We marched before dawn toward the trenches and our first taste of what the war really was.

Everywhere around us the ground had been upturned and cratered, broken barbed wire and stumps were scattered about on either side. Here and there were the signs of battles not very long past at one point along the way we could make out the shapes of some buildings in the gloom, here about five miles from the front was the company head quarters as well as the head quarters for several other units. They had everything here, a hospital was clearly visible among the tents as well as what looked like a passable command center.
Among the equipment we could make out there seemed to be plenty of artillery and reinforced bunkers not far away from them, there was a series of stables and barns. There in the early morning a group of Horse Guards cavalry were saddling up with bright uniforms and pennants and lances, incredible hats to finish it all off. The Company commander's unit was out front raising the British flags to a full musical accompaniment while other men went about their morning affairs. Somewhere out in the distance the rumbling thunder of cannons and the crack of rifles could still be heard far off ahead of us.

Some time in the post dawn hours we reached the "reserve trenches" which is where the acting captain was waiting for us, there had been a battle that night between the joint French / English forces on station and some number of Germans, looking out over the next mile it was as if some children had made two castles in the sand and then set their ants at odds with each other. trails and tunnels wove around drunkenly on the Allied side from one spot to the next. Here and there some spots could be seen some spots where a base was positioned under ground and reinforced with a seemingly endless quantity of sand bags or wood. We all were grouped up now and given over to a local trooper who had been in the sections we were coming to bolster. The walk down was a filthy affair even though it hadn't rained in some time the ground seemed to ooze moisture when you got down off the top level, a thing we did quickly as the Germans were less than half a mile away. Some times bullets would land around us as we hurried down to the relative safety which was afforded to us among the sand bags and shockingly sparse wood supports. It's worth pointing out too that we could see the now infamous "no man's land"; which was one of the single ugliest things I'd ever seen in life. When you reach the trenches you cannot see where you are in relation to anything else, that's a deliberate design, every few yards they turn sharply one way then the other way. It means if you land in a trench you cannot shoot down the length of it, also if a shell or bomb falls it won't wipe everyone out down the line either...
For men just arrived it's incredibly disorienting, there are no maps because that's a liability  and every little pocket of troops are all people from some village so they know who's on either side of them but you're just passing through so you can't hardly get a word in with them. Some of them cheered us for coming to relieve them and others shook their heads muttering dark things about more meat for the butchers. All the American's wore a kind of look, maybe it was our Colt Revolvers, or the stunning new 1911A1s which had been special ordered thanks to a friend and delivered to us. Or the fact that we wore large felt hats similar to the ones our Australian counter parts wore around us, but these had a buckle which read USA. There were hoots for the American's entering the war and people asking when the President of America was sending more of us in?

We had to tell them that as far as anyone knew; America was staying out of the European war, but some of us thought we'd come and give it a try.

This was not what they wanted to hear. The English had been fighting for two years with France and some token support from other nations here. But France had a massive army and England did not, both were suffering terrible losses with no end in sight, it was decided that the war of attrition was wearing all parties down terribly without any real gains to be shown for it. There were hopes that our common ancestry would prevail upon the Americans and some day our nation would rise up to stop the war with as massive influx of troops and supplies. That was England's hope anyway.

We wove our way through the lines until we were brought to a short doorway into a sunken room, and each man made his way inside. The walls, floor and most of the roof were all dirt. Boards and wood pillars seemed to hold most of it back, but there was little in the way of comforts here. The officer on hand was not able to tell us much, in fact their own officer had been killed as were most of the men with him repelling the attack last night. There wasn't any room for us either, curiously someone seemed to be just sending men to places off the top of the head and several other units had already been sent here without further orders. There was a great deal of discourse about who we were and what our training and orders were, after some point the leading Australian decided he'd take a "walkabout". Returning later on he informed us he'd met up with another mostly Australian group in a forward section, and lacking orders decided we were moving forwards into the second trench.

Here we stayed a short time, and by luck were even given some space to settle down for a bit. The second trench was there to provide supporting roles if any of the sections of the First Trench were over run or in danger of such. Here it was learned we were not alone in our feelings about how stuff was handled, for it was a common practice for some of the Australians to bring along personal weapons. It was a thing which officers were meant to do, but in war it seemed nearly everyone in the Australians brought a shot gun, some kind of pistol and some had their own hunting rifles... Each man maintained the issued rifle which England had supported, but seemed to like their own guns when the higher ups weren't looking too closely.

Sadly our time here was limited to just a day, that night we were already moved again to a place they called "the Abbey" and "Abbington trenches". It was a terrible spot along the first line trenches. Just in front of it was a little spot which they called "Jerry Hill"; and in the ruined remains of an old church the Germans had set up a collection of machine guns, rifles and spotters. The first trench section was regularly filled by their gun fire day and night even without a visible target they simply filled it with bullets.

