THIS
MAN'S WAR
by
Charles F. Minder
306th Machine Gun Battalion
Company B
AUGUST
Friday, AUGUST 2, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We certainly have been on the go for the last three days.
I didn't have time to write, and when I did have, was so
tired that I dozed off to sleep whenever I could. On
Wednesday, a messenger came up with a note that I should
report with Dahlin, Purcell and McCabe at Company
Headquarters with our packs. They had a limber packed
with all the paraphernalia necessary for shooting at
aeroplanes and we four were selected. The German
aeroplanes have been just a little bit too active around
here.
Early on that morning, a German plane came over and
dropped bombs on our positions. One of them landed about
twenty feet away from one of the guns, and my best
friend, Gus Weber, had his whole left shoulder torn away
by a piece of the shrapnel. His overcoat was left behind,
and was blood-soaked, and the worst part of it is that he
plays the piano so wonderfully. I guess his piano-playing
days are over. It's lucky he wasn't killed. The machine
gun was completely wrecked.
We have our gun mounted in an abandoned shed, right
alongside a wheat-field, and for the past two days we
have been shooting at every German plane that came over
but haven't been able to hit one in a vital spot yet. We
must be hitting the planes because the Aviators keep
coming back and fly around trying to locate us. We are
shooting thru a piece of burlap over a hole in the roof
of this shed.
I don't know what has become of the French planes. They
don't seem to go up after these German planes at all.
They seem to have the air for themselves. I hope we will
be able to bring one down before we leave here. We sure
have wasted enough bullets on them. I met my Captain
yesterday and showed him the posi-tion, and he was
pleased with it.
We eat over at the Battalion Headquarters kitchen. When I
was over this noon, I discovered a house with showers
inside and a stove burning, making hot water. In two
minutes I was naked, and jumped into the shower, kicked
off as many cooties as I could and dressed again. This
must be the Officers' Shower Baths. If I had been caught,
I guess they would have shot me. What a difference tho, I
felt great after it, the first hot water bath I have had
since we left Camp Upton last April.
The weather is cloudy, and this is our last night up here
so the prospects of bagging a plane are mighty slim. The
Division is moving out of this sector tomorrow, I got
this rumor from a fellow in Company Headquarters, but
nobody knows exactly where. We have been in this sector
forty-five days, he told me, and the line is exactly
where it was when we came here. We didn't advance an
inch. It's getting dark. Good night.
CHARLES.
Sunday, August 4, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
It's seven o'clock and we are waiting for the order to
march. Our packs are made up and it looks like a long
night of marching again. Yesterday we reported back to
the company then had to go back to the cemetery, pack up
our equipment, and report back to Company Headquarters.
Last night, at seven, the whole company started to march
away from Ker Avor for the last time. We are now bound
for a new sector.
I did some marching yesterday and last night. The first
hour, I went along in good style, but the second and
third hour I became mighty tired. It's funny, when you
are marching, your pack becomes heavier and heavier, just
like lead, and how it pulls your shoulders down, and
makes your back ache terribly! I thought we would never
reach our destination.
It had been cloudy all evening, and it was pitch dark on
the roads. Sometimes our limbers ran off the road into
the ditch on the side, then we would all have to help the
mule and give a hand at the wheels, sometimes going down
deep into the mud. What a night it was! At twelve
o'clock, the rain came down in torrents. We were all
soaked to the skin. Our raincoats were like cheesecloth.
Whoever manufactured them, should be shot, and if the
United States Government pays for these raincoats, they
must be crazy.
How that rain did come down! We hit an open field, we
were marched into it and ordered to pitch tents. We did.
And about one o'clock, I flopped and fell asleep without
undressing and slept until eleven this morning. At
twelve, they gave us something to eat, and at two, we
were paid off. They gave me one hundred and six francs.
That's about nineteen dollars in our money.
Steinbach, Ruthie, Irving and myself went over to the
village of Xaffevillers. near by this afternoon, and
managed to get a good feast of eggs and fried potatoes at
a farmhouse. These French people are always glad to, feed
the American soldiers. All you have to do is to motion,
to your mouth that you want to eat, and they get all
excited and say, Oui, oui. That means "Yes."
Well, Mother Dear, I guess I better close, I see our
officers coming along now, and we will probably start on
another one of those tortuous hikes.
CHARLES.
Monday, August 5, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We are in a large open field, miles away from the front
lines. It's dark, and I am writing a few lines to you by
candlelight in my little pup-tent which I am sharing with
McGarty tonight. It's raining and cold and we have no dry
clothes to put on. We sure have had enough rain this past
week to flood all of France. We marched last night until
three in the morning when we hit a town called
Deinvillers. Our limbers were left at a quarry and the
men were taken to billets in the town. How they find
these places at three in the morning is beyond me!
My squad slept in a hayloft last night, I threw myself on
the hay and fell off to sleep immediately and slept until
eleven this morning. We ate at twelve, and at three this
afternoon started to hike, the first time we marched in
broad daylight for some time. I guess it's all right,
because we are so far from the front. But we would be out
of luck if a German aeroplane ever flew over us. A couple
of bombs and there would be no more Company B of the
306th Machine-Gun Battalion.
We walked about thirty miles this afternoon as closely as
I can figure it out, and it rained mostly all the time.
We were wet outside from the rain and inside from the
perspiration. My feet bothered me terribly today.
At seven
tonight we halted on the road and our Mess Sergeant gave
us some corned-beef which he heated, after opening the
cans, and some bread, and coffee. The fellows hate this
canned corned-beef and call it monkey meat. In a half an
hour we were off again and marched until nine-thirty when
we arrived in this field and pitched our tents. Good
night, God bless you.
CHARLES.
Tuesday, August 6, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I certainly had a restless night and didn't get much
sleep and had to get up at five-thirty. We had a light
breakfast of biscuits and coffee and then started on the
hike again. It was raining but it didn't matter as we
were all soaked from the rain of yesterday and our
clothes were still wet. Whoever says anything to me about
Sunny France in the future is going to get knocked down,
I think.
About noon, we hit a town called Charmes, and were
ordered to pitch tents. We thought sure we would stay
here for overnight at least, but this evening, about
seven, we were ordered to strike tents again and make up
our packs. We are waiting now to start. The limbers are
all packed and somebody just said that we won't start
until two in the morning. It's only eight now, so I
thought I would write a little to you while we are
waiting.
