This, though not often put in words by them, is a very common feeling—or I may call it belief—among soldiers who are constantly offering their lives to the hazards of battle.
When I speak of the retreating enemy, I do not mean that we had an easy time of it always, or that they were running away. They had been forced into such a position by the strategy of Foch, and the hard fighting of the Allies, that it was essential to their safety to retreat. But to do this they must fight at certain points for the protection of their divisions and the vast munitions of war which they were removing to another line.
We soon came upon a detachment of the enemy on our immediate front strongly posted and defended by their light artillery, machine-guns, and infantry. When we attempted in our over-confidence to rush them and drive them back we were checked by a bitter fire.
Then our heavy guns from the rear opened on them. And as shell and shrapnel, with loud-mouthed defiance, went screaming over our heads, hissing as though saying to the foe, “Get outtt offf thattttt!” it was comforting to us, who had met with the check.
“I tell you,” said Hen. Goodwin approvingly, “them gunners are hustlers, and that Boche bunch will have to climb down or get out pretty soon!” But they didn’t!
Then information came—how, I do not know—that the enemy lines were so formed that we could get at them by a flank approach. A plan was accordingly made to strike their flank and front simultaneously and capture or drive them back.
The land was rolling ground, like that of my native Massachusetts; and the enemy at this place was posted on a ridge with their right flank imperfectly protected by their machine-guns. The plan was to strike this exposed flank and at the same time attack in front.
I was put in command of about a hundred men, besides my platoon, which I had for some time been commanding, to make the contemplated flank attack.
The night was as dark as “a stack of black cats,” when we silently marched to the position assigned for assault on the enemy’s flank, and where we were to await the signal to charge.
We got there all right and in the darkness were ambushed ready for our part, when the enemy in some unaccountable way discovered our approach. This upset the plan we had formed, and I was, naturally, undecided what to do; whether to retreat—which I had no inclination for—or assault; when the Boche forced my hand by a furious onset.