After much dodging and swearing all of us; the entire group of new guys managed to get there and then through the trenches to the supposed safety of this group's head quarters only two dozen feet under ground. It was little better than the other places where we'd stopped or chatted. Dirt everywhere, mud and filth with a smell both like a crypt and a soggy basement at the same time. The lighting was candles or some lanterns, the men slept on the floors where they chose to, rats could be seen plain as day running through the shadowy areas into holes large enough to put a man's leg through. The LT. was a man with a seemingly unbroken family line of soldiers, and in each war someone had died, the only bright spot in the facility was an area where he had been given some boards enough to build an office into one wall for records and opposite that was the supplies for the unit. His side had a flag, crossbow, sword, axe, a broken lance tip and several guns one of which seemed to be the largest shot gun ever made by man.

There were introductions made and with some amusement we were informed that some additional supplies had arrived for us via a large group of wagons around dawn but little other orders. There a dozen foot locker sized boxes with shipping labels and instructions for delivery had been set, and locked with a large label from the Sears and Roebuck Company of Chicago Ill, USA glued to the top of each.

With some encouragement we got out our keys ( mailed to us before hand) and opened them up; each man who'd given up his pay from basic had been sent a kit of "everything you need for safari, or a short war" customized for the purchaser by our allies and friends back home. Some had chosen hunting rifles, shot guns, pistols which were family classics and others had chosen state of the art weapons that cost a month's wages to buy.

There were bullets a plenty too; someone had gone over board we thought; sending nearly a thousand rounds of each and for each...
We were sent two weeks worth of clothes, spare hats, compasses, boiled leather leggings and some gloves. There were binoculars and flashlights with spare bulbs and batteries for each man, soap, towels and some blankets. But the winter weight sleeping bags were the greatest thing by size or weight, each was filled with three pounds of down feathers, flannel linned and made of heavy water proof canvas outside. Someone had ordered a hammock of all things and hooks to put it up on.

Now I left the guns to Number Two, because he was a man of the out doors it seemed and read sporting catalogs the way ladies read fashion journals. He had ordered for me a lever action rifle the 1895 rifle/shotgun in .401 caliber but could also shoot a .410 shotgun shell I learned. It was something of a mystery except to a few other men who'd heard they were issued to special police units to break up riots, the bullet was huge, nearly a quarter again heavier than the English Enfield rounds and said to kill any animal in North America which you chose to hunt. The tube underneath it was the magazine and it had been given room for six rounds. I was also ordered a Colt .45 peace maker in double action with a leather belt for it and a bandoleer for the rifle in case I felt like reloading half a dozen times.

Number Two had ordered what would have been the same gun, except he had fanangled someone into modifying a pump shotgun to take the rifle/shotgun barrel. This he explained was because you could fire a pump from the hip, you could fire it laying down and you could shoot it in a trench or a tunnel. And because he had only ever seen one in his life, and decided he wanted it. He had taken for himself a colt 45 automatic; that is to say the world famous 1911. He also had possession of a .38 revolver too. It was then that Number Two also displayed yet another curiosity which American's were known to have but few Englishmen could obtain even if they had been able to afford. There was a wooden box with the gun and it contained two sets of "micrometer peep sights". They boasted you could see clearer, farther and shoot better than any other man in the world, unless he had bought this same company's "telescopic sights". When asked why he hadn't preferred the telescope gizmos number two gave a reply which every one balked at.

He said "With eyes like mine, it wouldn't really help". Then he went on to point out the sights he bought could be folded down when in a hurry or were not needed; but "Having a big old chunk of glass was heavy and gave you away to the other guys".

Local commanders were short on everything, food, bullets, grenades which they called "Bombs", clothes or any other thing which you could name. Here we were all clean and fresh in our gear it was probably a bit of a shock to see a group of young clean Americans with everything they could have asked for shipped over without a scratch or a delay.

Among the Australians were some other colonial troops, a few from India, and a place called Nepal  which I was to learn was among the strangest and harshest places on earth. It was so bad there if you went to visit that the Nepalese actually volunteered to come and fight the Germans. They seemed to delight in it too, shurking their rifles issued to them in favor of rather large and oddly shaped knives or garrote for night time hunting parties. Adding to this was the fact that the Nepalese man who's name I could never get right; had brought with him a large box containing a creature rather like the largest weasel you'd ever seen. It was about the size of a small dog in fact and kind of brownish in coloration. Making the strangest sounds as it slumbered in his box. This thing was referred to as some by the moniker "snake eater" or "that blasted rat eater". And later simply labeled "mongoose". Now the mongoose once released into the area was one of the killingest creatures god ever put on the planet; probably the only predator for the "dreadnaught class rats" which roamed the tunnels and hallways openly day or night. But when you were walking around the mongoose wasn't any trouble at all really. It quickly became a favorite subject of bets and drawings among men stationed with our group.