Mac, Bush and I went into town this afternoon for an hour
or two, and had a wonderful meal at a farm-house which
the woman cooked while we waited. We thawed out our
clothes in front of the fireplace, and it was funny to
see the steam coming out of the three of us. The French
woman laughed at us and said a lot of things, but none of
us understood, so we didn't
know what she was saying. She sure could cook tho. The
most important part of this grind over here, is to get
decent food so you can carry on. When you are in an
outfit like I am in, with a poor Mess Sergeant, you are
just out of luck. I'll add some more to this tomorrow.
CHARLES.
Wednesday, August 7, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We are on one of these French freight-cars again,
traveling across France somewhere. Here is a list of the
towns we passed today so you can follow us along on the
map! The first town I saw was Mattaincourt. Neuf Chateau,
Gondrecourt, Lignyan Barrois, Bar le duc, Le Francois,
and Sompuis were some of the others I noticed, as we
rolled along all day.
I fell asleep last night on the ground, waiting to start,
and it was two in the morning when a whistle blew. We all
fell in and started to march, with one eye open and one
closed, stumbling, blindly following along. Thank
goodness! It was only an hour's hike, and we hit the
railroad station, and boarded the freight cars. Their
last occupants were horses and the stench was terrible.
The rest of the early hours of the morning were spent in
loading our equipment into the other cars and, at seven,
we started off. There are thirty-two men in this car, it
is half the size of an American freight -car. The
lettering on the side of the car says it is for forty
men. How in the world you could ever get another eight
men in this car is beyond me unless they were midgets.
The fellows
grumbled and argued with one another all day long. The
congestion gets on their nerves and the eating of cold
canned corned-beef and hardtack today, instead of
something warm, isn't any too good for the disposition of
a man.
I tried to sleep today, but half-hour snoozes were about
the best I could do. The train would bump so, that it
would wake you, so spent most of the day looking out at
the scenery which looked very pretty, in spite of there
being no sunshine today.
We saw many trains passing us in the other direction with
French and Italian in them, all regular passenger
coaches. We feel like hoboes, the way we are traveling,
laying around one over another. We stopped a half hour
ago, and they served us some hot coffee with the monkey
meat, so I thought I would write a little, while the
train wasn't moving. Good night, Mother Dear, God bless
you.
CHARLES.
Thursday, August 8, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
At one in the morning, the train stopped, and we all got
off and unloaded our equipment. Two hours later, we
started marching until we got to an open field about an
hour later, a temporary resting place. At five this
morning, we got to sleep in a billet.
We were up at nine-thirty, and they gave us hard tack and
coffee for breakfast. Slept some more and at one, they
gave us some more corned-willy and hard-tack and coffee.
As hungry as I was, I couldn't eat that cold corned-beef,
and only drank the coffee. It was lucky for me that they
let us wander over to the village this afternoon, where I
found a very unique place to eat, a long table out in
front of a house along the garden walk, a delightful
spot. It was covered with twigs and leaves and flowers. A
very polite French woman was serving, and I ate
half-dozen fried eggs, and potatoes, and some good
coffee, after which I felt myself again. I thought, as I
ate, of the rest of the fellows in the company and what a
stampede it would be if they all came over here at one
time for something to eat. They seemed satisfied with the
cold corned beef, as they were so hungry, I couldn't go
it.
We are in a village called St. Simeon and it is only
seventeen miles south of Paris, I think. The rumor is
that we are going to stay here for a while and rest up,
and that we are going to get furloughs to Paris. I can
hardly wait for my pass to come along, I do want to get
to see the wonderful paintings at the Louvre. I have been
dreaming of this for years and, at last, it seems my
dream is going to come true. Spent an hour this evening
cleaning my underwear of cooties, or, rather, I should
say, tried to clean them, I thought I had killed them all
about an hour ago, but they are starting to bite again. A
new batch seems to hatch every hour. God, they are
terrible things! This barn we are billeted in isn't any
too clean either. Soldiers have been here before and they
always leave cooties behind. This candle of mine is
getting rather short, I should have bought some when I
was over in the village today. God bless you.
CHARLES.
DEAR MOTHER, Friday, August 9, 1918
We were awakened at eight this morning. How they let us
sleep so long is beyond me. They served us hard-tack and
coffee and some of the fellows started to holler and the
Mess Sergeant told them that he didn't get his supplies
yet, and that we were lucky that we were getting a little
coffee. We spent the morning cleaning up our equipment to
keep us out of mischief. We were assembled and they gave
us a gas-mask inspection.
This afternoon we were free again, and I went back to the
little place I was at yesterday and had another good
feed. I had Ruthie with me. He is very sick with a fever
he contracted two years ago down in the West Indies where
he was working on a case. He's a detective in private
life, and sure has had some very thrilling experiences
already. What I don't understand is why they draft
detectives and policemen. Mac, in my platoon, was a
policeman over in Brooklyn.
Funny, when we arrived here, the other day, we thought we
were on the way to Paris. Yesterday, we thought this was
a rest for us. Today, we found out that we are going up
on this front, north of Chateau Thierry, where the
Germans were driven back last week. Tomorrow, five men
from each squad leave for the line. I'm going, taking
four men from my old squad, the sixth. Good night.
CHARLES.
Saturday, August 10, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We were up at seven this morning and had some hardtack
and coffee again and spent the morning getting things
ready to take up the line. At twelve, after an early
luncheon of monkey meat and hardtack and coffee, which we
sure were disgusted with, we started marching up the hill
to St. Simeon, and there got on auto trucks, loading our
machine guns and ammunition.
We have been riding all day and resting, now, for a
little while, before we go on further. We can hear the
artillery off in the distance and we are on a real
hot-front now. We rode thru some towns that sure are
wrecked and there must have been some fierce fighting
around here recently. There are new graves all along the
roads, for the soldiers were buried in haste where they
fell.
We passed through the towns of Coulommiers, St. Germain,
La Ferte, Jouaire, Artand, Cherny sur Marne, Chateau
Thierry, Roccourt, and Oulchy. We are now on a road, and
the last sign we saw was a German one which read, Nach
Fere en Tardenois.
We opened some more cans of corned-beef, and you either
have to eat it, or starve, so I ate some. It's worse than
taking castor oil.
