The summer of 1918 was over. We were tired but happy when
our truck train moved out into the open road. We had
been in an active trench sector for two months; then, we
were hurried three hundred miles across France to be thrown into
the great Aisne-Marne offensive; after another fast move, we
were thrown in the Oise-Aisne offensive. No wonder the members
of our truct calvacade were happy when they finally left the
devastated area and glided down the shaded roads of France to
picturesque Fronville, far from the pounding guns and the droning
of the enemy's aircraft.
It was in the peaceful French village, on the evening of
September 19, 1918, that eleven American Soldiers were seated
around a large tab le. There was an element of expectancy
in the air. The soldiers seemed to be in battle formation even
at the table. Something had been planned. All waited. Suddenly,
it happened. Sizzling hot, straining forth powerful and strange
odors, in regular formation there appeared three roasted ducks.
With their favorite war-cry "Let's eat," the Americans
fell to. Then there appeared a tank of mashed potatoes, flanked
by duck gravy and backed by dumplings. The array looked formidable.
Soon all were in the affray. Camouflaged by lettuce, the duck
dressing advanced with string beans, biscuits, and a full complement
of raspberry jam. There was a gasp of surprise. It came from
between the gnashing teeth that sounded like an English bulldog
in the heat of battle.
The attack waged furiously for an hour. Our men heaved sighs
of distress; but with admirable tenacity they waited for the
next attack. They rested, puffed cigarettes and rubbed their
battle-scarred bodies. Silence prevailed.
Then, without warning, a battalion of tarts shot forth. The
warriors advanced once more with a look of desperation. They
attacked with a huge pot of coffee. The tarts were captured.
Behind them appeared, with slow and heavy movement, advanced
sectors of apple pie. Perhaps, this was meant to bring defeat
to eleven tenacious scrappers. The little band of eleven did
give way a bit. A few crept out for air, the better to renew
the attack. With great effort the apple pie was overcome.
In the last offensive, great platoons of devil's food cake
came jauntily forward. The movement was beautiful. There was
no camouflage. The delicate shock of its fine forces nearly
put us out of action. Our forces were pretty well scattered.
Although swollen and in agony from the last encounter, we made
the victory complete.
That night, when peace descended upon the eleven warriors,
they dreamed of home and mother.