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Chapter 2 Somewhere in France
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14 TRENCH KNIVES AND MUSTARD GAS CHAP TE R TWO Somewhere in France A gripping, cramped-muscled crew descended from the cars at a bleak station. We had been two nights and a day on the hard benches of third-class carriages . McCormick marched us to a square, abutting an ancient public building. He disappeared within. Rumors were rife about our location and what form of torture awaited us. Someone said we were in Vaucouleurs. Men hopped about and flapped arms to keep blood going. McCormick remained inside for a year. Snow fell and covered the square with a thin blanket. Passing onlookers made their way into their funny little white-roofed houses. An American caisson passed, making tracks in the snow. Horses, blowing steam from nostrils, were of ludicrously different sizes. It was snowing hard now. The dull thumping of artillery beyond the old Hôtel de Ville seemed to fit into the wintry picture . McCormick returned to a growling contingent. Complaining ceased abruptly, as he was followed by a colonel, his adjutant, and a group of French lieutenants. The colonel announced crisply that we were at the headquarters of the 42nd Division, snowflakes settling on the speaker’s cap and in the fleece of his trench coat collar. Only a few of the division’s troops were in France at the moment. The rest were on the high seas and were due shortly. S O M E W H E R E I N F R A N C E 15 The younger officer now stepped forward and read an order assigning our group of one hundred and thirty-odd to the Rainbow Division. He read another order assigning groups to the various infantry regiments. I listened with rabbit ears as names were read for the 165th, 166th, and 167th regiments. The adjutant barked the names in such rapid cadence that I could not be sure how the sextet had fared. I was petrified by a horrible, tense fear of separation. What if we had to part now? What if Tim and I lost each other? The adjutant brushed the ominous sheet free of snowflakes. I set myself for a fourth agony of suspense. I inhaled deeply, then held it. The voice was barking again. “Pursuant to the authority contained in special order No. . . . the following named officers, Infantry Reserve corps, . . . will proceed to the headquarters , 168th Infantry. . . . First Lieutenant P. H. McLemore,” I was startled. . . . “First Lieutenant Z. D. Setliffe, First Lieutenant A. H. Turk, First Lieutenant B. C. Walrof.” I all but suffocated . . . . “Second Lieutenant J. R. Cullen, Second Lieutenant L. O. Irving, Second Lieutenant D. L. Preston, Second Lieutenant W. H. Sawyer, Second Lieutenant H. G. Smith, Second Lieutenant H. S. Thompson, Second Lieutenant C. S. Timothy.” I heard no more. In a delirium of happiness, I even missed the names of Van Zant, Wallace, and Young that must have followed mine in rapid-fire order. “Whew!” I sighed, as Tim nudged me with his elbow. The colonel eyed us with irritation. There was an electric current of satisfaction from nearby files. Of the twenty-seven officers who reported to my regiment under this order and remained for active service, seven were killed in action and fourteen were wounded. Several of the latter were twice wounded and two of them were wounded three times.1 We were dismissed with orders to fall in again by regimental groups. Much backslapping accompanied a babel of congratulations . We fell in again happy. Barney was placed in command of our new group of thirty-odd. He marched us down the street for a meal in an estaminet. Finished, we climbed into waiting camions with bedrolls and two French lieutenants.2 Similar groups did likewise. Wizened Annamites [44.222.138.70] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 09:57 GMT) 16 TRENCH KNIVES AND MUSTARD GAS were in yellowish, drab, mounted drivers’ seats.3 We were off again, with a grinding of gears and a cloud of evil-smelling petroleum. White-roofed houses appeared and vanished. A billowy expanse of snow unfolded behind us as we skidded to one more “somewhere in France.” We came to a jerky halt, brakes squealing, and hopped into the snow-covered street of a tiny village. It had ceased snowing and the skies were clearer. Lieut. Col. Townes, the officer to whom we were to report, was located in a spacious kitchen at the home of the “maire...