It was a tragedy then that first night we were there and the Nepalese guy and several others who volunteered to go out and blow up the base on Jerry Hill. That attack was an unfortunate event for their cover was blown a gun fight could be heard and none of them were ever seen again. However the mongoose remained with us and continued to be a mascot throughout the rest of our war campaigns.

The plan to destroy Jerry hill in repayment for the loss of our comrades was simple enough; crawl up in the middle of the night while the artillery was going off, carry about six backpacks worth of explosives then detonate them inside the walls. Grenades, pistols and other weapons were handed out too.

It was a resounding success, reducing the entire church, the hill it sat upon into a crater about one city block wide after a short shootout and some snooping around. The explosion set everyone off, the Germans did not forget us and the British began to realize we were the group to get things done.

Fresh off the boat

It was late Summer when we completed our training, August in England is something you either love or loathe and I was ready for the short time along the coast. Now Back home most people are used to the idea of traveling a hundred miles or so on occasion. State Capitals, business trips and weddings take lots of us out atleast fifty miles or so from time to time. In England we learned you are never more than about sixty miles from the ocean, and yet the average person in England probably traveled less than twenty miles on any given week. With or without the war mind you, with the war there are limitations on a lot of non-war essentials like fuel and other consumables as well as placing a premium on train tickets.

But we are Americans, and dammit we wanted to see something of the country who was sending us over to fight and die for them. So we bought some tickets, first class with our pocket money and then with some new friends we'd made in basic training and the very short advanced training for tunneling which I and the rest of my new friends had also found ourselves a part of. These boys were largely speaking Australians, some British kids from mining families too and were there for "not English" and treated as such by the English.

Our little excursion to the coast was interesting, however like everything else in England I learned that the beaches are not the same as the American beaches. These are largely round / large pebbles it seemed and the towns which are all along the coast where we spend the weekend were very quiet as the war kept a lot of people at home rather than taking vacations.

When we got to the departure point with less than an hour to spare, seems someone forgot several pieces of kit and we went all over hell and back to make sure everything was accounted for. Anyway the boat ride was pretty much what you'd expect; several thousand kids and young men with some older guys too. Everyone of us was checked, our gear checked and then we were ordered about. Then standing five deep on the decks of some run down old boat we waved to the crowds as the ship pulled away and into a course east. It wasn't a long trip, a couple hours and all the while France was just there in our sights. When we landed in France It was a much more curt affair, there along some dock was waiting for us a collection of under officers, quarter masters and French Officials who each wanted our man power for their own divisions or some other purpose. But thankfully the officers sent with us were reasonably aware of the practices where an under serving officer went out on leave to try and wrangle some new troops off the boat before they realized that they were off to the wrong spot. Woe be him who fell into their hands, for his pay was stopped without his presence at the correct place and some times charges filed until the truth was learned. But rarely did someone find their way back to the original unit after that and with so many losses being suffered most of the men simply got eaten up by the war without a word from them to reach home.

I will skip over the train ride to the border, and of France we saw at first very little though it looked lovely from the speeding train cars. Ours was a complete unit when we got into the train, an entire company with all it's baggage and support structures in tow. The train cars were filled with supplies and then men, first into box  cars and then later men were given to stand around on top of the flat cars on the trucks and supplies which were tied down. The trip only took a day, with some stops along the way to drop off goods or take on mail I do not know specifically and never asked. It was just then that we got our first looks at what the war had to offer us.

What we saw was a change as subtle as it was horrific to realize, less than an hour behind us on the train ride up were rolling farms and people going about their affairs. Here and there we could now see a house or farm which was blown apart, dead horse in a field some times and a tree which was stripped of all it's growth. As the train pulled up to our final stop we saw the worst thing upto then any of us had ever set eyes on. The area was a massive and sprawling expanse on one side of the tracks which looked like some kind of prison cross bread with a stock yard from hell. Barbed wire and towers with men and rifles, while hundreds of other men ran out to meet the train and hurriedly unloaded the flat cars right away. Horses pulled carts along once filled to the distant battle field some thirty miles away from our position. Even then we could hear the sound of heavy guns firing and see the flashes as some exploded.

The weather was still rather good, and we were quickly put to the task of unloading the train cars from all their cargo, then loading it onto the many carts and wagons which awaited our arrival. The few trucks we saw were almost all medical corps owned and no one was allowed near them, seems that they had a lot of pain killers and other stuff not intended for regular troops to handle. That took nearly a day to finish up, and after that we were put to a small filthy field where pairs of men set up their shelter halves into tents and began the short experience we had as soldiers in a "proper fighting unit" as one of the officers would tell us. For soon all of us were going to be shoulders deep in it; and if we were lucky maybe even a few dozen feet deeper where there were only slightly fewer things trying to kill you at anyone time.