This place
smells of gas. There were a lot of gas -shells exploded
around here. We are going to start off again in a few
minutes, my back is sore, we have been riding in this
auto truck for the last seven hours and Lord knows how
much farther. We sure have had a good bumping up today.
This was all in German hands a couple of weeks ago, and
it looks like the beginning of the end of the war. That's
what the rumor is. They are starting now.
CHARLES.
Sunday, August 11, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We are now just outside of Fere en Tardenois. What a
spot! The town is a wreck. The place all around here has
a terrible stench, for the dead haven't been buried
deeply at all. We got here at two a.m. They dumped us off
the trucks, and we unloaded our equipment, piled it up,
threw our packs on the ground and fell asleep. We sure
were tired.
I woke this morning at eight. The morning went fast. We
had no orders to do anything. Our officers weren't
around, so we went sightseeing. The supplies left behind
by the Germans are enormous. They sure must have made a
hasty departure. It is only a week that they were in this
spot. In some of the huts they have built here, the food
is still on the table. We have been warned not to touch
anything, as some of these places have been mined, and as
soon as you touch anything, you might get blown to
pieces. The food is rotting and there are millions of
flies around.
The hot sun today made conditions worse. There is only
one place to get water over in the town in a well back of
a house. Everybody had to get on line there this
afternoon to get his canteen filled. The town is deserted
and surely is wrecked. You would think there had been an
earthquake here recently. They sure can do some awful
damage with artillery fire. Some of the buildings seem to
have been cut in half by a huge knife. Shells have been
dropping over all day. The Germans are only a short
distance away.
This afternoon
we cleaned our guns carefully and looked over all the
ammunition and got it in shape for immediate use. Van
Pelt, Mac and I are sleeping together tonight under the
tent which we put up under a few small trees.
I saw the grave of Roosevelt's son, in the open field
right near here today. The Germans brought down his
aeroplane and buried him with one wheel of the plane over
the grave. The artillery is opening up and the noise is
sure deafening. Good night, Mother Dear, God bless you.
CHARLES.
Monday, August.12, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We were awakened at eight, and spent the morning cleaning
our guns again very thoroly, for at eleven we had an
inspection. Everything was all right and no fault found
with anyone. We ate and made up our packs.
At one o'clock, two auto trucks came along. We piled the
twelve machine guns and all equipment and one hundred and
eighty boxes of ammunition and sixty-eight men on them,
and then started off. We rode and rode, going north all
the time, passing through Soponay, Craimaille, Loupeigne,
Chery Chartreuve, and the sign says that the next town is
Mont. St. Martin.
We just stopped, and ate some corned-beef and hard-tack,
and it looks like that is all we are going to get for
some time. We sure were taking an awful chance today,
riding around in these two auto trucks with all our
machine guns and ammunition. It's surprising that no
German planes came over today. There were plenty of
Allied planes flying over us, and I think now they were
sent along to kind of protect us, in case any German
plane did come over. We are starting to move, so will add
on to this tomorrow. Good night.
CHARLES.
Tuesday, August 13, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We rode until twelve o'clock last night. We Were delayed
by getting lost and taking the wrong road. It was pitch
dark and how we ever got here was a mystery. It was a
thrilling ride. We had a wonderful view for miles and
miles, and could see the flashes of artillery way off in
the distance and all kinds of colored lights were shot
into the sky all along the front. In the distance was a
huge fire. That, later on, helped us to stay on the road,
and was a guiding beacon for the correct direction to
ride in. The place where we unloaded was being shelled
and most of us had our wind-up.
The Captain was walking up and down the road with the
shrapnel flying all around him. He was the coolest man in
the whole bunch. At one spot, he stumbled across someone
on the road and asked who it was. When he answered,
"the Lieutenant," our Captain bawled him out
something terrible, telling him that he was a fine man to
set an example for the rest of the men by hugging the
ground that way. I bet the Lieutenant felt like two
cents.
The Captain discovered an old artillery emplacement that
the Germans had a few days ago and we were all led into
it. We threw our packs on the ground and brought in the
guns and ammunition. Later, when we tried to find our own
packs, they were all mixed up, and everybody took other
fellow's pack. I was out of luck, the pack I picked had
no overcoat in it, only a slicker, and I froze all night.
It was pitch dark, we couldn't see a thing, and no lights
were allowed.
This morning I got my pack back, Levy had it. He lost one
of the wristlets that Mrs. Johnson had knit for me to
keep me warm this winter. Here it is August and I froze
last night. It was impossible to sleep. The shells burst
around us all night and, with the noise of our own
artillery over on our right, it was nerve -wracking, I'm
all in at the moment. Even tho the Germans are
retreating, they sure are sending over plenty of shells.
I think they were here two nights ago. They killed some
more horses of the artillery outfit last night.
The day has been a wonderful one, the sun shining in all
its glory with a gentle breeze blowing all day. It has
been too nice a day for a war to be going on. We have
been spending the day digging a dugout so that we will
have a little protection. The German planes were flying
over us today and we started shooting at them, but they
flew too fast for us to bit them. It's a matter of luck
to bring one down. We lost a fellow by the name of Murtha
this afternoon. A shell
dropped just behind our position and shrapnel hit him in
the arm. He went back in the Red Cross ambulance to the
hospital. We just finished eating some more corned-willy
and hardtack, and are waiting around, for what, I do not
know. Good night.
CHARLES.
Wednesday, August 14, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
After it became dark last night, a couple of German
planes flew right over us and dropped about a dozen bombs
down on us. I wish you could have seen the wreckage
around us this morning, and the strange part is that only
one man was hurt, a fellow by the name of Ostendorf. They
took him to the hospital at midnight. A piece of a bomb
hit him on the leg, I didn't sleep much at all last
night, the German planes kept dropping bombs all night
long.
At eight this morning, we had some breakfast. They made
some coffee down in a cellar. It sure was a life-saver.
We all made up a small pack after that, taking only our
overcoats, slickers, reserve rations and toilet articles.
We left the rest of our belongings in our shelter-halves,
making a roll of it.
