April 15th, 1917, Southwest of Berméricourt

For the past several weeks, French forces were scrambling to get in position for the coming offensive against the German lines. General Robert Nivelle had been planning a massive war-winning breakthrough near Aisne for months, and it would begin tomorrow. The overall mood of the troops was a combination of hope, optimism, and despair. It was well known that an extraordinary number of French men had died in the preceding years, and there was speculation that nearly a million soldiers had died fallen in the defense of their homeland. Some men began to doubt the war effort, while others saw this as nothing more than political elites sending them to their deaths for no reason. 

There were murmurs among the men, and some of the more radical-minded ones were calling for a mutiny or revolution in the same style as the one that had just gripped the Russian Empire. Naturally, the officers acted swiftly and silenced many of these men, but it was only a matter of time until such sentiments spread throughout the army. In response to the unrest within their ranks, the French High command assured the troops that the coming offensive was supposed to be no longer than 48 hours if it was unsuccessful, and had guaranteed that this would be a low casualty affair that would drive the Germans back dozens of miles. These words had been little consolation for most of the soldiers on the ground, as they were skeptical of such claims since they'd been made in the past, but the mood did improve somewhat in the days and weeks preceding the offensive. The vast numbers of French and British units that had gathered in this section of northern France did give some optimism that this would be the offensive to end the war, and the promise of new technology gave the men hope.

Among all this chaos, a freshly minted officer arrived at one of the forward operating bases in the back of a truck. This young man was not even twenty years old, and though he was someone who knew just how horrible this war had become. He'd survived the muddy trenches of Verdun, and came out of that hellscape a changed man, and now he was tasked with leading others into No Man's Land.

"First Lieutenant Emile Lambert reporting for duty, sir!" Emile saluted his commanding officer. He'd only finished officer training a few weeks earlier, and his skills had gotten him a commission as a First Lieutenant to the surprise of many. After arriving at the front, Emile would be given a brief rundown of the situation and then taken to his unit. He'd already been briefed on his role in the operation, but was hoping for at least a few days with his men before the attack commenced. Unfortunately, due to delays he was left with little time to prepare his men for the coming offensive, and hoped they'd listen to his command.

"You'll be commanding the seventh platoon of the Sixth Army, First Lieutenant." The older officer said while looking through some papers on his desk. "I assume you've been fully briefed on the coming operation?"

"Yes sir. We were informed of our deployment and roles prior to departure. I know my role and what is to be expected of me" Emile nodded.

{Though I was basically just told what positions to take and the time of the attack. They were so rushed that I don't really think you can any of this properly planned out. Hell, they gave me a commission as a First Lieutenant, something that I KNOW was out of a desperate need for officers. I might know how to lead a small group of men, but to give a guy who isn't even twenty such a rank shows just how fucked we are.} (Emile)

"Good. Make sure your men are ready to go, and everything is in position. The operation begins at 0600 sharp, and we can't afford any mistakes, so make sure you go over the plan again with your men." The older officer continued and gave him more instructions, which Emile thought was redundant. "And one last thing." The older man said before dismissing Emile. "Keep an eye on the men in that platoon. Apparently, a few of them have been meeting with those Russian Volunteers, and well..." He didn't finish, but Emile understood what he meant.

{So that means some of the men are flirting with Revolution... Great...} (Emile)

Once he was dismissed, Emile walked over to seventh platoon's barracks. There were around fifty men under his command, and he was a bit nervous about his new role as their commanding officer. He'd lead small groups of men at Verdun, but never this many, and he was worried they wouldn't take him seriously, especially since he didn't have a Second Lieutenant to aid him. After taking a deep breath to psych himself up, he pushed open the barracks door, only to see a shoe flying across the room and smacking a soldier in the face.

"You bastard!" One of the men yelled. He'd been hit with the shoe and was angry. "That thing was covered in cow shit!" He picked up the thrown shoe and chucked it back at his attacker.

"Hey, it's your fault for not paying attention." Another man started laughing. "Be glad it was a shoe and not a bullet!"

The two men started bickering before a third soldier grabbed their attention. "Um, hey guys. Who's that?" A younger boy pointed to Emile, and the rest of them went wide-eyed as they scrambled to get to attention. They could tell from his uniform that he was an officer, and knew better than to act like that in front of one.

{Well, this is a good sign...} Emile ignored their antics for a moment and walked into the barracks undeterred.

