Quill Pen Scratchings

Chapter 7

The next two months passed with several more missions and several more injuries to men and planes.  Nothing as shocking to Edmund as the first had been, but he didn’t know if they were any less gruesome or if he just wasn’t as affected by them.  No deaths had occurred either, though Tino assured him that the deaths would come.  Thaw had returned to the unit a month after he had been shot.  He was in a sling and limped noticeably and couldn’t fly.  The bullet had lodged in his shoulder blade and had been removed, the one in his leg went all the way through.  He contented himself with wine and women in the mansion that the pilots shared.

In August, Knox was called away to Paris for two weeks and Tino and Edmund found themselves without much to do.  Tino volunteered to take a truck and pick up some supplies of engine parts and oil from a small village just a bit south and east of Verdun.  The front had stabilized for the time being north of the city, so they didn’t expect any excitement.  Edmund was itching to get out of the camp as well.  He had been there for about three months without a break.  Tino picked up the requisition paperwork from the camp offices and soon he and Edmund were climbing into the open cab of a truck which smelled of leather and oil.  Tino handed a French Lebel rifle to Edmund, ‘just in case.’

Edmund had not ventured off the grounds of the Behonne Airfield since he had been there.  And, since he had flown in, hadn’t seen the nearby town of Bar le Duc at all.  They drove out of the gates of the aerodrome and up a narrow road and into the small town itself, which consisted mainly of white plaster buildings.  They turned down what looked like the main street lined with shops and cafés with tables and chairs out on broad sidewalks.  A line of shade trees was planted in an island running down the middle of the street.  The cafés were filled with soldiers being waited on by local girls and older matrons.  “Enjoying last meals,” Tino muttered.

They continued through the town, and it soon gave way to small farms, the fields of which were filled with small white tents, as if they were a crop ready for harvesting. They drove over a small rise where Edmund could see the land around, and he was amazed to see roads converging from many directions to the west and south, all feeding into the broadest road Edmund had ever seen. Trucks and men were everywhere, kicking up great clouds of dust and noise.  The dirt road that Edmund and Tino were on came to a ‘T’ intersection, and Tino waited as a long line of trucks passed in front of them, and then up a small, macadamized ramp onto the big road.  The trucks were filled with soldiers.

“They are going to the front north of Verdun,” Tino explained.  He then eased their truck up to a gate that had closed after the last truck in front of them had entered the broad roadway.  Tino stopped as a guard approached.  They spoke in rapid fire French that Edmund didn’t understand, with Tino handing the man the requisition papers, and gesturing broadly with his right hand.  The guard considered the papers for a moment and then walked back and lifted the gate.  “Welcome to La Voie Sacrée,” Tino explained, “The Sacred Way.”

Tino stepped on the accelerator and pulled out onto the wide road behind the long convoy of trucks.  The macadam Road kept the dust down, but the going was slow.  Alongside the trucks, they passed men marching in columns.  Tino talked about the carnage that had taken place in and around the old fortress city of Verdun during April and May.  The Germans, he said, were just trying to bleed France dry, and men were being cut down by the thousands on both sides.  Edmund looked again at the men in the truck in front of them.  They were wearing slightly more exotic looking uniforms than the men marching along the road.  Tino said they were the Foreign Legion.  Good fighters, but the poor bastards didn’t know what was waiting for them in the trenches.  They were talking and seemed to be laughing.  One man, sitting in the back looked back at Edmund and their eyes locked for a very short moment.  The man had a thick moustache and dark, deep set eyes.  He nodded very slightly at Edmund, and then turned back toward his companions.

A comfortable silence set in between Tino and Edmund.  They had been working and living closely together over the last several weeks, and neither felt the pressure to talk when there was nothing to say.  Edmund looked out over the countryside to his right.  It was still green in the late season, and it looked very peaceful beyond the road.  The rolling farm fields were in need of harvesting.  Edmund assumed that the farmer and his family had fled, or maybe the farmer was squatting in a trench somewhere and his family was anxiously waiting for a letter from him.  Edmund felt a twinge of guilt when he realized that he had not written to his parents yet.  But then again, they had not written to him either.

After several hours and a short nap by Edmund, Tino opened a knapsack that he had brought and took out some cheese wrapped in paper and two short loaves of bread.  They ate as they drove, and washed their food down with water from two canteens.  Tino asked Edmund to hold the wheel straight as he lit a cigarette.  He bent down to shield the match from the wind while Edmund steered the truck.

“We are going to take a slight detour, okay?”  Tino looked at Edmund and smiled.