After lunch, everybody in the company, including the
officers, carrying two boxes of ammunition and our
machine guns, started marching in single-file towards the
front line. I judge this to have been the most foolish of
ideas, to do this in broad daylight. The road led around
a small hill and, on our right, the hill sloped down into
a valley about a mile away, and then up again away off in
the distance, at the top of which were the German
observation posts. They must have thought the Americans
were crazy. Well, we were just walking about five minutes
when, there came, bang, bang, bang. All around us the
small seventy-seven shells started exploding. The order
was given to fall out which we did, all hugging the ditch
alongside of the road. We waited for a little while until
they let up and then started on again and made for the
-village of Villersavoye, where we are now waiting in a
farm-yard to go on further.
The village is deserted and a wreck. The shells are
dropping into it all the time. The smell of gas is
everywhere. One of our fellows, named Stein, was cleaning
his pistol and it accidentally went off and went clean
thru his foot. He lost a lot of blood and looked as white
as a sheet. Some of the fellows say he shot himself
intentionally, but I don't think so. I am so nervous and
shaking like a leaf at the moment myself, and if
I touched my pistol, I am afraid it would shoot at my
slightest touch. It sure is hell right where we are now.
The whole atmosphere has the smell of death in it. A
heavy shelling is going on all over the place and it
would be suicidal to get up and walk around.
Seven German planes spiraled down over us, firing away at
two Allies' planes, and the bullets were dropping all
around us like hail. We thought we would see a nice air
battle but the odds were too great, and the Allies'
planes beat it back. We have been waiting for them to
return but so far there has been no sight of them and the
German planes are flying around looking down trying to
locate us. If they would only oblige us by coming down
just a few hundred feet and in getting within range of
our machine guns they will find out very quickly where we
are. We have them all set and waiting. As soon as it gets
dark, and this shelling lets up a little, we are going to
move on. Good night, Mother Dear, God bless you.
CHARLES.
DEAR MOTHER, Thursday, August 15, 1918
I sure must have been tired last night, for I fell
asleep, and at twelve a shrill whistle blew and we
started off. We marched for about an hour, carrying our
equipment and small packs. Up and down hills, through
water, over land exposed to the enemy. Lieutenant Krell
was leading and I was directly behind him, with the sixth
squad behind me, of which I have charge. The Lieutenant
was leading at such a terrible pace that we lost the rest
of the company. We put our stuff down, while the
Lieutenant went back to look for them.
There were German machine-gun bullets flying past over
our heads, and we had to keep close to the ground to
escape being hit. A corporal of a squad of Infantry in an
outpost position cautioned us to be careful. I asked him
where the front line was, and he motioned towards his
right, and back, and there we were out in front of the
Infantry outpost. The Lieutenant returned, shouting my
name at the top of his lungs and telling us to come back.
The Germans started to shoot more rapidly, and we just
lay there and made ourselves as thin as possible. I felt
a couple of bullets cut the long grass over my head. If I
told you I wasn't scared, I would be a liar. I felt like
a dumb animal cornered and that my end was near. As soon
as it stopped a little, I said, "Come on, men!"
and led the way back. It was starting to get light and we
had to make the top of the hill and get back into the
town, or we would be out of luck. We double-timed up the
hill gladly, with all our equipment. just near the top,
we passed a well, and the bullets started to pick up the
dirt all around us.
Some German machine gunner had spotted us. We all knelt
on the other side of the well and, one by one, managed to
crawl just a little farther, where we got behind a cement
wall. It was almost daylight. Lights were being sent up.
The artillery got busy, and it sounded like hell let
loose for an hour. There was my squad and myself lost
from the company! I looked at my watch and it was five
o'clock. We were all dead tired and fell asleep and
didn't wake up until nine this morning. We were hungry
and opened up a couple of cans of corned-beef and
hardtack and, with some water in our canteens, that was
our breakfast.
We saw some signs showing we were in a town called
Fismes. It sure had been wrecked by artillery fire. I
don't remember seeing one house that wasn't hit, and all
being deserted, it was a very mysterious looking town.
Marching back thru the town, we saw hundreds of dead
Germans and Americans lying where they fell. It was the
most gruesome sight I have seen yet, and made me realize
more than ever, how ridiculous and unnecessary this
business of war is.
I figured that the rest of the company must have returned
to the next town over, Villersavoye, where we started out
from yesterday afternoon. I was right, and when we got
back there at noon today, they were all surprised to see
me and my squad. They thought that we had been killed
last night. Three of the men in my squad, who were with
me last night, went to the hospital this afternoon,
Purcell, Kujawa and Stadler. My squad is shot to pieces,
yet we are going back again tonight, when it gets dark,
to where we started for yesterday.
We could smell some very beautiful lilacs last night
while we were on the way up and took deep whiffs of their
perfume in the dark, thinking that there was a lilac bush
near by. We found out today that the smell was gas. Our
Captain and Lieutenant Krell were gassed, and a lot of
men in the other two platoons. My throat is raw and my
eyes have been watering all afternoon, but outside of
that I am all right.
We just had a good meal at four o'clock, and everybody
has been resting and cleaning up this afternoon, as we go
up again tonight to relieve the other machine-gun company
that is in the line. I found out this afternoon that the
place where we were last night is called the "Valley
of Death." It is such a terrible position, because
the Germans are on the top of the hill on the other side
and can shoot down on top of us and across the valley
into the town of Fismes. It is one hot spot. So it looks
like we are in for a little excitement. As soon as it
gets dark, we start, so will close, Mother Dear. I wish I
was home now.
CHARLES.
Friday, August 16, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
At nine o'clock last night, we started off for the line
with a new Lieutenant in charge of us, Lieutenant Rice of
C company. Why he was switched over to us is a mystery. I
wish we had our own officers, but they are all gassed or
sick at the moment. A guide from the company we were
relieving led us into the line, over the same ground
where we were last night. It was very exciting coming up
last night. Everybody was on edge, and when two of our
fellows were hit by some machine-gun bullets, and let out
a yelp, we all became a little panicky and hugged the
ground until it stopped. We had a taste of what the
Germans get every time that we put over a machine-gun
barrage. The guide finally got us to our position about
midnight when everything was very quiet and mysterious.
We are on the side of railroad tracks upon the embankment
which runs around in a curve right here. The other side
of the embankment is infiladed by German machine-gun
fire, I doubt very much that they think we are on this
side of the track. We are in a most advanced position,
away up in front of the Infantry front line. We have our
machine gun set behind the hedge on the top of the
embankment. It's lucky the hedge is a good thick one, for
it protects us from being seen.
