THE TERRIBLE STORY OF THE FRENCH SOLDIERS FIGHTING IN THE BLOODIEST, WILDEST AND MOST BRUTAL OF ALL .....
"Trench fighting is the bloodiest, wildest, most brutal of all... Of all the war's exciting moments none is so powerful as the meeting of two storm troop leaders between narrow trench walls.
There's no mercy there, no going back, the blood speaks from a shrill cry of recognition that tears itself from one's breast like a nightmare.
Trenches look like a butcher's bench even though the dead have been removed. There is blood, brains and scraps of flesh everywhere and flies are gathering on them. Whole lines of soldiers are lying in front of the positions, our passages are filled with corpses lying over each other in layers.
And still, the heroic, grand impression given by this endless passage of death uplifts and strengthens us survivors. As strange as it may sound, here you become reacquainted with ideals, the total devotion to an ideal right up to the gruesome death in battle."
Lt. Ernst Junger, 73rd Infantry Regiment Albrecht von Preussen, Hannoverian 19th Division, Somme, France July 3, 1916.
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The following is the memoir of U.S. Marine Brannan during the Battle of the Blanc Mont Ridge on October 3,
1918, today 105 years ago:
"2 or 3 hours before daylight, the word was passed along to get ready for the attack. Just as it was breaking day, we came out of our trench and began the ascent in combat formation. The rows of men moved forward unhesitatingly but fell like ten pins before the deadly machine-gun fire.
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I was with a Lieutenant when we entered the forest (...) We were firing on the retreating enemy as we advanced, sometimes dropping to a knee for better aim. A bullet hit my bayonet (...), shattering the bayonet and leaving me only a stub.
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A Marine near me rushed at three Germans who were also near. I speeded up and rushed at them, too, with my rifle lowered to use my bayonet. They surrendered, and then I noticed them looking at my bayonet. I tried to read their minds. They must have thought that I had broken off my bayonet in a man. Later a man in my company saw me with my stub of a bayonet and said, "Old Brannen stuck his bayonet in one and broke it off."
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A machine-gun nest was now holding up the advance. Instead of trying a direct assault, we decided to flank it. (...) When we were in close proximity to the nest, we were a little too exposed, and the fellow on my right fell, killed.
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As I jumped for protection into a ditch nearby, a fusillade of bullets caught me below the heart on the left side, (...)The best I remember, ten bullets in my own belt exploded, but they had deflected the enemy bullets, saving my life.
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I collected myself together and, with the other companion in the ditch, looked for our machine gunner but saw the Americans were now in possession. (...) On going up there I found three dead Germans stretched out by two guns.
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Machine gunners were never taken prisoners by either side. The reason is obvious, for when a man sat behind a gun and mowed down a bunch of men, his life was automatically forfeited."
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