To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [254]
He heard voices down in the woods below him, rose up, saw a cluster of men standing. He realized they were officers, but the Sam Brown belts were gone, and they wore the same tin plate helmets, their uniforms as plain as what Temple wore himself. He felt excited by that, thought, Of course, they don’t just sit back here. They’ll go out with us, when the time comes. He heard Parker, off to one side, soft words.
“Must be gettin’ time. There’s the lieutenant.”
Temple realized he was right, Lieutenant Ashley speaking to other men Temple didn’t know. Temple said, “What you think they’re talking about?”
Scarabelli popped up now out of a pile of leaves. “It’s not about our rations, I can bet you that.”
Temple watched the conversation, saw another man come close, a runner, handing out papers pulled from a satchel. Scarabelli said, “Oh, hell. That’s not a lunch menu.”
There was a sudden roar in the trees to one side, a thunderous crash, the ground punching him from below. They all sat up, stared at a billowing cloud of smoke that spread out through the trees. He saw trees falling, shattered trunks, cracking timbers, men shouting. Temple strained to see, heard Dugan, “Stay put! Nothing you can do!”
Voices rolled up toward them now, one man screaming, “First aid! Medic!”
He could see movement in the clouds of dirt, men scrambling over the broken trees. He looked at Dugan, who was staring at him with a hard scowl.
“Let it go, Private. There’ll be more of those. That was a big one, a one fifty. Just a lucky shot. If Fritz knew we were here, we’d be blown to hell by now.”
Ashley moved up through the trees, said, “Sergeant Dugan.”
“Sir?”
“Rations in two hours. The major doesn’t expect anything to happen for the rest of today. We’re staying right here, though. You boys make yourselves as comfortable as you can. This is home for tonight.”
The officers were gathering again, and Temple heard loud voices, a line of soldiers moving down below them, through the trees.
Dugan said, “Poilus. What the hell are they doing?”
Temple could see more soldiers now, blue uniforms, men without helmets, a dozen, then more, a column of men, moving quickly.
“Hey, Sarge. The poilus are moving out.”
Dugan stood up, his expression unchanged. “That they are. Some of ’em seem to be in a pretty hot lather. Officers too.”
Temple could hear shouting, more French troops, swarming past the curious Americans in the woods. He saw a French officer now, the man waving his arms, urging his men to move more quickly. The American officers moved toward the flow of French troops, and the French officer began to shout at them, no one seeming to understand him.
Dugan said, “That chap’s got the shakes. The whole bunch of ’em. We may have to help stop them. Temple, come with me. We’ll see if the lieutenant needs us to do something.”
Temple pulled himself out of his shelter, followed Dugan toward the commotion. More officers from both sides were gathering, and Temple saw one older man, a captain. The senior French officer was focusing on him now, obviously the senior American there. Temple could hear their words clearly, the older captain asking, “Dammit, what’s he say?”
“He’s telling us we best retreat, sir.”
The French officer seemed to acknowledge the interpretation, nodded furiously at the American captain, pointed back toward the east. More French officers