“The 49th Company has the division’s left, and we’re to keep in touch with the French over there. They’re Senegalese—the niggers you saw on the road, and said to be bon fighters. The tanks will come behind us through the woods, and take the lead as soon as we hit the open.
“No special instructions, except, if we are held up any place, signal a tank by wavin’ a rag or something on a bayonet, in the direction of the obstacle, and the tank will do the rest.
“No rations, an’ we move soon. See that canteens are filled. Now go and explain it all to your platoons, and—better take a sketch from this map—it’s the only one I have. Impress it on everybody that the job is to maintain connection between the Senegalese on the left and our people. Tritt, I’m goin’ to catch a nap—wake me when we move——”
It was dark when the battalion fell in and took the road again. They went into single file on the right, at the very edge of it, for the highway was jammed with three columns of traffic, moving forward. It began to rain, and the night, there under the thick branches, was inconceivably black. The files couldn’t see the man ahead, and each man caught hold of the pack in front and went feeling for the road with his feet, clawing along with the wheels and the artillery horses and machine-gun mules. On the right was a six-foot ditch, too deep in mud to march in. The rain increased to a sheeted downpour and continued all night, with long rolls of thunder, and white stabs of lightning that intensified the dark. The picked might of France and America toiled on that road through the Villers-Cotterets forest that night, like a great flowing river of martial force....
And after the 5th Marines have forgotten the machine-guns that sowed death in the wheat behind Hill 142, and the shrapnel that showered down at Blanc Mont, before St. Étienne, they will remember the march to the Soissons battle, through the dark and the rain....
As guns and caissons slewed sideways across the files, or irate machine-gun mules plunged across the tangle, the column slowed and jammed and halted on heavy feet; then went on again to plunge blindly against the next obstacle. Men fell into the deep ditch and broke arms and legs. Just to keep moving was a harder test than battle ever imposed. The battalion was too tired to swear. “I’m to where—I have to think about movin’ my feet—! Plant—the left foot—an’—advance the right—an’—bring up the—left foot—an’——”
“Keep on to the left until you meet the Moroccans, and go forward....” 4.30 A. M., July 18, 1918.
No battle ever tried them half as hard as the night road to Soissons....
The rain ceased, and the sky grew gray with dawn. The traffic thinned, and the battalion turned off on a smaller road, closed up, and hurried on. Five minutes by the side of the road to form combat packs and strip to rifle and bayonet. “Fall in quickly! Forward!”