore he was expected tae die. Well, soo he lived a bit longer than expected, and apparently he told someone what Ah’d told him. Next thing Ah know, this officer’s snoopin’ aboot, sayin’ Elizabeth’s aboot tae be arrested.”

  “Wait! I’m confused. Now you mention it, Elizabeth gave me a look as well. What the heck is going on here?”

  “Ah’ve nae idea, Robert.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Oh, Ah gave him the affidavit, but Ah said Margaret done it.”

  “What! Why ever did you do such a thing?”

  “Ah was tryin’ tae protect Elizabeth. Besides, Margaret was already dead by then.”

  “What! That can’t be. She wasn’t killed until…September?”

  “Nae, Robert. Elizabeth told me Margaret was killed in early August.”

  “Well, I must have been mistaken, or perhaps that doctor was wrong about the date,” Robert responded, “So what happened with the charge of fraternizing?”

  “Naethin’, so far as Ah kin.”

  “Hmmm,” Robert murmured, “Tis all beyond me. This war has everything jumbled up. I suppose we’ll never know exactly what happened to Margaret. So many dead, and so many unanswered questions.”

  Robert and Alastair subsequently fell into a deep sleep, which under the circumstances was fortuitous. A couple of hours before morning light, Robert awoke with a start, bumping his head on the base of the tank. He fell back to his prone position and, grasping his head in pain, he whispered, “Alastair!”

  “Reit,” Alastair responded.

  “I say, lets us open this thing up and check to see what’s going on. We seem to be safe for the moment.”

  “Reit,” Alastair posited, at w
hich the pair pushed the tank tread away, subsequently crawling out of the cocoon.

  “Don’t stand up, Alastair,” Robert whispered. “They may still be nearby.” The pair crawled a few feet and, rising slightly, Robert took in their surroundings for several moments. He then lowered himself back down and whispered, “I thought so…this is not good at all.”

  “Och, whit’s the matter?”

  “We’re right in the middle of the battlefield. The Germans are behind us, and the Allies are straight ahead, not a hundred yards from us.”

  “Weel then, why don’t we make fur that general direction?”

  “Because they might shoot us in the dark, that’s why!”

  “Reit, reit. Ah kin yur point. If’n Ah was them, Ah’d shoot me, too.”

  Ignoring the perverse humor, Robert suggested, “Under the circumstances, I think we should be wise to get back within our hideout, Alastair.”

  “Och, nae that again! Ah cannae stand another minit in there, Robert!”

  “I’d say tis either that, or risk getting shot.”

  “Och, alreit. Back we goo, but Ah need tae do a jobby first.”

  “Good idea,” Robert responded.

  Minutes later they were back within the lair, resigned to another day in limbo.

  The Following Morning

  Robert awakened yet again to the sound of artillery fire. This time it was quite close, but fortunately for them, the target was some distance beyond them. It being not quite sunrise, there was barely enough light to see. Consequently, he pressed up close to the tiny opening, sighting as best he could towards the north. He could see that the Germans were well entrenched, thereby withstanding the barrage with little damage done. It was evident that it was going to be a long day.

  The artillery fire suddenly ended, and small arms fire immediately enveloped them from the north. “Damn!” Robert whispered.

  “Whit’s happenin’?” Alastair queried.

  “The Germans are counter-attacking, that’s what’s happening!”

  “Let’s make a run fur it noo then.”

  “Not a chance. From the sound of it, the Germans will be all over this tank by the time we can get out from beneath it.”

  In the end they remained where they were, impatiently awaiting the oncoming enemy. Sure enough, the Germans were upon them within minutes, eventually setting up their command post exactly where it had been the previous day. Robert wondered to himself what sort of mindless battlefield strategy could lead to such repetitions. But of course, he already knew the answer to his own question – there was no such thing as strategy in this godforsaken war. It was little more than a process of slow attrition, one that would only end when one side or the other was too exhausted to continue. But by then the world would be reduced to something resembling the Middle Ages.