God have mercy on us!

Chapter I

‘ Finte la guerre! ... Finite la guerrel...’

The French soldiers came straggling along the road. They were coming south — toward Paris. We were hiking in the opposite direction — north. We hollered at them and beckoned for them to come on with us, but they shook their heads and waved their arms and shouted, pointing back the way they had come:

‘They’re yelling that the Germans are just up ahead and that the war’s over.’ This from Benvenuto, a ‘music,’ also known as ‘The Wop.’ But we knew what the French soldiers were saying just as well as he did, even if he was one of our interpreters.

Then our outfit started yelping — Calahan, Shiel, Conroy, Young, and the rest.

‘For Christ’s sake, don’t tell me the war is over after all I’ve done to get here...’

‘Jesus! when I think of all the drilling I put in at Quantico...’

‘Quantico! ... Hell — drilling was a pipe compared to what we did at Parris Island!...Say, I made most of that damned island myself...’

God Haves Mercy on. Us!

‘The hell you did! I guess I was in that ‘“‘Join the Marines and move the world”’ bunch, too...’

‘Aw, pipe down on that bootcamp stuff! What gives me a pain in the neck is all the time we wasted up at Verdun in the old trenches when we might have been killing Krautheads.. .’

We were all sore. When they loaded us into camions at Chaumont-en-Vexin, we thought that at last we were going to see some real action. We were nuts about the camions. They looked like patrol wagons. They had two long seats inside, just like patrol wagons. The drivers were French-Indo-Chinamen. They never knew where they were going. They simply followed the camion ahead. The leading car had an officer in it who knew where the convoy was headed for.

By the time we reached Meaux, we were sure something must be doing. The town itself was in confusion. Furniture and bundles of bedclothes were piled in the streets and the people were standing everywhere in bunches gabbing away and waving their arms.

Then, after we left Meaux, we began to meet the refugees. They were moving toward Meaux in every imaginable style. An old man and woman would come trudging along with their belongings tied to their backs. There were people pushing baby carriages and wheelbarrows heaped high with clothes and pots and pans. Some had hayracks with all their stuff piled on and the family perched on top. Some had chickens and geese in crates tied underneath the wagons. There were droves of sheep and hogs. We were held up quite a while in front of a drove of hogs. They would not get off

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the road. And there were slow-moving oxen-drawn wagons. Most of the women were crying.

When we got to Montreuil-aux-Lions, we unloaded from the camions and watched them drive off. We were assigned to billets in barns and told that we had better turn in and get some rest. But we were too excited and curious to go to sleep. From the looks of the town the people must have left it ina hurry. We had a fine time rooting around. We rummaged the houses over from cellar to garret. We found wine and cider and were warned not to eat or drink anything we found for fear of poison. We took a chance. Nobody got poisoned.

It was after twelve o’clock noon before we began to turn in. Some of the fellows went to sleep in the beds in the houses instead of the straw in the barns. I had just about got to sleep when the whistles began to blow and orders were shouted around to dress and fall in at once. We had been told that we were to rest until evening and it was now only one-thirty. But we didn’t belly-ache very much. Something must be doing at last. We fell in and marched out of town, toward the northeast.

It was at the edge of this town, Montreuil-aux- Lions, that we began to meet the French soldiers. And they said that the war was over. Most of them carried packs, but few of them had rifles, and those that did have rifles were throwing them away.

After passing the first bunch of French soldiers, we were shoved over to the side of the road to let a string of camions go through us. They were loaded with soldiers dressed like us in regular army uniforms without any

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distinguishing marks, and as they went by we yelled at them, ‘What outfit?’

And they said, ‘First Battalion, Sixth Marines.’

Then we were sore!

‘Christ, can you beat that!... Part of our own outfit!. .. And they can ride in camions while we have to hike!’

We were so mad that when they hollered at us, ‘What outfit?’ we yelled back, ‘Salvation Army!’

The camions were kicking up a lot of dust for us to swallow, which didn’t make it any pleasanter.

Then the old song began again:

‘We always get a bum break every place we go... Those birds will go ahead and pick out the best spots to billet and we will be shoved out in some woods...’