About half-way down, we have a good sized dugout which
the last outfit dug. We have been digging it a little
bigger so that it won't be so crowded. There are four
with me, Jansen, Kimberly, Dinola, and Hammerstrom. One
man is always at the gun. We have two-hour shifts. The
hill runs straight up about a hundred yards, and the
Germans are up there somewhere on the main road that runs
from Soissons to Rheims. If they start down the hill, we
can see them silhouetted against the sky. Of all
positions to place us in this is about the hottest yet! I
managed to sleep a little last night but was awfully
nervous.
We all stood-to this morning, expecting a raid but
nothing happened. We have orders not to shoot until we
see the enemy. According to a prophecy of an Indian
soldier in the 308th Infantry, the war was supposed to
end last night but it is still going on.
About two this
afternoon, we were wondering whether we would ever eat
again or not, so decided to open up some cans of salmon
which we have, and we ate it with bread which the fellows
we relieved left behind. We have some canned milk in our
rations which we mixed with the water in our canteens and
drank it. We are all suffering from watery eyes from the
gassing we got the other night.
Further down the tracks are a number of dead Germans and
some American soldiers on the opposite side of the bank.
It's impossible to get to them, because the other side of
the embankment is being swept by machine-gun fire all the
time. We have to be very careful and keep out of sight.
It sure is tough staying in this little dugout all day.
The only chance we get to stretch is at night when it
gets dark. Tonight we ate the last of our rations, a
couple of cans of corned-beef and hardtack, and washed it
down with the last of our water in the canteens. One of
the four had to go back for rations and get the canteens
filled with water. Nobody volunteered so I had to hold
four matchsticks and the one who drew the short one had
to go. Kimberly drew it. As soon as it gets dark, he is
going to start back. It's a tough job but has to be done.
Well, Mother Dear, will say good night. We have to get
ready now for stand-to.
CHARLES.
Saturday, August 17, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
We all stood-to last night from nine to ten-thirty and
about ten we noticed some figures moving down towards us
about half-way up the hill. They were crawling on their
hands and knees, it seemed. We knew it couldn't be any of
our men out there or they would have told us. We
hesitated a few seconds and decided it would be better to
open up. So we swept the gun from left to right covering
the general area where we thought they might be, shooting
all the time thru a piece of burlap, so they wouldn't be
able to see the sparks and give away our position.
This morning when daylight came, we peeked up the
hillside and saw six Germans lying dead whom our gun
snuffed out last night. We all felt pretty bad about it
today. It's nothing but downright murder to me! How I
hate this war business!
The next squad up the track about a hundred feet captured
a German prisoner last night, a kid about nineteen years
old, as he came walking towards their position,
hollering, "Comrade!" at the top of his lungs.
He was so panic stricken that he had a potato masher in
his hand holding it over his head, and the fellows almost
shot at him, thinking he was going to throw the potato
masher at them, so they threw it up the hill and it
exploded with a loud bang. The kid was scared to death
and hungry. They gave him something to eat, and the
ration detail took him up to Headquarters. One of the
fellows could speak German and the kid told him that he
was sent out on a trench raid all alone, with a potato
masher. He told them that they hadn't anything to eat for
two days and that they were about all in, and wouldn't be
able to hold out much longer.
Kimberly got back at 3:30 this morning from the ration
detail, he had to walk five miles each way. He brought up
some cans of corned-beef and salmon for the five of us,
which was supposed to be for all day. We finished it all
at one meal at breakfast time. We were terribly hungry.
My eyes are in good condition again, but Dinola's eyes
are still watering. He is going back for rations tonight
and at the same time have the medical man fix his eyes
with something.
It is nerve-wracking waiting around like this, so this
afternoon I took an inch of cold water out of my canteen
and managed to shave my beard off and felt much better
afterwards.
Our artillery has been very active all day shooting
intermittently over our heads and landing somewhere off
in the distance on the top of the hill. Dinola is
watching at the gun and the other three are fast asleep
in the dugout here with me. It's getting dark rapidly. We
are hungry and tired of it all -but there is nothing to
do but carry on. Will close with love to you and Mousie.
CHARLES.
Sunday, August, 18, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I was awakened this morning at eight by Ruthie, who came
around with eight letters for me, two of them from you
and the rest from my friends, and I have been reading
them over and over again all day so that I almost know
them all by heart now. They sure did brace up my low
spirits, I was feeling like two cents.
Last night they sent up a Dixie with some cabbage and
some kind of meat in it which tasted more like the dead
horses than anything else. I couldn't eat it. This
morning we had some more of the cold corned-beef and
filled up on some bread and syrup which Dinola found
somewhere. The syrup was a life-saver for my sore throat
from the gassing I got the other night. It was just what
I needed.
The morning
passed very rapidly due to reading my mail over and over
again. Our artillery was firing short this morning and
started shooting into our lines further over on our left,
only one was hurt slightly by a flying piece of shell
fragment.
We were all starving for some good hot coffee, so I had
the fellows cut up some small pieces of wood no thicker
than toothpicks and built a little fire inside the dugout
and filled the syrup-can with water and, after half an
hour, managed to make enough coffee with the beans from
our reserve rations to satisfy the five of us. It hit the
spot. I remember reading that in a war book called
"Under Fire," and made coffee just as the other
soldier did. Today I am going through the same
experiences and appreciate all the more the different war
books that I used to read. I never thought at the time
that some day I myself would be in a front line, but here
I am.
The embankment on the other side of the tracks is
supposed to be infiladed by enemy fire and we saw a very
bold thing this afternoon: two Infantry fellows came
along and walked over to the other side of the tracks and
removed the pack from the back of one dead German soldier
and ransacked it. I became bold also and walked over to
them, figuring that, if we were seen by any German
snipers, they wouldn't shoot at us, thinking that this
was a burial detail. The enemy never shoots at a burial
detail.
They lifted the cover off the dead German's face and it
was black. just a little further down the bend was
another dead German chained to a machine gun, leaning
over his gun as if he was firing. He looked very
grotesque.
Further up to the right, on the other side, we came
across two dead American soldiers from the 59th Machine
Gun Company. They were regulars. A shell must have hit
them direct, they were so badly mangled. These two
Infantry fellows started going thru their pockets, and I
asked them what they were up to. I thought at first they
were ransacking all the dead soldiers. But they told me
that they were from H Company of the 308th Infantry, and
that they had been sent out to bury all American
soldiers. So they started to dig into the embankment, and
after a half hour, had a big enough hole to shovel the
remains of the two bodies into it. There wasn't anything
left of those poor devils but large pieces of their
torsos and a couple of legs. There were no heads around
at all. Thousands of flies were all over them and the
stench was something terrible.