Before dawn the next morning we were called up into formations and we struck camp for an all day forced march towards front lines and the battles just visible on the horizon some times. The English are a brutal bunch when it comes to many things, their pay for military men is completely arbitrary and they are as far as I know the only country to pay the infantry less in combat than on parades. The hours a soldier gives up as well as all his other sufferings are without count, but they excel at one thing in particular; they have an over developed sense of propriety and after five hours marching one of the officers took it into his head to stop for a bit of lunch. And we were all allowed to stop while he ate. Then four hours later he stopped for tea with the rest of the red jacket bunch and again we stopped. This time however everyone had tea, for it seems that if there is any equality in the British army it is that every man is believed to be afforded tea once a day. Then another four ours of marching brought us to a spot where all armies came to make camp before setting off again, it was almost perfect in a way. For so many had used it that the tent spots were already arranged and the foot roads were lined out as were fire pits for cooking and so on. This greatly sped up our evening actions and allowed some relief for a bit. Then we were ordered to not have any fires, lest the German flyers see us and report our movements... Who could hide a thousand men making a camp in a field? I wondered but already knew that there was no point in asking such things from the officers.

The Morning was coming too soon, so we ate cold rations before rolling ourselves into the pairs of blankets afforded to us along with the fifty odd pounds of equipment the military so graciously ladelled onto our backs at the point of embarkation. The Morning came painfully early for it was still dark when we marched down the last ten or so miles and saw all these horrors which until then had been myth and rumors.

Well I spent as much time as I could with Mia before they crammed us into a train car and shipped the whole lot off to basic training. And just before I left on that train she gave me her address and said I could write, this is probably what has kept me going like I have been. Basic training was arduous, and long without much in the way of highlights to relate to you now, though for posterity I will admit that I could shoot the hell out of anyone else in our unit except perhaps the other Americans of course. But I'm not a combat man, I never wanted to kill anyone really, engineering and mining were my tasks and that's where I made my mark on them all. It was here I really got to meet the people I'd serve with, for American's are not highly thought of in the British military, despite our history with or against them it's an open matter that they don't place a value on us as soldiers. So we naturally end up in the same units for training and for other tasks they came up with for us. But If American's are known for a couple of things it's finding solutions to problems without regards to "how things are done" and keeping each other close.

Two of my great friends were there with me, we'd met on the boat and by the time things got rough in training I realized that all we had were each other and we never forgot it. By the time that our unit was ready to leave I was less than affectionately called "Number One" by our British overlords, and my closest friend was "Number Two", the two of us were like mirror images physically we're almost the same to glance at. But  where he slides through a barracks in the darkness to set up a collection of cans and trip wires after buttering the entire floor of the sergeant's room and getting out without disturbing his bulldog. I have trouble moving through the tea shops without bumping into things. I'm not clumsy, after all I handled explosives and detonates without ever having an issue, but he simply ghosts through life and I walk through it solidly. Number Two as he was ever after called such, our little bunch of "cow boys" as they called us were always into some kind of trouble. Number Two was my right hand in all things outside, while I was there to make sure he passed all things indoors. The rest of our unit largely speaking could handle their own except one or two people found to be less the student and more the out doors types.

They simulated a gas attack on us one day, out doors with no gas masks using tear gas only they used about five times as much as is needed to break a riot up. Then blind folded us after we could barely see anyways and then ordered us through a field of barbed wire and fake explosives while shooting over and around us. The idea was to make it back to "base" while unable to see and do it while leading our buddies back too. Now no one makes it through this one without loosing someone, and most units don't even complete the course. The penalty for this is a severe running round the camp till the unit collapsed in front of the entire camp at the end of the day...
We were broken into two groups and thrown into the field with other groups. Now the first thing you do if find everyone in your unit. Number Two found everyone by a careful search and ordering them all to ground. I was aware of every single location we had walked, I just always do. And waited for the sounds of compliance to greet us even as the NCO's were screaming at us and artillery shells were going off. Then I moved around until we'd found everyone and got them to line up. After that you normally would be made to stand and walk back, but under fire this is certain death. To remind you of this someone is instructed to throw cricket balls at random and strike anyone standing up. Where they remain until the end of the day as a casualty. Just to keep it realistic the "dead" are still hit periodically to keep them yelling and crying out for help and add to the chaos of it all.
So we moved through the battle field and did it by way of some improv movements you see, each person got into line, while the perfect navigator lead them the man with outstanding fieldcraft came up in the back to make sure that none were left behind. Even after people were "tagged" by enemy fire we managed to keep them moving by getting hold of their belts and pulling them in step with our selves. To cross a field on your belly about half a mile would take almost an hour or more. Do it in a straight line while blind folded alone takes about twice as long. Do it as a team and forget about timed races, now do it with a war going on around you and all bets are off... Like I said, not many people complete it and no one ever makes it all out as a unit.
Once or twice something went wrong, and we were scattered only to form up again and begin the task as before. Several times we even found and caught stragglers from other units, taking them with us as they came along too. Well at some point we came to the point where we should have exited the field, except now there was more barbed wire! OH JOY, not that was wrong mind you just that something had changed while we were unable to see around us. So after a bit of a talk head to head it was decided that several of us would move forwards and find the posts where the fencing was secured, then the back up guys would come up along side and as a pair of groups we ripped the posts out of the ground and at once pushed the fences upwards while the rest of the party scooted under again...