‘The Third Battalion always gets a dirty deal... Every time we go anywhere, instead of riding all the way like the other outfits, we get shoved off forty kilometers away and then hike...’

‘Well, you know Ma Sibling has to “harden up her boys.”’ Going to bring them into action some day, she says...’

‘All we do is hike — hike — forty or fifty kilo- Marines a day...’

‘Well, I don’t mind the hiking if we’re really going to see some action...’

‘Action, hell! I heard they were going to put all the Marines back on ship duty...’

The camions with the First Battalion had passed on and we were running into more French. Some were on horses, and we tried to wise crack them, but they did

God Haves Mercy on. Us!

not pay any attention to us. Another French soldier came along on foot, slowly. His coat sleeve was cut off and his arm was bandaged. The bandage was red.

“Wonder what happened to that guy...’

“He must have been cleaning his rifle and didn’t know it was loaded.’

Then Lieutenant McElroy shouted, ‘Close over on the right, men — and let these batteries go through...’

Two French 75s pulled by us, each drawn by askinny horse. Farther along we came upon two more guns. The French were pulling them out of the bushes onto the road.

Captain Vare wheeled, ‘Ninety-Seventh Company fe srait! |. 2

Major Sibling and his adjutant came down the road.

‘Have your men fall out, Captain.’ Then they talked together and Major Sibling indicated the woods on our left.

Wilmarth complained in a low voice: ‘Didn’t I tell you we rated some lousy woods to billet in? The other battalions got a town...’

Sure enough, in a few minutes we marched into the woods and were ordered to take off our packs. Right away we began to think of eats.

‘I wonder if Nagel is in sight with the galley...’

‘He’s always pulling that old stuff that an army fights on its belly. He’d better furnish something to make a belly with or there won’t be no fighting.’

Nagel and the galley always tailed along after us when we went on hikes, but we hadn’t seen the cook or his grease-balls since we left Chaumont-en-Vexin.

God Haves Mercy on. Us!

‘I hope he cooks up a mess of beans,’ hoped Conroy.

Young looked disgusted. ‘Beans! Ye gods, not beans! While you’re hoping, please hope for steaks...’

‘Speaking of steaks,’ said Stanley, ‘there are a couple of cows out there in the field. Let’s coax them in...’

‘Got any chewing, Nap?’ asked Wilmarth, the man who chewed. ‘I’ve got a whole carton of Beechnut coming from home. AS soon as it gets here, I’ll split up with you.’

I gave him a chew, but I knew he had already traded that promised carton for a carload of real chewing tobacco.

It was nearly dark and we were hungry. I looked up © Sergeant Barnes and asked if there was any chow in sight, but he didn’t know of any. Then I saw Lieutenant McElroy coming through the trees, so I asked him.

‘The men will have to eat from their reserve rations,’ he said. ‘Let them start a small fire to cook their bacon, but be sure that they use dry sticks, Corporal, as there must not be any smoke.’

I went back to the squad and told them to break out their reserve rations. It was the first time we had ever used our reserve rations. We started a fire and cooked bacon in our mess kits. Several of us used the same pan, and when we got through there was quite a lot of hot grease. The hardtack was dry and tasteless, so I took a couple of chunks and put them into the grease and let them stew up a bit. Then I fished them out and bit off a piece. It tasted swell — something like pie crust when it is cooked by itself without any filling. The other fellows in my squad tried the same stunt and liked it

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too. I told Bendow in the next squad to try the hardtack-bacon-grease combination. He did, and soon his bunch were all doing it. He told Manley, and so the receipt for the new dish went down the line. I thought I ought to get a patent on this.

After we had finished eating and had put out our fires, Lieutenant McElroy came along and stopped to talk with us. When he was leaving he said, ‘If you fellows are cooking any bacon, save the grease and heat your hardtack in it. It makes the hardtack taste better.’

Young looked at me, and as soon as McElroy went away, he said, ‘Leave it to the officers to steal the credit.’

Stanley and Dale strolled out to the end of the woods and began talking to one of the cows. She seemed very sociable and willing to have company.