"Attention!" Emile yelled, and the men all within the building snapped to attention in front of him. The entire platoon was not all here, but at least thirty were. "I am First Lieutenant Emile Lambert,  and from today on, I'll be your commanding officer." He figured addressing his youth or the lack of other officers at his side wouldn't be a good use of his time, so he ignored that issue.

"Yes Sir!" (The Soldiers)

"Where are the rest of you?" Emile asked one of the men in front of him.

"They're in the canteen, sir!" (Soldier)

"Someone go get them. We've got plenty to discuss before the offensive tomorrow, and we don't have time for slacking!" Emile tried to use his most authoritative voice, and he was just glad his voice didn't crack much anymore.

{Well they didn't just ignore me, so that's at least a decent start.} (Emile)

"I'll do it!" One of the men volunteered, and Emile sent him on his way. A few minutes later a dozen more men entered the barracks and took position in front of him, giving him a salute. Emile introduced himself again to these men and then began a recap of their objectives and role tomorrow. These men had all heard this before, but they listened attentively, mostly out of fear of discipline. Once Emile was finished, he asked the men if they had any questions.

"Sir, will this offensive be any better than the last dozen they've sent us on?" One of the soldiers asked, his face a mixture of fear and anger.

"I can't guarantee anything. But General Nivelle has been planning this for months. He's taking precautions and has guaranteed an end to fighting within 48 hours if things don't turn out well." Emile was also skeptical but couldn't let that show to his men, he had to be strong and show conviction, that was the duty of an officer.

Though it was clear from their eye movements and facial expressions that these men weren't thrilled with the plans to attack tomorrow, and Emile figured they were close to mutiny.

{With how much artillery and planes we've got combined with the Brits, I'd like to think we have a chance of pushing the Germans back a bit. I heard that we'll be deploying our own tanks this time, so perhaps that will make the difference. The Germans don't seem to enjoy fighting those at the very least.} (Emile)

After answering a few more questions, Emile dismissed his men. "If there's nothing else, then you are all dismissed until tomorrow morning. Wake-up time is 0300 hours and I expect you all rested and ready to go. Dismissed!" Emile dismissed the men who disbursed and began chatting in the barracks.

{Now to go write up report and do my-} Emile's thoughts were interrupted by an arm around his neck.

"So you really did it!" Arnold laughed. "You really became an officer, you son of a bitch!"

"Hey, Arnold. You're still alive? The Germans must really be slipping if your sorry ass is still walking around." Emile shook his head, but the smile on his lips was clearly visible. The two hadn't seen each other since Verdun, and had become good friends after that hell. Both men had kept in contact via letters, and neither knew they'd meet again like this.

{Well, at least one of my men is competent.} (Arnold)

"What? Did you think those letters were from a dead man?" Arnold laughed.

"Either that or a prankster." Emile shrugged as he got Arnold off him. "Good to see you, man." The two men shook hands and then moved to a small office area to talk in private.

"What are the odds you end up becoming my platoon's commanding officer!" Arnold smiled. "I usually don't like those stuck-up bastards, but I think we can work with you."

"Yeah, well I've heard you and the other men in this platoon have been giving command some headaches. So please don't go making my life miserable..." Emile smiled as he took a seat.

"We've done nothing wrong. They've just been their usual brand of hard assess." Arnold shrugged.

"According to what I've been told, you've been spending an awful lot of time with those Russian Volunteers." Emile glared at him.

{Their compatriots back home just over through the Russian Government, and while I can sympathize with wanting to remove a monarchy, the last thing we need right now is chaos.} (Emile_

"They're fellow soldiers fighting a common foe, and they're pretty funny guys." Arnold laughed. "They sure as hell know how to make vodka, that's for sure!"

"Comradery is one thing, but I don't need their revolutionary ideas spreading around. Not in the middle of a warzone" Emile continued. "We both know what's going on in Russia right now, and that Volunteer force has set up its own Soviet. Even if the government in Petrograd doesn't share its ideals, that's still not a good sign." The Russian Provisional Government was similar to other European nations and how they engaged in a more democratic way of governance, but there was a fear that something more radical might take hold in the chaos.

"They're just guys taking charge of their own destiny." Arnold replied. "And they voted yesterday to join us in our attack, so don't be too hard on them." He understood Emile's worry, but thought it was unfounded.

