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By Root 2448 0

and the Sixth would lead the way, would rise up quickly from the trench works, and advance toward the rough ground along the base of the great ridge. The Fifth would follow, moving in a solid line, battalion strength, would follow the Sixth to the base of Blanc Mont, then hold their position, prepared to support the Sixth as those men began the climb up through the rough hillside. Temple had wanted to ask him about the trench out in front of them, reminding the lieutenant what the French officer had said, the man’s caution, the enemy dug into a place the poilus had simply given up trying to capture. But Lucas was gone as quickly as he had appeared, moving away, more instructions to more men, and Temple had stared into the darkness wondering if the officers had simply forgotten the caution from the French officer, or perhaps the privates didn’t need to know what lay a hundred yards in front of them. In everything the lieutenant had said, there was only one mission: the ridge itself, the men simply told to do whatever it would take to get there.

The men of the Sixth continued to file past him, no one speaking, and he did not look at the faces. After St. Mihiel, both Marine regiments had been brought up to full strength, a thousand new recruits filling the gaps. At the rest camps, the veterans had been merciless, punching holes in the bravado of the new men, columns of clean-faced men whom the old sergeants referred to as warm meat. Now, in the wet dawn, there was no way to distinguish the recruit from the veteran, and there were none of the usual taunts, or the rude insults that marked the rivalry between the regiments. Today, it would be the Sixth who would go first, and they all knew that there was no special pride in that. Tomorrow, it would likely be the other way around.

He had shivered for over an hour, the air colder than anyone had expected. The trench was nearly packed with men and Temple eased past them, looked along the wall for Parker. The big man had been gone for what seemed to be an hour, had been sought out by Osborne and taken away silently toward the great wide dugout. It was curious, and Temple had wanted to ask somebody why. He knew that Murphy was up on the parapet above him, but Temple knew not to talk to him, knew that no matter what was happening down in the trench, Murphy would be doing what all the lookouts did, focusing on nothing but the ground in front of him, any movement, any sound. Whatever Parker was doing, Temple would just have to wait to find out.

The artillery fire had slowed, sporadic thumps and rumbles behind the line. Temple realized it was light enough to see his hands, and he glanced up into the heavy mist, wiped at the layer of crust on his face. The hunger growled through his stomach, and he eased his backpack off his shoulders, ignored the faces that turned toward him. He slid his hand inside, touched the cold metal, pulled out a can of emergency rations. He reached for his bayonet, felt a hand grabbing his arm, looked into the face of Osborne, heard a low whisper, “Put it away, Private. No time. You’ll need it later.”

“What time is it, Sarge?”

“Near six. All hell’s about to break loose.”

Osborne moved to the parapet, reached up, tapped the lookouts on the leg, each man turning toward him. Osborne motioned with his hand, down, the men stepping off the parapet. Murphy was beside him now, and Temple could hear him shivering, said in a whisper, “You okay?”

“Frozen. You got any coffee in your pocket?”

Temple’s response was masked by the high shriek, a short blast, the ground out in front of the trench churned and tossed over them. The shelling then erupted behind them, a vast wave of thunder, sharp whines and ripped air. Around him, the men huddled low, and the voice in his mind shouted, It’s ours! The shells blanketed the ground beyond the trench, a cascading storm of blasts that shook the dirt from the walls, choking them with burned powder. He wanted to yell, too close! They’re too close! But the impacts began to move farther out now, and he understood, the rolling barrage,