Dale came back to me. ‘That cow needs milking. Her bag is ready to bust. Is it all right to milk her?’

‘Sure, go ahead if you know how.’

He got out his canteen and went back to the cow. Stanley held the cup and Dale trained the stream of milk into it. Once in a while he would miss the cup and the milk would squirt in Stanley’s face. When that cup was full, I brought my cup, and before we got through the whole squad had a cup of warm milk. Dale was the official milker. Then Fried’s squad got jealous, so the other cow was brought over and they milked her. The cows didn’t seem to mind. They wanted to stay near us. They looked lonely and forlorn and they

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mooed very softly, their big mournful eyes fixed on us, as if they wanted to tell us something.

This was the nicest place we had been in for some time. Everything seemed pleasant, and now that we had our own cows, we were contented to stay. Some of the fellows had unrolled their packs and were stretched out in blankets for the night.

Suddenly the captain’s voice rang out, ‘Ninety- Seventh Company! Fall in with all equipment.’

Luckily none of my squad had unrolled their packs. All we had todo wassling packs and we were ready to go.

Lieutenant McElroy passed down the line, saying, ‘Our company is forming up ahead at the edge of the woods. Move up as soon as you are ready.’

The company lined up and we saw the Top Kicker, Sergeant Kuhns, standing in front with a sheet of paper in his hand.

‘Ninety-Seventh Company... Attention! Answer your name to the roll call. Gunnery sergeants — Davidson!’

‘Here.’

“Hartley...”

‘Here.’

‘Strohm...’

‘Here.’

Kuhns had finished the sergeants and had got into the corporals when there was a sudden whizzing sound overhead, and the next minute whang — whang — two shells busted close in our rear. We were standing at attention, but the sudden explosions took a lot of the stiffness out of us.

Io

God Haves Mercy on, Us!

Then more shells crashed ... to our right... to our left, and even out in front in the open space.

Kuhns stopped calling off names and looked at Captain Vare.

‘Have the platoon sergeants report direct...’ ordered the captain.

‘Platoon sergeants, report...’ Kuhns spoke hurriedly.

Strohm, our sergeant, comes from the rear and takes his position in front of the platoon.

A shell hits a pile of cordwood in front of us, scattering it in all directions. Strohm jumps. Kuhns looks worried.

Captain Vare shouts, ‘ Drop back into the woods, but hold your ranks...’

We back up into the woods. Strohm finally finds his voice, ‘Squad leaders, report!’

All of us corporals report in turn, ‘All present.’

In the woods all around us the shells are crashing heavily.

Corporal Benvenuto is standing a short distance from me. His hand is on his bugle. ‘ Fine la guerre — hell!... It’s only just begun...’

The words are hardly out of his mouth when a shell bursts within a few feet of him. He is hit. There is a look of strange surprise on his face as he falls to the ground.

Everybody starts yelling: ‘Wounded man on the right!... Hospital Corps men!... Hospital Corps ment,’

First down of the Ninety-Seventh Company.

Chapter II

NINETY-SEVENTH COMPANY will move up at once in support of the First Battalion at Triangle Farm...’

The runner was all out of breath.

Captain Vare shouted, ‘Ninety-Seventh Company! ... Forward ...on the double!’

We swung out of the woods onto the road and headed in the direction of the firing. Now we could hear heavy rifle and machine-gun fire.

The rapid pace made our heavy packs bounce up and down on our backs and knocked the wind out of us.

This bunch of white buildings must be Triangle Farm... We are breathless as we reach the oblong courtyard. The shells have been passing overhead, but now they are crashing into the farm buildings. We take up positions in an orchard to the right of them.

The First Platoon is ordered forward. Lieutenant McElroy, accompanied by a runner, leads the way — down a little valley and up a hill. We stop and lie down. The firing is close up now.

Corporal Manley and his squad creep forward. Then Corporal Fried with the second squad ... Bendow and the third, and now me and the fourth...

‘Follow the runner...’ shouts Lieutenant McElroy. “Keep close to the ground. ... Have your men take up positions between the men on the line.... Let them use their packs as shields...”