"Listen, I don't care what your politics or personal beliefs are, but keep that stuff to yourself. This is the military, not a debate club, and we can't afford to be at each other's throats while the Germans are less than seventy miles from Paris!" Emile locked eyes with his friend, who knew full well that Emile wouldn't tolerate such things among his men.

After a tense moment, Arnold shook his head. "You don't need to worry about that, Emile." Arnold sighed. "It's just that we're tired of all this." He took a seat across from him. "Tell me you aren't sick of seeing so many of our men die?"

"It's not like I enjoy being here either." Emile sighed. "But what choice do we have? If we all up and went home, who knows what the Germans would do? The last time they came, they took Alsace and Lorraine and knowing them, they'll want more."

"My Grandfather told me about that war." Arnold laughed. "He always hated the Germans for kicking his family out of their home." His family was originally from a small town close to the former German border, and left following the 1870 Franco-Prussian war.

"I take it that you understand what I mean?" Emile said. "Our home is being attacked, so we don't have the liberty of just giving up. This war might be hell, but..."

"I know, I know." Arnold said, his eyes filled with sadness. "Trust me, none of us want to pack up and run back home knowing the Germans are still on French soil. We just don't want to die in suicidal attacks anymore, is that too much to ask?" He knew that no matter what, he'd stay and fight to keep the Germans from going any further, it was just going on the offensive that was the problem.

"No, it's not." Emile shook his head. "And I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure you lot get back from this, I swear on Cher." He pat the gun next to him. He'd brought Cher everywhere since the gun was issued to him, and it had become something akin to his companion after everything they'd been through.

"You still have the old girl?" Arnold laughed as he looked at the rifle. "They've been upgrading us to a five-shot mag version, why don't you swap?"

"Cher's too important to me to just replace like that." Emile gave an embarrassed smile. "Besides, a smaller mag just means I need to make each shot count." He prided himself on his marksmen skills, and figured more ammo would just make him lazier. 

"You really are a funny guy, Emile." Arnold stood up. "But I'm glad you're here, Lieutenant." He saluted Emile before heading into the barracks.

{He's a good man. I just hope he makes it through this war. Lord knows we're going to need as many people like him as possible to rebuild when it's all over. Though, that implies there's going to be anything left after this war...} (Emile)

_____________________________________________________________________________

The next morning.

"Alright men, we're ten minutes out from the signal." Emile stood with his men in a trench bunker at the front of the French lines just West of the Aisne river. Outside you could hear the roar of artillery, and the sound of planes flying overhead as they observed German lines. "Remember our goal. We're to cross the Aisne and head up the hill to the other end. German positions have been getting pounded nonstop for the last week, so they should be softened up nicely. It's a lot of open ground between the right bank of the Aisne and the German positions, so keep sharp and watch for enemy machine gun fire." He hoped it would be an easy mission, with how much firepower was being brought to bear.

"This is fucking suicide, man." One of the men mumbled. "I know this place, I'm from a village not far from here. The Germans are just gonna slaughter us once we cross the river!"

Emile walked over to the man. "Calm the hell down. If you're from here that gives us an advantage over the Germans. You know the area leading up to the village. If we use that, we can better prepare and help prevent casualties." He would've liked to know this before right now, but that was one of the downsides to such a rushed deployment.

"That whole place is an open field once you cross the river. There's nothing after you climb up the hill, and the German positions further back are on a reverse slope. If you stand up there, you'll be spotted immediately since' your back will be against the sun." The man explained a bit about the local topography.

{I heard nothing about this in the briefing. Does command not know?!?} (Emile)

"Then we just need to be careful. Don't crest the ridge until we're all ready to go. There's a chance that we'll have to deal with a bit of returning fire, but just keep calm and we'll get through this." Emile tried to reassure the men. "We're not charging to our deaths, and everything will be fine if we keep calm and use our heads." He didn't know how realistic that would be, but figured it would give them a bit of comfort.

"Sir!" (Soldiers)

The minutes dragged on as Emile and the men waited in along the trench walls, ready for the signal until...

*TWEET*

A whistle was blown at exactly 0600 hours, and the men climbed over the top and out of the trenches.

"Let's go!" Emile rallied his men as they charged forward. The area between the French lines and the Aisne river was relatively flat with no German positions. Their lines were a bit further back, behind the river itself and were placed to make any attack a living hell for anyone who tried to cross. Emile and the men moved quickly to the river, which was at the bottom of a small ravine.