Edmund looked back, not sure of the significance.  “Sure.”  At the next intersection, they turned left off the Sacred Way and headed out onto a stretch of dirt road that went under a veil of trees. 

They drove on without speaking for about forty minutes.  The empty bed of the truck rattled and echoed as they bounced over the rutted road.  “I know a woman out here.  She makes the best meat pies you have ever tasted.”

“Meat pies?”

“Yes!  Taste like they were baked by the Virgin herself.”  Tino looked at Edmund and smiled.  Edmund had grown tired of the food at Behonne also, but this seemed ridiculous to him. Tino drove on, humming a little tune to himself.

“Really?” Edmund looked at Tino.

Tino stopped humming and looked back at Edmund in mock exasperation.  “Why?  You don’t like meat pies?”  He paused.

“Well, sure, but…” Edmund started.

“Plus she, um, collects things that the boys at camp might like.” 

Edmund just looked at Tino, not understanding.

“You know, things that they like and can’t necessarily get otherwise.”

“Oh.” Edmund said, still not understanding.

“And they will pay for them.”

“Ah!” Edmund said, leaning back in his seat.

“Oh, now he understands.  I practically have to write it out for you.”  The two drove on in silence for a few moments.  

“Meat pies.” Edmund said grinning and shaking his head.

“Plus, she is quite a beautiful woman, you know.  Not as young as she once was, but, you know how it is.  Husband likely dead at the front…”  Tino looked over at Edmund and shrugged.  They had come to a sharp bend in the road, and Tino slowed down to make the turn.

Edmund was looking out of the windshield, when a small hole appeared in it, and the corner of the glass broke away.  A loud pinging noise came from beside him as the bullet went through the leather seat and hit the back of the truck’s cab between them.  Another shot hit the seat nearer to Tino’s shoulder, and then a third shattered the windshield in front of Edmund.  Edmund looked over at Tino, his eyes wide open.  Tino was looking straight ahead.  “Boche bastard.  I saw where that last shot came from.  Up there, behind that tree.”  He gunned the engine, turned the wheel hard and the back of the truck spun around, and the truck bounced into a drainage ditch along the side of the road.  Edmund hit the door of the truck hard with his shoulder and slipped part way off the seat.  Tino grabbed the Lebel rifle and jumped out of the truck.  There was a loud crack as another shot hit the cab of the truck, followed by a loud bang as Tino shot back.  “He’s running!” Tino shouted.  Edmund, trying to keep his head down, scrambled across the seat and climbed out of the driver’s side door.  “He went into the woods!”  Tino shouted from the other side of the truck. 

Edmund ran around behind the truck and saw Tino jumping over the ditch and up a small embankment.  He disappeared into the tree line of some dense woods.  Edmund sprinted after him.  Tino had stopped briefly and pointed to a spot behind a large tree where several cigarette butts lay, and the ground looked as if it had been trampled down.  When Edmund drew near, Tino said, “He was here just waiting for some poor sap to come along.”  They heard a crashing noise further off and Tino took off at a run.  Edmund stood for a moment and then followed.  He wished they would go back to the truck, but he also didn’t want to stand around in these woods by himself.  He could see Tino running ahead of him and he had some trouble keeping up, running and jumping over fallen trees.  The forest was very dense, and he couldn’t see anything ahead of Tino.  Soon, he was running just behind him.  “Bastard didn’t expect to be hunted, eh?” Tino shouted.  “Should take better aim next time!” 

The trees began to get much closer together as they ran on. Edmund could hear the man crashing through the leaves and underbrush ahead of them.  A branch tore the skin across Edmund’s right cheek and back to his ear.  Tino sped up, and Edmund struggled to stay with him.  It was dark as the trees crowded out the sunlight overhead.  Then quickly, Edmund was blinded by the sun as they broke out of the trees into a clearing, Tino just in front of Edmund.  Out in the middle of the clearing the man stood facing them in a gray uniform and a face smeared with soot, pointing his rifle directly at them.  Edmund saw a flash and a puff of smoke and Tino spun around and fell to one knee, letting out a loud grunt that was muffled by the crack of the rifle.  The Lebel was in his right hand, and it spun around towards Edmund.  Things seemed to be moving in slow motion.  Edmund grabbed the rifle as Tino fell to the ground and raised it to his shoulder.  He could see the other man pushing the bolt of his rifle back into place, loading another round.  Edmund found the man in the sight of the gun and squeezed the trigger.  The man was jolted back and fell to one knee.  Again he raised his rifle.  Edmund pulled the bolt of the Lebel back and loaded another round.  Edmund saw another flash of fire from the man’s gun, and then squeezed the trigger again, and in a spray of blood the man fell backward and did not move.  Edmund reloaded the rifle and walked quickly up, still aiming at the body on the ground.  Blood poured from his chest, and his eyes were open and fixed in place. 