God Haves Mercy on, Us!

The runner goes forward on his hands and knees. | follow. Behind me, one after the other, come the other seven men of the squad. We creep closer to the crest of the hill. The runner stops and points ahead.

‘There are the men...just up ahead... lying down...’

Taking the first four men — Young, Dale, Conroy, and Corbet, I crawl forward. The man up ahead turns his head as we come up, but he doesn’t say anything. I locate the man next to him — about five yards away — and Young crawls into the space between them. I place each man and go back for the other three — Gravenstone, Wilmarth, and Knapp, and bring them up. I pass on the lieutenant’s order for each man to take off his pack and place it before him, also to put his gas mask at the alert position.

The line here seems fairly quiet. There is heavy firing on the left.

Taking up a position near the first man, I ask, ‘What outfit are you fellows with?’

‘First Battalion, Sixth Marines.’

‘Are the French up ahead?’

‘The French! Hell, the French must be in Paris by this time at the rate they were going...’

On the top of the hill ahead, dimly outlined agains: the sky, I am sure I see shadowy forms moving.

‘Then what is that outfit up ahead?’ I ask.

‘The Germans...’

CHAPTER III ‘STRETCHER-BEARERS on the right!’

‘Pass the word along!... Pass the word along!... Hospital Corps men on the right!...’

‘Who got hit?’

‘Manley is hit... Johnny Aspinwall is down... Spike Shannon is hit...’

(Christ, our own bunch!)

‘Are they hit bad?’

‘Manley is dead...’

The air is filled with cries...

‘Stretcher-bearers on the right!...

‘Hospital Corps men!... Hospital Corps men!...’

‘Where the hell are those God damned Hospital Corps men?...’

‘Jesus, we’ve come only two hundred yards and there’s men down all over the field! ...’

The Germans are meeting our advance with heavy machine-gun fire. The bullets twang overhead. Their artillery has not swung into line yet, as our attack has been sudden.

We are in the fourth wave. We are advancing by rushes of fifteen yards at a time, then down. Ahead of us in the next wave is a sergeant with a whistle. One blast, rush forward. Two blasts, down. Our movements are guided by him.

We’re damn fine targets at eight o’clock in the morning of a clear June day with a bright hot sun. Orders

God Haves Mercy on, Us!

are passed from the rear to keep bayonets down, ag they are flashing in the sun.

The field we are crossing has growing wheat about knee high. When the men are lying down, they cannot be seen. One man from each group stands up all the time as a guide post. Stanley, on my left, is guide for our group.

Belleau Wood lies about four hundred yards to the left. There is another wood on our right about a thousand yards away. Some distance in front we can see the white walls and houses of a town — Bouresches.

Both our flanks are under heavy machine-gun fire, but my group in the center is, for the moment, getting by in good shape. We hold a perfect line. I order Corbet, the fellow from Mississippi, to get back in line. He is advancing too fast.

But the German artillery now finds our range and begins firing point-blank at us. The noise and constant explosions are numbing. I move along dumbly. I stumble over a man lying face down. He doesn’t move. The waves of men in front of us have disappeared. We are the front wave now.

The wheat ends. A sort of knoll with a gradual slope is just ahead of me. I creep up toward the top. Looking back to my right, I see other men crawling up. I pick out Dale, Knapp, and Corbet, all from my own group. We crawl over the knoll. Beyond is just flat, unplanted land. No valley or depression. It looks desolate. I keep my face well in the ground while the machine-gun builets peck around me.

Turning my head to the left, I see Captain Vare

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rome walking along as if there wasn’t any bursting shells or machine-gun bullets flying everywhere. He pauses near me. Lieutenant Marr’s dog is with him. When a bullet hits near him, the crazy dog runs over and tries to dig it up with his paws. Then he runs back and jumps up at the captain’s hand. The captain says, ‘Down!’

They come closer to where I am lying and Captain Vare says, ‘ You’ll never see what’s going on with your nose stuck in the ground.’

I don’t answer. I am seeing more now than I want to.

Red Cullen is lying a short distance to my left. His face is toward me. He looks as if he is sweating blood.