The two Infantry men doing the burying were peculiar
looking fellows and didn't seem to mind the job at all.
We found out later that they were a little dopey and had
been selected for the job on that account. They made a
cross out of two branches and put the two battered
helmets on top of the grave with the papers and wallets,
which they found in the pockets under the helmets to
identify them later on. They couldn't find any of the
identification tags, which we have around our necks. I am
wondering if those poor devils will ever be shoveled out
of that hole some day and how they will be able to
separate them. They must have been buddies and were
snuffed out together.
The Infantry
men finished the burial, and went on their way toward the
rear, I told them that there were no dead American
soldiers in front of us. I am glad they came up, because
when I walked down to the right, about fifty feet just
before the bend, I discovered some nice ice-cold water
trickling down from the side of the bank, a natural
spring. We all went down there, one by one, keeping out
of sight as much as possible, and had a good wash, and
the ice-cold water sure did feel good.
I was afraid to drink that water at first, but as the
others have and it tasted all right, we are all drinking
it, and the other position has sent a man over, and they
have all filled their canteens also. This saves carrying
it back from the well at the top of the hill. It's enough
for the men to carry up rations. A half-dozen canteens
full of water are heavy when you have to carry them a
great distance.
The artillery has been firing all day, even tho it is
Sunday. There are no holidays in this bloody business. We
wish for an early peace. All are fed up with war already.
We had some bacon in our reserve rations and, this
afternoon, I cut it up into small pieces and fried it in
a mess-kit and dipped some bread and hardtack, which we
had, into the bacon grease. It sure did taste good. We
also had some more salmon.
Well, Mother Dear, it's getting dark, and almost time to
get ready and stand-to. We never know when the Germans
might decide to come over and visit us and wipe us out
with a couple of their potato mashers. When they explode,
they do some terrible damage. Good night, God bless you.
CHARLES.
DEAR MOTHER, Monday, August 19, 1918
I slept until seven-thirty this morning. The front was so
quiet that the fellows let me sleep thru, and they
stood-to this morning themselves. They said I needed the
rest, and I did feel better after a few hours more of
sleep. Dinola went back for the rations last night and
brought up a very generous feed, three loaves of bread,
two cans of beans and salmon, some more milk and tobacco
and matches. We were well supplied for the day, and ate
like officers.
About noon, I made enough coffee for the five of us in
the syrup-can, which is made of tin and heats very
quickly. I also heated the beans, and we all had a hot
meal right up in the front line, with the Germans about a
hundred yards away on the top of the hill. I made the
fire out of very thin pieces of wood again which didn't
smoke at all.
This is our fourth day up here and it seems like four
months because it has been such a strain. There is an
ever-present threat of disaster. I keep up my spirits by
whistling, low, of course. I sure do a lot of smoking.
The boys are all kind of quiet, and I try to cheer them
up the best I can, but don't feel any too happy myself
and it is difficult.
We all wish for an early peace. There is no glory for us
up here. We never know when a shell is going to drop on
us and snuff us out. We all feel like it's coming, and
makes us uneasy, just like a doomed prisoner feels in the
death-house, knowing he is going to be electrocuted. The
torture of waiting for it is the real punishment. That's
the way it is up here in the front line, the shells are
screaming all around you, and you wonder why it is that
you haven't been hit yet. You feel that it's coming. It
seems inevitable that you couldn't escape. The stench of
the dead is another grim reminder.
Oh, Mother, if the men who start wars could only spend
one day in the lines, they might reconsider before they
would ever start another one. You have to go thru it to
realize how terrible and utterly foolish it all is. Human
beings trying to kill off each other and hiding in holes
in the ground. Why it's a slap at our' intelligence and
civilization itself! When I think of it sometimes, I feel
like rising and rebelling against it all, I know I better
not tho, because they would shoot me at sunrise-my own
comrades, the ones I am with, not the enemy, my own
comrades-would shoot me! Oh, how ridiculous! It doesn't
seem possible, but it's true. And I wonder about the
enemy. They are the same as me, I have German blood in
me, I never know when I might be shooting at one of my
own cousins or uncles. We don't want to shoot each other,
but we are forced to. How silly it all is! That an
institution called War can make men commit such
atrocities! War must be abolished! The women of the world
should organize themselves against it.
Well, Mother dear, I've been raving again. Don't mind me!
But you know how I feel about killing. What has become of
all the religion taught to children ? Have they forgotten
all about the Golden Rule P What good are the churches
anyhow, if they permit such destruction as this?
Thank God, I
was just told that we will be relieved tonight by C
Company of our Battalion. It was just about as long as I
could stand this place. Good night.
CHARLES.
Tuesday, August 20, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
The Relief took over our emplacement at ten-thirty last
night, after getting all the instructions where the enemy
was located, how the tracks were infiladed by snipers,
and I told them about the spring. They were glad to hear
about the water being so near to them. If water is
scarce, it is tough.
We started off to meet the rest of the company up on top
of the hill. We walked in single file, about three feet
apart. Bullets were flying, and we had to walk in a
crouched position mostly all the way. There was a little
creek to cross about twenty-feet wide. The engineers had
a plank over it but the German machine gunners made it
very uncomfortable, shooting around the spot all the
time. The bottom of the creek is covered with barb-wire
which the Germans threw in when they retreated. There are
quite a number of our Infantry boys floating on the
water. Their feet must have got caught when they were
killed. They had to wade across when they were advancing.
It sure was a gruesome sight and I was glad when we all
were safely over the plank and on our way.
The side of the hill was covered with dead, lying where
they fell. The bullets were kicking up the dirt around
the well as we passed. We reached the cement wall which
was a protection to us a week ago. Some of it had been
shot away, but enough of it was left to shelter us while
we rested after the tough climb up the hill.
The rest of the
squads came along shortly, and we started the walk back
to the quarry, where we had left our belongings in the
shelter-halves. This has been a company headquarters. It
was one this morning when we reached it. The Mess
Sergeant had some hot coffee for us and we turned in,
sleeping on the hard ground.