Now they say the British Army does not accept defeat, they have even less acceptance to answers which defy tradition to go along with that. The result was a return from the field of every man in our unit, dead or injured and half a dozen men from other units. Some times when you get tired of something you don't like you might be tempted to act out, and it turns out the hitting people with cricket balls just because they thew one at you is also something they frowned upon... Several promising young men were "tragically injured" by a baseball enthusiast with a good arm and dead on aim as it turned out. We were recognized for our cool headedness under fire, the individual's abilities to navigate as well as throw grenades back to their owners and finally for bringing everyone we found back out of it.

And after that we were made to run until we threw up for failing to complete the course as planned, demolishing the fence and lest we not forget for striking a superior with cricket balls. This was one of the last tests we had to do strictly speaking as infantry. The rest were not very interesting and unless someone else relates them will go on without being said or recorded.

However, we did receive two chances to live out a weekend underground in a team based tunnels and trenches recreation. The plan was to have the German's try to take out your trench over the course of a weekend while the fake shelling and machine gun fire was going off. It's a little disconcerting at first but soon enough we settled into it all. everyone was in charge of their little patch of ground and with our equipment on hand the routine of it all came well enough to us. Now the British are supposed to win that's a pretty easy bet right? After all they want you to feel good when you take the fields for the first time, but our officer at the time a kid from some family or another could barely load his hand gun much less to lead us. He got "hit" by one of the rouge cricket balls and was declared dead from a grenade or something. Much later we learned that German Grenades don't go off on impact and take almost twelve seconds to blow up if at all...
But there we are without a leader and it's raining while the German's advanced over a field towards us, We had wooden rifles, wooden knives and our kit. So we are supposed to yell BANG! very loudly then the German falls to the ground.

Each of us pointed to a "German" and did our job, some of them fell others did not but soon it became a terrible fact that they were not falling as much as we were shooting. Now several of us quickly thought this was a raw deal, or "not cricket" as the Brits say. And our response was to be being hurling rocks into them screaming "GRENADE!" and then hitting them as hard as possible in the face or stomach thanks to the baseball fans we had. Soon they began to fall, some had to be hit twice before they decided to lay down and die. Now a British rifle is a fine tool, but bolt actions are slow and they want you to aim every shot and then you only fire every couple of seconds as a result. This is unacceptably slow in combat you will learn, so slow that the Germans walk several paces forwards between shots. Someone in our unit came upon an idea; and he yelled "FRITZ, HEAD SHOT.... JERRY LEG SHOT, YES YOU ! I"M LOOKING RIGHT AT YA!"

Between shots we began shooting men in pairs calling out who and where while someone else stoned them to death. Sooner or later of the dozens who'd been crossing there was a group nearly at our little trenches and the order was heard all around us ( for we were not alone on the field, there were other units too) and someone yelled "FIX BAYONETS!" But being American's some of us did not see that this was a prudent plan, so we kept shooting just before the German's first group reached us someone hurled his trench shovel over the pit and hit a man in the knee. He dropped with genuine pain howling loudly his buddies were getting a similar treatment for their marching on us. Someone jumped out of the trench and a couple of guys followed despite orders to remain inside while they began to charge forwards, you are supposed to hold fast and then lunge with the knives on your guns. The would be German charged towards us with a terrible yell the idea to put up our guns and stuff them into a man was not something I was keen on so I backed up. Number two was there with me and as the man plunged into the pit with us gun and knife ready we bailed into opposing directions. His wood knife broke off into the ground and that's when we hit him, both of us over the back and the knees. It was a terrible thing to do to a man and he was hit harder than we'd planned but our blood was up and there's nothing to do after that. Now there were too many men for us to fight off in a few moments they were upon us so we bailed out. The screams from other trenches about cowardice was roaring but we didn't care, survival was all that mattered. They jumped in as we got out, and finding it rather surprising (Victory was German's standing in your trenches and none of you standing in them) But they turned after the British men who remained and traded slashes or blows with the practice guns. Moments later   Number Two did something they didn't expect, He threw his backpack into a man trying to hit us. There is a lot of weight in one of those things and you don't take a hit in the face lightly.