"Let's move!" Emile yelled as he descended into the ravine, sliding down the steep embankment. The river itself wasn't very hard to cross, but the constant German shelling made things hard. Explosions rang out all around the men, and they could see shells impacting other attacking waves to their left and right. Men were reduced to little more than red clouds of mist, and body parts went flying as the German batteries opened fire.

"W-Were gonna die!" One of the men screamed as shells started exploding overhead.

"If you keep that up, we will!" Arnold yelled at him. "Just get the planks down so we can cross!" He and the other men started laying planks in and across the river to make a makeshift bridge, since that would be better than trying to wade across.

{Now comes the hard part.} Emile bit his lip, knowing that they'd have to assault the German's first lines next, and he was aware that it was a fortified trench network.

As Emile and his men reached the top of the hill, bullets began flying past their heads, and one man was struck straight between the eyes.

"Fuck!" Emile yelled. "We need to get through that barbed wire! Those German positions have been shelled, and most seem broken and out of order. Just keep your heads down and we'll work our way to the trenches!" As he said this a massive barrage of artillery fire hit the German positions causing the guns to temporarily go silent.

"NOW!" Emile screamed as he and the other men moved into the field and began crawling under the barbed wire and cutting it with wire cutters.

{Fuck this hurts.} Emile winced as he got cut on a small bit of wire. "Keep going!" Bullets whizzed overhead, shells exploded midair, and the screams of injured men echoed over the battlefield. The field was a muddy mess and it made it hard to move at any reasonable speed as they crawled through or around the wire. Men were sucked into the muck, and some lost boots and other gear to the brown slush.

{Come on, Cher. We can do this. Just don't quit on me!} (Emile)

After an arduous and slow advance toward the German lines, Emile and his men made it to the outskirts of their trench lines. Emile barked out orders as they dove into the trenches and began opening fire upon those inside. The first goal would be clearing these positions out before advancing to one of the small towns beyond this point, and these trenches needed to be taken before further advancement was possible.

"AAAAAAA!" A German soldier charged at Emile, bayonet at the ready, only to be dropped by a shot to the head from another one of the men.

"Keep moving! We need to clear these out before the tanks arrive!" Emile yelled as he chucked a grenade into a bunker on the surface.

As they made there way through the labyrinthian trench systems, they only came across a small number of German soldiers all broken into groups of three or four. This made Emile nervous as he'd never seen a trench this empty, even after heavy shelling.

{Why does it feel like there aren't that many Germans in a trench this big? Did we really kill that many with bombardment, or are they just hiding?} (Emile)

"Where the hell is the rest of our support?!?" Arnold ran over to him screaming, his face coated in mud. There should have been more men in the trenches than just his platoon, but so far no one else had shown up. They saw other groups approaching this trench, but Emile only saw a few men from other platoons running around.

"I don't know! They're probably being held up by the machine guns, so we need to clear this trench network so they can advance and back us up." Emile said over the explosions. He figured that many had hunkered down in the Aisne River itself rather than charge this position, and those that did were either pinned down or dead.

"I hope so, man." Arnold nodded the two began moving up and down the network. Some of the men had died, either from explosions or gunshots, and Emile was starting to get increasingly nervous as the body count grew higher and higher. Germans within the trench picked off a few of them here and there, and Emile and Arnold barely avoided being killed by a grenade.

{I've already counted ten of my men dead. This isn't going according to plan, and we're getting slaughtered out here.} Emile loaded a new clip in Cher and began taking out German troops as they poured out of one of the trench bunkers. In a matter of moments nearly a dozen German soldiers appeared on the other end of the trenchway, and all hell broke loose.

A massive gunfight erupted down the trench as men on both sides started dropping like flies, and grenades were hocked back and forth. Emile took a shot in the left arm but kept firing, knowing that if they let up for even a moment the Germans would overrun their position. As the two sides exchanged fire, screams and loud noises could be heard from some of the other trench corridors. Emile didn't know what was going on, but he saw black smoke billowing from his left and floating high into the sky.

{Is that...} Emile's heart sank as he realized what was going on as he could smell burning diesel.

"This was a trap!" Emile pulled Arnold back as a bullet zipped through where he'd been a moment prior and stuck another man in the heart, killing him. "The Germans knew we were coming, that's why this line was so lightly defended. They wanted us in here so they could send in flamers!" He pointed to the smoke coming from their left and the screams of men in the distance. His arm was hurting quite severely and the while the bullet passed through, it was bleeding profusely.