The company this morning looked shot to pieces. Quite a
few were killed and injured during the four days that we
were in the line. We are going to get some new men to
fill it up to full strength again. Our Lieutenant Krell
was sent back to the United States today as instructor,
lucky boy.
We had steak
and carrots today, how they ever got steak for soldiers
is a mystery. That's food for officers only.-They must
have made a mistake. We have been taking it easy today,
nothing to do at all but clean up ourselves and try to
get rid of these cooties which hatched out during the
past week. How they torture us! Our artillery over on our
left has opened up, and the ground shakes every time they
fire. I don't know why we always get a position near
artillery outfits. The noise is nerve-wracking and, as
this is supposed to be a rest, they should take us to a
place farther away. Good night, Mother Dear, God bless
you.
CHARLES.
Wednesday, AUGUST 21, 1918.
DEAR MOTHER,
I woke up this morning after a very restless night. I was
coughing all night long, and this morning my throat was
very raw. Eight of us started off this morning at ten for
the Battalion Infirmary. It was a terrible hike in the
hot sun. We all received pills and some castor oil. I
slept the early part of the afternoon. At three o'clock
went over to a pool near by and took an ice-cold bath and
felt much better after it. I was very nervous because two
German aeroplanes flew directly over me and they must
have seen my naked white body in the bright sunlight,
because the pool was in an open and exposed spot. There
was no shelter around at all. It was a very crazy thing
to do, on my part, but I was lucky, because they didn't
shoot at me.
I had only coffee for breakfast and luncheon, but made up
for it tonight. We had a good meal of beans, bacon,
tomatoes, bread, jam and three crullers apiece with our
coffee. I felt fine after it with the exception of the
rawness in my throat.
At six o'clock, a whistle blew. We were ordered to make
up our packs. German aeroplanes were flying overhead, and
our artillery let loose in all its fury, the
anti-aircraft guns were firing at the Germans, and it
sounded like hell let loose.
At eight o'clock, we started off in single file at five
-yard intervals. This was the furthest apart we had ever
marched, and I guess it was because the company was so
shot, it looked like only half a company. They have to
take care of the ones that are left. I felt all right for
about twenty minutes but suddenly became very dizzy and
weak and I dropped out of the line. I sat down and then
became very sick and threw up my nice meal. Ruthie was
sent back to take care of me and the rest of the company
continued on its way. Later on, I felt all right again
and we started off and finally found the company here in
this woods. They had pitched their tents, so Ruthie and I
took our shelter-halves and we are bunking together
tonight.
It's twelve, and I have been writing by candle-light in
our pup-tent. This forest is so dense that it is a
wonderful protection, and it is quiet, thank goodness. We
are about ten miles away from the front, and we might get
a good night's rest if they don't decide to take us on a
hike. Good night, Mother Dear, God bless you.
CHARLES.
Thursday, AUGUST 22, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
My sore throat bothered me all night and it's just my
luck, if it isn't the noise of artillery to keep me awake
at nights, something else always does. This morning I
received eight more letters and they braced me up and
gave me something to read and forget myself and the war a
little. It would be great to forget the war forever. I
received the letters you wrote on July 22, and the long
one you wrote on the 15th. It takes about a month before
I get your letters. How long do mine take? I am glad you
got the "young book" that I wrote for you
coming over the ocean. Gosh, it seems like years ago that
I wrote those letters! I was afraid that you might never
get them.
We had an inspection this morning and had to arrange all
our equipment. The Captain certainly was sore and bawled
us out something awful. He asked if any man in the
company had polished his shoes since we have been out of
the front line. Not one man had. I will say we do look
terrible. Our uniforms are a disgrace. It's the only one
we have and we have to sleep in them to keep warm at
night. Our shoes look awful. My heels are run down almost
to the edge of the uppers. We have nothing to clean or
polish them with, and they are caked with mud. It was
some inspection we had. After it was over we all did the
best we could with water, and then greased them with
rinds of bacon which the Mess Sergeant gave us.
The men are all disgusted with the war and everything,
and I can understand their mental attitude in regard to
their personal appearances. What do they care how their
clothes look? All they are concerned about is to get some
decent food and a place to sleep with as little work as
possible. That's the way I feel about the whole thing,
but I mustn't say so, because I am a non-com and must set
a good example to the men. I am not honest with myself in
that respect and if I should be, and go to my superior
officers and tell them so, I would be reduced to a
private and then would have all the dirty detail work to
do again. That is the advantage of being a non-com.
Our artillery has been firing all day. Thank goodness, it
wasn't near us, so it didn't sound so terrible. Shells
from the German artillery were dropping about
three-hundred yards away over to our right. It's funny
how close they can come to you. If the German who was
setting the range would have moved his sight, maybe a
sixteenth of an inch more to the right, it would have
sent the shells about three-hundred yards more to the
right, and they would have dropped in among us.
It's remarkable, when you think of it, how close you come
to death sometimes, maybe a sixteenth of an inch. We were
told by the Captain tonight at formation that C Company,
who relieved us, was raided last night by a company of
German Infantry. They had five men killed, one an
officer. One of the squads captured eleven Germans. They
were all kids about eighteen years old. That position
down there in the railroad track was about the craziest
place to put machine guns anyhow, and if we had been kept
in there another day, it would have been us that would
have been raided. Our company sure has been very lucky so
far.
I took another
trip over to the Battalion Infirmary this afternoon about
my throat. I told him that it was raw, but he didn't even
look at it, and gave me two more pills and sent me on my
way. No matter what is wrong with you, they give you some
of these pills which do nothing but physic you. Some of
the fellows when they are sick never bother walking over
to the Infirmary because that's all you get. A couple of
C C pills, they call them.
I managed to get some water from our water-cart and
shaved and washed myself, and felt better and have been
taking it easy tonight. Most of the fellows are playing
cards. Some are writing. Good night.
CHARLES.
Tuesday, August 27, 1918.
DEAR Mom,
I thought I must write or you might get worried about me.
We have been taking it easy for the past week, resting
up, and only wish that my throat was all right, so I
could enjoy it more. I can't speak above a whisper on
account of the hoarseness. That poison gas we got that
smelled like lilacs sure was powerful stuff.
Company D of our battalion is camped alongside of our
company, and the other day, German shells started to drop
all around us. Five fellows were injured and taken to the
hospital. Even when you are out of the lines on a rest,
you have very little peace. The Lieutenant assembled all
the non-coms today and gave us all a good bawling out on
account of not having more aggressiveness. Every
afternoon, for about two hours, we have machine-gun work,
taking it apart and putting it together again, so that we
do not become rusty.