After that we threw out rifles into the next closest men hitting them in the ribs, it was just a simple thing to jump back in again. Behind them were more men and we hit every single one until they submitted. Then we began hurling more objects at them while taking a German Rifle and pretending to shoot more people, drop the gun and then pick up another one. Somewhere along the way they got to us and the fighting began in earnest. Now we are not soldiers, it doesn't matter what they tell you. When a man looks like he's going to kill you and you've never killed someone else you are not yet a soldier you're a terrified boy and you want out right now... There is no out, there's live or die and we were doing everything not to die. I started yelling and slashing with the knife on a German gun, they say hit him with the tip and go for the guts but that's really hard to do. If you lean back he leans forwards and the guy next to you reaches out and grabs the end of his gun then rips him into the pit. Men break ranks at the end, some are faster or more eager and they reach you first. Single them out, attack him in pairs or groups and be complete in your attack. He fell into the pit and two of us hit him so hard he cried like a child. His buddies were running up now to take us out when a huge Texas boy and a crazy Irishman saddled up along side us. Number two takes the nine pound rifle and throws it like a spear, sailing into the middle of some poor bastard who collapsed into a heap, three remaining Germans come running. The Texas boy takes the gun and swings like a practiced batter only to let go as it circled round and round into the air the first man jumped an the third man caught it in the legs without a hope of recovery he slammed into the sandbags. The last man screams and jumps into the trench we were standing in. The Irishman served him with an underhand stroke the broke the wooden rifle before sending him backwards against the wall. Texas and Number two hit him each with savage strikes of their remaining weapons several times just to make sure he was down. The rest of our trench was a mess, men everywhere clashing or crying out. And soon we started hurling rifles into the German clusters right over their heads and defenseless they were soon too badly injured to actually fight. The tactic of tossing a "Grenade" into a group of them was less effective than out on open ground. But it seems the Irishman and the boy they called Texas could rip a ten foot length of board off the wall of our trench and demolish any German hope of attack very fast.

At the end of the action it was learned we had lost half our men outright, several more were being regarded as cheaters for various actions taken up. And all of us were questioned extensively on the use of grenades which did not exist as well as how we fired rifles without reloading them. The matter of assault vs counter assault was a wild and deeply personal issue where charges were brought up for excessive force against our opponents or the illegal use of materials. But as it was very hard for anyone injured to say who had hit them when or how often the matter was largely washed out save for the incident where some of the men had broken ranks and charged into the field. It seems they had "killed" a number of Germans by shooting them in the back in the charge. But as no one died because they couldn't see who had shot them the German's kept moving along. So a tactic was developed there and then to run up behind the Germans and simply stab them in the back, each and every man say two dozen was beaten to the ground while marching stead fast into a certain win against our section of trenches. There was the matter of letting the German's take our trench, and though they did not hold it they had gained entry to it. Which was regarded as a failure. However none of them survived long enough to raise the flag and make it an official win. There was the other matter than none of the actors were in a condition to walk away either, also the matter that we had systematically destroyed all of their painstakingly produced guns, knives and helmets as well as tearing or smashing a good many other articles.

After that our training was effectively over. There was little else to learn, some machine guns and other tools for war. Radios, phones and such were only briefly covered with constant mentioning the need to never let one fall into German hands.

And then we got a last weekend before being shipped over to the twenty or so miles to France, it seems a little thing twenty miles but the English were very careful about troop movements. Germans were everywhere and their much feared submarines were said to haunt the coasts day and night. We took in a few shows the boys and I with our British squad mates, some pints of beer the horrors of which I've already detailed before. I sent off a pair of letters, one back home with my marching orders and expected army mailing address and then we picked up our mail.

What had arrived was everything a man needed to go to war, care of the Sears and Roebuck company's outstanding selection of outdoor supplies. The items delivered to each of us had been carefully selected by the group's experts and we paid them back in cash. Now I knew little about the facts of life and death when it came to war but when we were finished with the English army's training every American in the group had decided that they wanted an American gun in their hands when the shooting started. Each man of us was ordered a rifle, a shot gun and atleast one pistol. None of this would be regulation mind you however it was allowed by commanders who had a long tradition of self equipping as well. Our ammunition was likewise supplied and nearly a week's worth of clothes. There was a heavy sleeping bag filled with feathers for winter and a good many other things. The total load was so great we could barely stagger around with it, and of course we were required to carry the issued equipment when in uniform.