Back of me somewhere I can hear Wilmarth calling to some one, ‘Gimme a chew, will you?... Hey, gimme a chew...’

Captain Vare shouts, ‘Ninety-Seventh Company, forward by rushes!’

We make two advances, about thirty yards. Each time the machine guns seem to concentrate on us. The town of Bouresches now lies about three hundred yards ahead of us. I holler at the captain, ‘How far do you want us to rush?’

But he doesn’t hear me. Soon I hear him again, ‘Automatic rifles on the left!’

The two automatic riflemen from my group start across — Knapp and Cullen. Both are hit before reaching the woods.

The artillery fire and machine-gun fire get hotter all

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the time. I can see men lying about, but I don’t know whether they are living or dead. The air is heavy with picric-acid fumes from the high-explosive shells. Ican’t tell whether gas is mixed with it or not. Some of the men are putting on their masks.

Again I hear Wilmarth begging for a chew. I wish I had a chew myself.

The spot I am lying in now is fully exposed... No wheat... nothing to screen me...I am lying flat, face down, my nose almost buried, with my arms close to my sides...I am wishing I was thinner.... My gas mask seems to push me away up in the air... I shall be hit now any second... I bargain with myself as to what part of my body I will sacrifice... My head feels safe... I have the helmet on it...I pull it down over my eyes more as every now and then a machine-gun bullet hits in front of me and kicks dirt in my face and eyes... I consider which part of me I can best let get hit... My right arm should not be sacrificed, as I use it the most... No, I’ll have to let my left arm get it...I squirm around, throwing my left side forward ..- Hell! no, my heart is on the left side!... 1 squirm back ... My legs are exposed .. . Can I spare my legs? ... My thoughts go back to dancing at White City... The big dance hall... the lights, the music, the girls ... Louise sure could two-step ... Vi was light on her feet ... but Mamie had them all skinned for waltzing ... Never to dance again!... No, I can’t let my legs GOL. : A shell strikes about twenty feet away and makes a direct hit on Gould. His body goes up in the air like the

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roots of a blasted tree. I can pick out his legs, arms, and body. My eyes seem fixed and follow the upward movement and watch the parts coming down. Bits fall on me. It is the ffrst direct hit I have seen.

My position is hopeless now...I must pray... I cannot get my hand up to bless myself... I start with ‘Our Father,’ but it does not seem to fit the case... ‘Hail Marys’ seem too tame...the ‘Creed’ seems long and complicated ... I must have something that has a direct bearing on the position Iam in... I can’t take chances now... I finally get down to ‘God have mercy on me!’... That’s better ...I say it over and over...I look around and see the other fellows... My prayer sounds selfish ... I change it to ‘God have mercy on us!’...Isayit hard... I want God to know I mean it...I feel guilty ...I haven’t prayed for a long time... Maybe He won’t think I rate protection, asking for it under such circumstances... Maybe He'll think I’m trying to sneak in at the last minute ... Whatever He thinks... I want out...

Ting-ting, a machine-gun bullet kicks some small stones up against my helmet. I quit arguing with God and go back to my prayer. I want out!...

Behind me I hear Wilmarth again. He’s calling to me now.

‘Throw me over a chew, will you, Nap?’

Don’t that guy know there’s a war going on?

Then Captain Vare shouts, ‘Ninety-Seventh Company, take the town!’

I don’t want to get up, but I force myself. I see other figures move. We are just starting forward when

God Haves Mercy on. Us!

Major Sibling’s voice comes to us, clear across the field from the woods: ‘Ninety-Seventh Company, stand fast!’

Orders are passed along to dig in and hold what we have. I am on an unploughed patch. About ten yards to my right front runs a furrow, the last one that was ploughed, which leaves a fair-sized trench. I creep over to this and start scooping out the soft dirt with my hands to make a hole deep enough to get into. Soon Stanley comes up and picks another spot. Bretherton, Dale, Hancock, Corbet, and some more come across the ploughed part from the right and they all dig in around me. We talk a little and dig a lot. We are in good spirits. The tension is gone. We feel safe, although the shelling is still very heavy. But we are doing something.