This afternoon a package came up for me from the Paris
office of the Dry Goods Economist containing macaroons,
candy, nuts, and a can of apricots. The boys all gathered
around, and I passed out a little to everybody, and in
about ten minutes it was all gone, with the exception of
the can of apricots, which I am going to save for the
future. That package was worth a million dollars in this
sector, for sweet things are scarce. They certainly were
good.
The days are getting shorter and cooler, and I wonder if
I'll have to spend a winter out in the open as I used to
read that the soldiers did in the war books. It sure is
tough.
It's kind of quiet tonight. You can usually hear the
artillery off in the distance firing away about this
time. I spent the whole day yesterday over at Battalion
Headquarters, and had to make twelve map- sketches, all
the same, from one map showing the different towns and
landmarks. The Sergeant showed me some photographs, while
I was there, which were taken from aeroplanes flying over
the German lines. This was the work I wanted to do, but
didn't have any luck in making the Aviation Corps. It
would have been much better than hiking all over France,
as we have been doing, breaking our backs with our heavy
packs, and pulling our hands away from our wrists
carrying those heavy boxes of ammunition. The end is not
in sight, either. It's getting dark so will close with
love to you and Mouse.
CHARLES.
Thursday, AUGUST 29, 1918
DEAR Mom,
We were all standing for inspection last night and
waiting for the Captain to come along, when suddenly the
rain started to come down in torrents. When I say
torrents, I am wondering if I am making it strong enough.
I should say the whole sky came down on top of us. We
were flooded. It was awful. Everything became soaked.
There was nothing to do but get in the pup-tents and wait
until it stopped. We had little ditches dug around our
tents for rain to run off into, but the way the rain came
down last night, the deepest ditch would have been
useless.
The inspection never came off and all our preparatory
work was for nothing. We had the inspection tonight and
the Captain bawled out all us non-coms again, and asked
if any of us felt in any way that we couldn't hold the
job that he should step forward. Not one of us advanced.
We all feel competent and, personally, I can't see
anything wrong. I'm afraid that it's ruining the morale
of the non-coms to be bawled' out in front of the men,
and I can't see what it's all for, except that the
officers fear lack of discipline from the men.
We were up at seven and had some fried bacon which sure
went good, as it was cool this morning. Then we had some
machine-gun work from eight--thirty to eleven-thirty. We
have had so much of this machine-gun work that we are all
bored stiff with it.
We do the same thing over and over again. We had to clean
our guns and ammunition this afternoon for inspection. It
was very quiet, with the exception of an occasional bang
from a German shell. I wonder where they get all the iron
and steel that they have been throwing back and forth at
each other for the past four years. It's remarkable where
it all comes from.
The Captain announced that we have a new division
commander now, General Robert Alexander. General Duncan
was our last commander. Things have been exceptionally
quiet while we have been resting back here, and I wonder
if it's the lull before the storm, or if this is a quiet
front now, or maybe peace negotiations are going on, I
wish I knew. We who are so near to the front never know
what's going on. It's funny. They gave us some chemical
to waterproof our shoes with tonight, and the best part
was when they gave us some real cigarettes and some
chocolate which the Red Cross sent up to us. Good night,
Mother Dear, will add some more on to this tomorrow.
CHARLES.
Friday, August 30, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
Well, our rest is over, we had eleven days, and now are
back in the line. This morning the officers all went up
to the new positions to become acquainted with them. The
Platoon Sergeant and McCarthy also went along, so I had
charge of the platoon while they were away, and was told
to keep the men occupied with machine-gun drill. I had
them mounting the gun for a while and stripping and
putting it together again and individual tripod mounting.
We got along fine and the men showed more pep than they
have ever shown before. I discovered that it was better
to give the commands, "Mount Gun!" in a more
gentle tone than by barking at them like some of the
sergeants do. When you treat them like men, instead of
dogs, they respond better. They enjoyed their drilling
this morning.
At two o'clock, we received orders to make up our packs
to move out at a moment's notice. At four O'clock we
started off, and at seven we were in our new positions
after some swift hiking. It was rather a bad time to be
relieving a company, in broad daylight. If the Germans
saw us, they decided not to shoot at us immediately. We
sure are a lucky company.
Corporal Fink rejoined the company this afternoon and was
immediately promoted to Sergeant and placed in charge of
the second platoon, in place of Sergeant Holm, who was
sent to the Officers' Training School. McCarthy and I are
both in charge of a section.
I arranged the
Guard List for the night, and then went to my dugout,
which I am sharing with Leonard and Hurell. It's rather
crowded. I call it a dugout, but it's really a shallow
grave, about a foot deep, with a large piece of sheet
metal over it, which we crawl under. It helps to keep off
the rain. We are right on the edge of a forest. In front
of us are little hills and valleys as far as your eyes
can see. There is some barb-wire about two-hundred yards
away, and behind it are the Germans. It's getting dark. I
will write some more tomorrow. Good night, Mother Dear.
CHARLES.
Saturday, August 31, 1918
DEAR MOTHER,
I had a very restless night. It was too crowded in the
dugout for three, so I spent this morning digging one for
myself. We all stood-to just before dawn but nothing
happened. The third section is going to put over a
barrage tonight, and we have been getting our
aiming-posts ready and fixing our flash-screens, as we
call them. They are pieces of burlap around posts to
conceal the flash of the gun. We shoot thru them.
The aeroplanes were very active over our heads this
afternoon. Funny, but when the German planes were
overhead, there were no Allied planes around, and when
the Allied planes came up, there were no German planes
about. They seemed to avoid each other. We are all
anxious to see a nice air battle, as we used to see up on
the English front.
It's now seven, and I am writing a few lines to you, and
also enjoying one of the most beautiful sunsets that I
have ever seen. The colors in the sky are marvelous. I
wish I had my sketch box with me. I buried it, together
with all my art material, back at St. Simeon, under a
tree along the canal. When I found out that we were on
the way to the Chateau Thierry front a few weeks ago, I
decided to make my pack as light as possible and, when we
came back,
I was going to dig it up again. I doubt now if we will
ever see that town again. It's time for stand-to, so will
close. Good night,
CHARLES.