When we boarded the ship for France we could actually see the cliffs of France waiting for us, though our time in France is a story for another day.

This is the story of the Five Oh' Third

The Glorious exploits and adventures we undertook

It is 1916 when we arrived in France, My friends and I are all Americans; volunteers to join the British or French armies and to repel the German invader. What follow's are our accounts both official and unofficial for the remembrance of those who were there, and for those who came after us. I believe enough time as passed that no one in the British Government will begrudge the more dubious, misleading or somewhat unorthodox means with which we achieved the insane, impossible and sometimes terrible results which were needed at a time when the world ground to a halt over something as small and meaningless as one man being murdered in front of a sandwich shop...

Don't ask why I joined, or why anyone else joined the fact is that much like being in love, you rarely think too much about it when it happened. And afterwards contemplating it will only cause you to regret the roads not taken, to feel sorrow for the ones who are no longer here and to wonder whether or not you can move past what has taken place. Before the Great war, the war to end all wars; I was a college student at Colorado School of mines. My studies took me deep underground some times, as well as the library and mountain tops, I didn't live there before I started school so it was all very new to me. When word of the European's little war started we read everything in the papers that came, by the time I was nearing graduation there was a traveling Englishman who was a recruiter of sorts. And he made the case about how England and France were fighting for Democracy; That the German King and his alliance was one of inherited powers against those elected governments... Being a kid I ate it up, the fact the England was a nation with a king and queen, or that they were the largest / most expansive empire in the world was little to do with me.
France was ready to go to war with England over a great many things before they settled up against Germany, and the Russians; singly the largest nation ever by land mass and by population were a total monarchy set against the will of their people on nearly everything / while being allied with France and England. These were matters for older men to concern themselves with and too soon I found myself packing up my belongings from school to ship home. I had chosen to follow this man on his recruitment tour with a growing number of young men from colleges with technical learning. The promise of travel, adventure, some wealth and the much talked about french women was a great lure. We stayed in nice rooms at good hotels and met with other students while the trip was winding up. Dances, dinners and rented cars were all provided for us while he made his bid to hire up the best America had to help him defeat the Evil Empires of Europe.

We arrived at New York City, New York in spring of the year with several hundred young men from all over the country we called home. Most were just middle class kids looking for an adventure while living in a nation which was committed to staying out of someone else's fight. A few like me were hard studying, healthy and eager to see what the old world was really like. And a few were simply farm / shop kids who wandered into a meeting and sighed up before they knew what hit them. By the time were were inside the British Embassy taking an oath and sighing a contract it was too late to wonder about getting out of all this so we all took the plunge. Two weeks later we arrived in England, with a couple of crates to call our own and a head full of crazy ideas soon to be disproved by short and hard run in against reality.

After arrival there was a brief honeymoon period remaining in which we were toasted and boasted about London as the first wave of American Volunteers to bring a quick victory against a savage foe. Technology and bravery would beat the mechanical cunning and chemical / industrial might of the Kaiser they said.

While we were still walking and talking civilians I got to wander around the towns and meet the people, most were pretty great if a bid odd. It seems Every American is a cow boy, no matter where he was from or what his family did. And they never let you forget way back when; your family was certainly English, so really you kind of owed them and as a nation we were like a family member late for some holiday...

But anyway, there I was walking through England with some cash in my pocket and nothing to do for a day when I saw some people standing in line at a shop. I got into line too; wanting to know what it was they were waiting so eagerly for. The weather in England is very peculiar, If you lived in some parts of the Upper West Coast back home you might understand the idea that weather is both constant and shiftless in it's moods. England is like that, the "weather doesn't change" they'll tell you, but you start out your day with clear skies and a warm sun, but by noon it's bloody hot and by afternoon it's as muggy as any place in the south you care to name. At evening this fog just happens; it didn't come from anyplace but it just sort of pops into existence and then clings to everything. Cars can't see the stop lights, horses clattered down roads and I'll be damned if I ever learn how they could see where they were going...

I'm not like that; I've always known were I was and where I was going, just a talent you see; drop me in a hole deep underground and blind fold me. I know which way is up. I know which way is north and I can walk less than fifty feet before telling you which way I'm facing and if we'd be headed up or down... So I wandered into this line like I said, the weather was hot and stuffy but not too bad yet. And in front of me is a line of people which doesn't seem to move at all for ages. Then the fog sets in on us and you just stand there for ages if feels like wondering why you're even here. But I always know, some how that there's a reason for it and a path once taken had to be followed to its end, this leads me to my friends I'll tell you about a little later. But first I want to tell you about Mia Taylor. The fog as mentioned is like a glass of water after you've used it to wash paint brushes with, you can almost make out shapes but not enough to tell anything helpful about them, and that's when I bumped into her. Or she bumped into me, See some times when I concentrate I forget everything else in the world, when I was a kid I'd do it and simply think about something. At school when I had to study I could block out anything around me. And I was about to do it again waiting in line as this girl bounced off my back there by bringing me around suddenly. I shook my head looked around and saw her there on the sidewalk, basket in one hand and groceries all about. Apologizing as best I could and taking everything I saw there was little damage except for a dozen eggs which were basically ruined everything got back into the container again.