"Fuck!" Arnold yelled as he continued firing around the corner. He'd seen flame detachments enough time to know what was going on. "What do we do now? We sure as hell can't fight flame teams in a trench!" He'd seen others try, and it tended to only go one way.

"We'll fight our way out. We need to find a spot to exit the trenches that doesn't give them the perfect vantage point to pick us off as we run." Emile said as he pulled two of his men off to the side. "We need to get out of here. Tell the rest of the men to start pulling back. We're going to do a fighting retreat, and by god, STAY AWAY FROM THE FLAMETHROWER TEAMS! If you spot them run, don't try to take them out unless you've got the perfect shot." He knew that in this kind of enclosed space a flamethrower could go a long way down the trench, and could roast dozens of men alive in moments.

The two men, who were clearly terrified, nodded and took off.

"What about us?" Arnold asked as a German charged down the trench and had his head partially blown off by a shot from Emile.

"Move back! This spot isn't gonna hold for long. The Germans have way too many men, and one well-placed grenade is going to kill us all!" Emile helped his men slowly retreat down the length of the trench. All the while, wary of the black smoke that getting closer and the smell of burning flesh started wafting through the air.

"If those teams get on us, we're fucked Emile!" Arnold said. As he cleared a jam in his weapon and dropped another German soldier.

"I know!" Emile said as he shot another man. "Jesus fucking Christ, where are those tanks?!? Where is our support?!? Where is anything?!?" They'd been fighting in the trenches for a while, and something should have been here by now. 

"At this point, I wouldn't be shocked if the Germans got them all. Either that or command decided this whole thing was fucked and told them to say back." Arnold laughed as he dropped another two men. "We're starting to run out of room!" He looked behind them and noticed the trench was going to end soon, and the Germans were getting closer.

"We're gonna fucking die in this hell!" One of the other soldiers started to freak out as the man next to him got hit with two rounds in the chest.

"No we're not, just keep it together!" Emile slapped him. "Just keep moving back and we'll be fine. Once we reach the end, we'll make a run for it over the open ground. Until then just keep firing and kill as many Germans as you can!" As Emile said this, another one of his soldiers appeared further down the trench way and killed two German soldiers by flanking them from the side

{We might get a break!} Emile was hoping that meeting up with the rest of his men would make things easier, but a moment later a massive plume of flame erupted from behind the young boy and engulfed him in flame as he screamed. Once the soldier was well and truly roasted, a German soldier wearing a heavy gas mask and carrying a metal tank came out from around the corner, glaring at them.

"Oh fuck, Oh, fuck, Oh, Fuck!" Arnold shot the flamethrower operator and caused the tank to explode, showering the far end of the trench with flame and diesel. "We gotta get out of here now, Emile!" He pointed to another squad of Germans coming down out from a bunker followed by another flame operator. "What're your orders?!?"

"Get to the end of the trench. Once we're there, I'm firing a flare to signal the remaining men to back off. This is turning into a slaughter, and the Germans walked us right into a fucking trap!" Emile said as he pulled back the bolt and dropped another soldier. "MOVE!" The small team of six men began to retreat all the way to the end of the trench, and one by one climbed out. It was dangerous to try and cross open ground, but staying within the enemy trench network was basically suicide.

Bullets whizzed by, and a few men were even struck as they climbed out. "Come on!" Arnold helped Emile out of the trench as he fired off his flare, and a moment later the Germans began storming their position. The six of them ran full speed back in the other direction, back to the 'safety' of the Aisne river,. and all around them, men from Emile's platoon or other groups did the same. It seemed that Germans knew their plans and prepared accordingly. Flames erupted across the trench lines as men were burned to a crisp, and screams could be heard all around as men were cooked alive.

"Seriously, where the fuck are those tanks?!? We could really use them right now!" Arnold said as a bullet struck the man next to him in the leg, causing him to tumble into the mud.

"Hell if I know!" Emile ran as fast as he could while gripping his left arm. He was in pain, but the adrenaline was propelling him forward.

"Shit, are they following us?!?" One of the other men looked behind him and saw Germans chasing them while shooting. It seemed they were going to use this opportunity to counter attack now that the initial French push had been beaten back.

"GREAT, JUST FUCKING GREAT!" Arnold and the others reached the lip of the ravine by the river, and slide down. Countless numbers of men were sitting at the bottom, some alive and some dead. Though the living were likely wishing to join the dead.