Edmund lowered the rifle and stared into the man’s eyes.  His left hand began to shake and in a moment his whole arm did also.  He grabbed his arm with his right hand and held it close against his body.  Then Edmund’s legs began to shake, and he dropped to his knees.

“You going to pray over him, or are you going to help me up?”  Tino!  Edmund picked up the rifle and stood up, his legs still quaking a bit, and then ran unsteadily back to where Tino was lying, propped up on his elbows. Edmund knelt down beside him.  Blood had soaked his right side.  “That Boche son-of-a-bitch missed me three times in the truck and then had me in his sights at point blank range, and still only managed to get me in the hip.  Dumb shit.  If all the Germans shoot this way we should win the war in no time,” he laughed, but then drew in a quick breath and lay flat on the ground.  “If he had hit me another six inches over, I would be begging you to shoot me right now.”  Tino smiled and let out a loud, uncontrolled laugh that ended abruptly in a grunt.

“Let me take a look at this.”  Edmund pulled aside Tino’s overcoat and could see the blood soaked pants underneath.  He carefully lifted the fabric away from his skin and found the hole in the fabric by the bullet.  He put a finger from each hand inside the hole and tore it open wider.  Tino stifled a cry.

“Careful!  These are my best pants!”

“Not anymore.”  Edmund moved the fabric of the pants away until he could see the wound.  “Do you have a handkerchief?”

“Yes,” Tino nodded his head to his left, “back pocket.”  Edmund reached over Tino and behind him and into his back pocket.  Tino grunted and winced, and Edmund had shifted his weight slightly.  “Easy, you son-of-a-bitch!”

“Sorry,” Edmund said as he eased the handkerchief out of Tino’s pocket. “I need to see what is going on.  This is going to hurt, but I will try and be gentle.”

“What are you, a doctor?”  Tino said, raising his head up to see what Edmund was doing.

“No, I’m just trying to figure out if it is worth hauling your fat ass out of here, or if I should even bother.  Now shut up and lie down.”  Tino lay back again.  Edmund gently tried to wipe away the blood to see the wound.  He found it. It looked like a small red hole, and it wasn’t bleeding very much.  That struck Edmund as odd, but he didn’t know if it was a good thing or not.  At least he wasn’t going to bleed to death, but Edmund wasn’t sure what would happen when he stood Tino up.  He reached in the breast pocket of Tino’s coat and found the pewter flask.  He uncapped it and handed it to Tino.  “Drink this.  You are going to need it.”

“Pour some of it on the wound first.”

“That is going to hurt.”

“It already hurts, you bastard!”  Tino lay his head back and handed the flask to Edmund.  Edmund held the flask very close to the wound and poured a small amount on it.  Tino cried out in anger and pain.  “Now give it to me!”  He took the flask and drank deeply from it.  He coughed and sputtered, which caused him to groan again. 

Edmund folded the handkerchief into a small square.  “You are going to have to hold this handkerchief against the wound while I try to get us out of here.”  Edmund looked around the clearing and tried to remember which way they had come.  He looked at the dead German again, and then mentally drew a line from him, through where Tino and he sat directly into the woods.  Good a way as any, he thought. 

Edmund stood and walked around to Tino’s uninjured side.  “Hold that tight just in case it starts bleeding again.”  Tino nodded and held the cloth tightly against his hip.  Edmund, holding the rifle in his left hand, helped Tino sit up, and then, kneeling down, put his right shoulder under Tino’s left and tried to lift him up.  He was too heavy and Edmund couldn’t get any leverage. 

“Stop! Stop you shit!” Tino said breathlessly.  Edmund stood again.  Tino lay propped up on his elbow.  “Give me the rifle.”  Edmund handed it to him, and he used it as a crutch to prop himself up on the knee of his uninjured leg.  His right leg stuck out at an angle as Tino tried to keep from bending it.  “Now, help me get the rest of the way.”  Edmund stood behind Tino and pulled him up by both armpits.  “Good, good.”  Tino’s face was very pale.  “Now, get under my arm.”  Edmund took the rifle from Tino, and put his shoulder under Tino’s arm. 

