The Ordeal by Fire: By a Sergeant in the French ArmyBerger, Marcel
General
The Ordeal by Fire: By a Sergeant in the French Army
Berger, Marcel
Soldiers -- Fiction; World War, 1914-1918 -- France -- Fiction
One pleasant surprise was the coffee, which was brought up from the
rear by Fachard and Pomot, two cheery fellows who were seen coming
along in the distance, smiling and fearless, gaily swinging their
dixey. They had had to cross the zone of fire to get to us. When
questioned, they admitted that they had had no orders. It was simply an
idea of theirs to warm the lads up a bit. And they meant to go back.
Fachard was no less a personage than the colonel's cook. His duty
called him. Oh no, that couldn't be allowed. Lamalou forbade them to
move. The colonel and his stew would have to look after themselves.
They weren't going to let lads like that get themselves pinked, not
much.
The captain, who turned up again, began by giving the two cronies a
good slanging. A piece of nonsense that might have drawn the fire on
to us. Then he calmed down and asked if he might taste their famous
coffee, and congratulated them on it.
Pomot took a fancy to our platoon and stayed with us. I talked to him,
but did not get much out of him at first. The thing that had struck him
most was a shell which had just killed two staff-officers. Oh, yes,
and then he had heard that reinforcements had arrived. An important
piece of news that. I pressed him--then he told me a fantastic tale
which had got about of taxis having brought up Zouaves and Turcos and
Foreign Legion men, all night, nothing but those frightful creatures
from Africa! It seemed to me an unlikely tale, but I thought it worth
spreading all the same. It gave the men a tremendous fillip.
"Them chaps knows the business end of a bayonet all right w'en they
sees it!"
Some time passed. I was occupied in getting our trench made deeper. The
men put their backs into it better than they had the day before. But
the captain immediately gave orders to stop the work, not to attract
the attention of the enemy's lookout men. Everyone appeared delighted.
They only bemoaned the fact that they were forbidden to smoke.
The German shells fell unceasingly, with clumsy, obstinate precision,
a few hundred yards behind us. Part of the wood was on fire and black
smoke hung above it. Sometimes when a shell fell near the edge of the
wood leaves and branches could be seen spurting up, as at the kick of
some huge monster.
It certainly was a rest for us. The crash of bursting shells no
longer startled us. We had even given up ducking when the projectiles
swished over our heads. The men were sitting or lying about in drowsy
attitudes. Many of them were taking another nap. Aided by a natural
feeling of indolence they ended by taking it for granted that this sort
of fighting would last.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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