"We gotta hold 'em here!" Emile tried rallying as many of the men as he could, most weren't from his unit but he didn't care about that right now. "Get your assess up here and start shooting! Unless you want the Germans to shove their bayonets up your ass!" His rally seemed to work as men moved to the lip of the ridge and started firing. The Germans returned a large volume of fire, and machine guns opened up on their position from their bunkers. Bullets began flying everywhere as the ground in front of them got kicked up with the sheer volume of fire, and Arnold narrowly avoided a bullet to the face on a few occasions.

"I guess that means our boys and the arty failed to take those out." Arnold cursed under his breath. "Fuck." He dropped another man with his rifle, but then it jammed before he could take out the second one. "Son of a-" He dropped down the ledge to try and fix it.

"Holy shit there's so many!" Another soldier commented. "Where the hell did they all come from?!?" After he asked that question, around blew his jaw off, and he slid into the river below, dead.

{Probably from the second line. Once they stalled our attack, they must have sent a signal for the reserves to join in. They probably want to push us back and attack our lines!} (Emile)

"We're starting to run low on ammo!" Arnold called out as he whacked his rifle to unjam it. "We can't hold this river, Emile. The boys are panicking, and we don't have the equipment here to repulse a counter offensive of this scale!" Even he was starting to get worried. Nothing had gone to plan, and everything had gone wrong.

{We're going to fucking die due to idiotic commanders!} (Arnold)

"Well, we can't go back to our lines either." Emile said as a round flew overhead. "That side's wide open. You go crawling up it, and your ass is target practice for the Germans!"

"So what the fuck do we do?!?" Arnold asked.

"We fucking hold, that's what we do, Arnold!" Emile said as he looked over the ridge and dropped another German. "We don't have a choice  BUT to hold! If they push past the river in this chaos they'll hit our lines, and as you can see, WE AREN'T IN OUR TRENCHES!"

{There are reserves being held back, but those are for breakthroughs, not to repulse a German attack. Depending on how sideways this goes, this could easily break out lines and REALLY fuck things up.} (Emile)

As the two men continued their desperate defense of their position, they heard the sound of a plane overhead.

"Are those spotters?" Arnold asked. He wasn't familiar with these planes, though he could tell they had British markings. Planes were basically just used to take photographs of enemy positions, spot for artillery or to take out opposing aircraft. He was hoping this meant command would know just how fucked things were, but that did nothing for them in this moment in time.

"No fucking clue!" Emile said as he bandaged his arm. "If they are, hopefully they radio back just how bad shit is! If we're lucky we get some backup and then fall  back to our lines."

As the sound got closer, they could make out three British planes flying in a loose formation. Though something seemed different about these aircraft compared to the others they'd seen prior. Rather than stay up higher, the three planes got closer and closer to their location before diving toward the ground at high speed.

"What the hell are those crazy fly boys doing now?" Emile asked as one of the planes opened fire with machine guns mounted on the front of it.

{It's attacking them?!?} Emile had never seen a plane do more than scout or fight other planes, so to see it engage enemy ground targets was something crazy.

The three planes opened up on the Germans in the field, tearing men apart with their high-caliber rounds. Once they got close enough, they could see the crew start throwing bombs on the machine gun positions below, which exploded, destroying them and creating a massive fireball.

"Holy shit!" Arnold cheered. "Those fucking crazy Brits just fucked them up!" The battlefield before them was littered with French and German bodies, and there was an ungodly amount of fire coming from the trenches. It seemed the planes' bombs hit either fuel storage or flamethrowers, and the amount of smoke was unbelievable.

"If the Brits had something like that, why the fuck haven't we seen it before?!?" Emile quppied.

"Who knows, but maybe those wacky ass Yanks will have something just as crazy." Arnold laughed. The Americans had only just entered the war a little over week prior, and most French were hoping for American boots on the ground soon.

"Well no matter what the hell that was, let's just hold this position. That attack seemed to really throw the Germans off." Emile pointed to the soldiers jumping back in their trenches. "We should be relieved soon. There's no way command would risk our lines being hit during the offensive."

"I hope your right." Arnold shook his head as he looked around at the bodies. "We've lost most of the platoon, Emile. Most of these men... They're all gone... Again... they all died..."

"I know, Arnold... I know." Emile's face went dark as he slid down the riverbank to properly address his wounds. "I'm sorry..."