“Is it bleeding more?”

“It is fine, I think.  Just go.”  Tino’s voice trailed off a bit.  The two slowly limped their way to the edge of the clearing and into the woods.  Edmund tried to follow a path of disturbed leaves and broken branches.  Several times he lost the trail but continued in what he thought was a straight line.  Tino was getting heavier as he leaned on Edmund more and more.  Edmund was using the rifle as a cane, but it was also getting heavier.  He thought it would be easier just to drop it, but he was afraid to.  “Where the hell are you going?”

“To the truck.”

“It’s that way,” Tino nodded his head.  His voice was very weak.  Edmund really wasn’t sure which way it was, but he turned slightly and followed the path Tino indicated.  After what seemed like an eternity, Edmund could see the trees clearing ahead and could see the road.  They pressed on and finally came out of the woods and onto the road but not where they had entered.  Edmund could see the truck a hundred yards away. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.  Let’s just get there.”  Edmund was dragging Tino now.  When they reached the truck, Edmund didn’t think he could make it another step.  He half-sat Tino on the back bumper and then jumped up into the empty back and pulled him by the armpits onto the truck bed.  Tino’s right leg was now soaked in blood down to his boot. He reached through the window and grabbed his overcoat and rolled it up into a ball and put it under Tino’s head.  He looked at the wound again, it was bleeding some, but not a whole lot. 

“Keep pressure on it,” Edmund said, and Tino nodded weakly at him, his eyes closed.  Edmund climbed out of the back and into the cab, putting the rifle on the seat beside him.  He handed Tino one of the canteens of water.  “Drink this.”  He turned and started up the engine.  The truck lurched up out of the ditch, almost tipping over.  After several tight turns, Edmund headed the truck back in the direction from which they had come.  Edmund drove quickly, but as gently as he could, trying to avoid the worst of the ruts and holes.  He turned around and tried to see Tino through the window in the cab.  “You doing okay?”

“Yes, yes.  Fine,” Tino murmured. 

When he got to the checkpoint before entering the Sacred Way, Edmund pulled over to the side of the road and ran to a small guardhouse.  A French soldier was stepping out of the house.  “I have an injured man here!  I need an ambulance!”

The man looked at Edmund for a moment.

“Ambulancier!  My friend has been shot!”  Edmund grabbed the man’s arm and tried to pull him to the back of the truck, but he shrugged Edmund’s hand off and took his rifle off his shoulder.  “Une balle!  Une balle!” Edmund shouted, trying to remember the word for bullet.  “Blesser!”  He ran to the back of the truck and waved the man over.  The soldier, holding his rifle out in front of him warily walked over to the back of the truck.  When he saw Tino lying there, he nodded at Edmund and ran back to the guardhouse.  Edmund knelt down and propped Tino’s head up a bit and gave him some water.  He swallowed it and they lay back again.  His breathing sounded shallow to Edmund. 

The soldier reappeared at the back of the truck and said, “L’ambulance vient.”  He looked at Tino for a moment and then disappeared.  Edmund tried to look at the wound again, but the handkerchief was stuck to it by clotted blood.  He was afraid to try and remove it for fear of re-starting the bleeding. 

After what seemed to be a very long time, Edmund heard the ambulance pull off the Sacred Way and up beside his truck.  Edmund heard the medics talking to the soldier.  Soon they appeared at the back of the truck and climbed in carrying a litter.  They gently moved Edmund aside and began examining Tino’s wound.  Edmund needed some air and light, so he climbed out of the truck and sat on the bumper.  In a few minutes, he could hear Tino groaning and the medics emerged, gingerly carrying Tino off of the back of the truck in the litter.  As his face drew even with Edmund’s, Tino reached out and grabbed the lapel of his coat.  “Remember,” Tino said, touching his forehead with his other, blood caked hand, “we were hungry and looking for meat pies.”  He winked at Edmund. 

“Meat pies. Got it.”  Edmund said. 

Edmund watched as Tino was loaded into the back of the ambulance and then was driven away on the Sacred Way.  Edmund sat down on a crate, his head in his hands.   The soldier looked at Edmund for a moment and then went back into the guardhouse, leaving the gate to the road open.  Edmund climbed back into the cab of the truck and took a long drink of water and then started the truck.  He pulled out onto the Sacred Way and looked in both directions.  There was a steady stream of trucks and men traveling north towards Verdun and the fighting, and almost nothing going south, the way he needed to go to get back to Behonne.  He slowly pulled into the road and headed back to Bar le Duc.