There wasn’t any gas.
CHAPTER VI
ST. MIHIEL AND LIMEY SECTOR
The Major was waiting for us up the “road.” He informed us that the 156th Brigade was the alert brigade. We were not to pitch tents nor unroll packs, but lie on our arms ready to reinforce the front line division should occasion demand it. The barrage was due to start at 1 A. M.; at 5 A. M. the infantry was to go over the top.
I waded back with this gladsome news, and we lay in the mud and wet leaves and shivered and wished we could smoke, and waited for the show to start. Word had passed that there was a big French railroad gun about 30 yards away, and a pleasant time was anticipated by all.
At 1 A. M. the sullen jar of the usual cannonade was shattered by a tremendous crash. And that crash lasted solid for four hours. I shall not try to describe a real A-1 barrage to men who have been there.
The railroad gun came across according to plan too. Every five minutes her mighty roar and scream would announce the departure of a G. I. can towards Metz, and then would come the clanking of the cars as the recoil drove the train back along the track against the logs piled behind it. After an hour or so we got accustomed to the barrage and the glare that lit up the sky ahead; but as often as we drowsed off, the thunder of this mighty gun would shake the earth beneath us, and jar us into consciousness.
The night wore on, and the gray morning light crept into the woods; and still the thunder rolled unceasing. I watched the glow of my wrist watch hand creep to five o’clock. There was a slight lull as the artillery shifted to their rolling barrage schedule. Then she started up again with renewed fury. We knew the doughboys were off. The A. E. F. was starting its first show on its own. The overture was over, the fiery curtain raised, the act begun; and we were awaiting our cue.
Morning broke, cloudy, but little or no rain, and about 7 o’clock it quite cleared off. We made ourselves as comfortable as we could, and prayed for our kitchen.
I went wading through the mud along the road to look for it. There were several Marines about, belonging to the skeleton organization, left behind to act as a nucleus in case a whole outfit was wiped out. I passed a Marine lieutenant whose face looked familiar, and after a moment recognized “Happy” Mason. He had been a cadet at V. M. I. with me, and had helped me wind a red silk sash around my middle for many a dress parade. It was a far cry from the Blue Ridge to the Bois de la Rappe, and from dress parade to the St. Mihiel drive.
We had a glad reunion there in the mud, and he invited the “B” Co. officers to share his breakfast. Their rolling kitchen, or “galley” as they called it, was on hand, and they had hot coffee and peach turnovers!