It is mid-afternoon now, but almost dark on account of the dust, smoke, and gas from the heavy shelling. Several planes are circling around over the field. They are flying low and they have black crosses underneath. They cannot see us very well on account of the heavy mist of smoke that hangs over us. But they do not cheer us up much, especially when they open up with their machine guns.

After they pass I see something come creeping toward us from the left. As it draws nearer, I see that it is one of our men crawling on his knees, using one hand as a support. The other hand is up to his face. He is dirty and bloody. I think I recognize him and call out,

‘Is that you, Wilmarth?’

God Haves Mercy on, Us!

He tries to speak, but can’t. He is shot through the lower part of the face and is holding his jaw up. I tell Stanley to take him back to the first-aid station.

As he leaves, Stanley says, ‘God, that’s a tough break for Wilmarth.’

And I am thinking, he won’t be bumming any chew for a while.

Chapter IV

AROUND five o’clock Lieutenant McElroy and Corporal Bendow came up to us. My group was now the farthest advanced of any of those out in the open. McElroy told me that the Ninety-Sixth Company was in the town and that we would enter just as soon as it grew darker.

About an hour later I heard him and the rest of the platoon coming, so I got my men together and we trailed into town. On the outskirts of town there was a big barn-like structure. Here the remains of our company gathered and we had a regular family get-together affair. Before this battle we were simply so many squads and platoons, but now it was different. We went around shaking hands with one another like long-lost brothers. The company had been formed nearly a year, but this was the first time we had had a handshaking party. We sure were glad to see one another.

It was:

‘Hello, Young!...’

‘Hello, Getty!...’

‘How did you like it, Bowen?...’

‘The ‘‘ Whitestone Herald”’ will hear about this, hey, Carney?...’

‘I'll tell the world it will...’

‘Ma Sibling’s voice sure sounded sweet to me today...’

ai

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‘Say, Rogan, was Shannon hit very hard?...’ Then the search began for those who were not there. ‘Is Leighton here?...’

‘Where’s Fat Baumgartner? ...’

‘Did you see Corey?...’

‘Anybody see young Shiel?...’

There were lots of these questions, but there were no answers. Everybody was asking for somebody else, but the somebody else was missing. The field in our rear was now in inky blackness. It held the somebody elses.

‘Got a cigarette?...’

Several matches were struck.

‘Hey, put out those lights. Do you want us all to get killed?’

‘Aw, hell, they know we’re here...’

There was a commotion over on the left where a road led into town. Several of the fellows ran over. Soon they came back.

Young: ‘What was all the noise, Conny?’

Conroy: ‘Lieutenant Marr just pulled into town with a load of ammunition...’

Fried: ‘Did you see that damned dog of Marr’s trying to scratch up bullets out on that field?’

Young: ‘Yes, and the dog was killed later on...’

Fried: ‘Poor pup!... It was no place for a dog...’

Just then I heard some one say, ‘Hello, Spud!’

I looked over, and sure enough there was Spud Murphy himself. He had an overseas cap on his head and a heavy pack on his back. All we had were combat

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packs. We hadn’t seen Murphy since we left the old trenches at Verdun.

Me: ‘Hello, Spud. Where did you come from?’

Spud: ‘Just got back from the school at Gondrecourt.’

Me: ‘You picked out a good day to come home. How did you find us?’

Spud: ‘I met a battalion runner and he pointed out that field and said the company was somewhere in Bouresches.’

Me: ‘Where’s your helmet?’

Spud: ‘Haven’t got any. I'll get one before the night’s over.’

We now heard Lieutenant McElroy calling — for the First Platoon to form over on the right. He led us over to a yard and told us to dig in until morning.

Young, Conroy, and I happened to have spots near each other. Conroy was the only one of us that hada shovel. Young and I were using the tops of our mess kits. When Conroy was down a little way, I told him that was deep enough. He lay down in it to show me it wasn’t. Young picked up his shovel and started to use it and talked Conroy into using the mess kit cover for a while. Conroy kept looking over at Young’s hole and saying, ‘Your hole is deeper than mine now.’