"No Road To Glory" by Major A.R. Thompson

    

 
"The 4th Battalion was at Neuville St. Vaast, dawdling until dusk when they would move off to take over their piece of the front.
      The newcomer was introduced to the Colonel and others of Headquarters staff, and was posted to "D" Company, No. 16 Platoon.  At the order to fall in, the Company Commander gave some brief instructions and the whole moved off at a slow, ambling gait in formation of Indian file.  Each platoon was headed by a guide, furnished from the out-coming battalion. Over the crest of the ridge past Farbus Wood they led.  The skeletons of trees - mere stumps and amputations - stood forth like ghostly sentinels, fantastic in the gathering gloom.

[That night, Jones had been tired and somewhat homesick.  He had fallen asleep thinking "a lot of things he couldn't tell to anyone, not even to the Colonel."]

By the side of the road a carrion horse lay where it fell.  The carcass, which was full blown out from putrid gases, stenched and stank most horribly.  Suddenly the column, trudging silently into the night, came under fire.  A rushing sound, that filled the air, screamed past and roared beyond, as shell after shell followed in quick succession.  Each one seemed closer than the last, and bursting rocked the grounds.  Jones rubbed his eyes and wondered - could they all be hit but he?  The whole platoon was stretched upon the ground.  The guide who, a moment before, had walked beside him, and all those following behind, were down.  By what miracle had he been saved?  Now, they were up again.  What did it all mean?
     'My God, Sir,' said a Non-Com, 'That last was a close one.  You'd better duck if we get another like that.'
     Then he understood.  'On the hands down,' which had always seemed a good deal of a bore before breakfast, had been particular training for the useful trick of ducking.
[...]
As the debutante subaltern became acquainted, his feeling of strangeness wore away.  Talk of Toronto, Hamilton, Brantford, and other familiar places in old Ontario brought the spirit of home to his unfamiliar surroundings.  He swapped yarns;  made friends with his Sergeants and Corporals, and took unto himself a batman, a red-haired, cheery-faced farm lad called Sowers."

Tomorrow: Four Hundred Yards From the German Lines.



"Drew" A. R. Thompson

[Map Source:  Neuville St. Vaast:  Wikipedia]