She made her own apologies, and hadn't seen me there at the back of the line with the fog setting about so suddenly. It seems that she too was lost in thought about something while walking to the butcher's shop.

I asked her if it was far, the butcher's shop and maybe I could go with her and buy something to replace the eggs which were destroyed?

She laughed in a lovely sweet voice and told me we were standing in front of the butcher's store, the line was because they were getting new meat today and everyone was hoping to buy up their quotas before everything sold out again.

Somewhat new to things I asked how could a store run out of meat like that? Surely he could simply buy more and put it on the shelf every day.

And again my being an American was overwhelmingly noticeable to those present, several chuckled and made jokes about how easy was it for an American to buy bacon and beans when he had no family to feed and no one was shooting at him or trying to sink his boats.

It hadn't really settled in that England was at war, after all the front lines were hundreds of miles away on the continent... It was a much vaughted fact that England's navy was second to none, so who could pose a threat to them now and how was this related to the purchase of beef?

I soon learned that England could only supply a small portion of their foods and consumable goods domestically and had basically imported the majority of the things which they needed to make a great many things people needed regularly. I also learned that in peace time, everything in England is expensive too.

Take a soda, one bottle of Coca Cola is about ten cents in America where I was visiting before we left. You can get them cold on ice for that price.

In England it costs Five pennies; while we American's think "What a deal sign me up for Two!"

Their money is I was told, worth about four times more than ours and thus my drink was already twice as expensive as any I bought at home. Making matters worse, the English had a pathological aversion drinking anything cold it seemed. In pubs ( a bar ) the English order a pint of beer which is always served warm in fact they refuse to drink anything which is "cold or chilly". Hot beer I tell you, it's revolting and American's will never adjust to it any more than driving on the wrong side of the road, their completely random money names and values or how you have to address everyone as if you were in primary school or church.

But there was Mia Taylor, and while we waited some kid came round selling candies of some kind for "thruppence" each and still adjusting to things I bought a couple for Mia and I to enjoy while the waiting game was dragged out yet longer. Also; no one in the whole of the British Isles speaks the English Language, no matter who they are or where they come from. You had as much chance of understanding a Scottish Lecturer on the natures of Latin names for the high land grasses as you did some Welsh coal miners ( there were many of them at boot camp I learned later) or the Irish who frankly were among the most enjoyable and frank people you could hope to meet. Even people who called themselves English couldn't share a conversation unless they'd lived within stones throwing distance of each other.

    There was a bloke, as they say. A bloke who was here from Manchester to see his dear sister married to a fella from London and another older woman born and raised since King George her family lived ere' anda went to church there'... None of them could actually carry out a single conversation without some mild remark about accents, or regional dialects. A man from Texas, Georgia and the city of New Orleans can talk to a man from St. Paul or the five neighborhoods of New Yorkers without half as much trouble as the English seem to suffer when conversing over the weather.

I digressed.

Mia Taylor is amazing.

She was in her early twenties and unmarried. Which caused some fuss among several of the older ladies who asked if there was something wrong that she wasn't yet married off to some local boy before they were all off to the war and "french women"... It seems the English loath the French, allies or not the French men are not to be trusted as house guests and their women are all out to seduce good English boys for it seemed the spinsters all had a family member who got lost over the Dover cliffs and couldn't come home after Paris.

But Mia, she was perfectly conversant to dissemble with the spinsters about the young men she had courted were at Eaton, Oxford or Sandhurst. And none of them were serious enough for her to throw it all away after a few kind words about her eyes or hair... And they generally left her alone after that.

Then the line moved, eventually we made our way into the meat shoppe' which was as packed and raucous as men around a basement boxing match. Money waved in one hand while the other gestured and motioned their voices called out in odd pitch for the attention of an overwhelmed father / son pair of shop keepers. I laughed at the sight of it being so odd to me. So Mia wades into it as sure and calm as a bull rider takes his place in line before the ride; walked right up to the counter and then walked out with two pounds of bacon, three of pork chops and some cut of beef I'd never heard of yet. Paid for it in a bewildering selection of coins and then side walks her way through the mass of aged mothers and other ladies as easily as if it were a dance to her. That was when I knew I like Mia Taylor, she was special and she wasn't just some pretty faced foreign girl I met in a park one day.