all's quiet on the, er, western trench
Nov. 5th, 2012 02:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smackenzieThey stay in Amiens for a couple of days, training and drilling and making friends. Davies meets the new company commander – or rather, the new company commander meets him – the man's name is Bradford and he seems friendly enough, for an officer. Davies can tell that he's never been in charge of this many men before, but he also seems perfectly willing to give orders and act as if he knows what he's doing.
There are other divisions and brigades headquartered at Amiens, so in their downtime the men of the 18 Div try to meet some of the men of other divisions. Davies felt a certain amount of camaraderie on the steamer over from England, which only grew as he marched towards the front, and he's pleased – but not surprised – to note that the feeling persists even among men from wildly different areas. They even try to get a football game together, splitting into teams according to battalions.
And then the order comes to relieve another division in the line, so they'll be much closer to the front and the Germans.
Several companies stay behind at headquarters as reserves, and the rest march out to relieve the other division under cover of darkness. Davies is surprised at exactly how dark that is at first. He has lived in London almost his whole life, and he is not used to walking around in the near black. The only lights come from the stars and moon and occasional flare from either their side or the Germans.
His eyes adjust fairly quickly, but not so for other men. The private walking behind him stumbles and falls into him, and in reaction Davies almost falls into Powell. They are all carrying enough equipment that he imagines the whole marching line of them might fall down like dominoes, pulled over by the weight of all their stuff.
"Sorry, mate," mumbles the guy who stumbled into him, trying to steady himself again.
"No problem," Davies mumbles back. They've been told to be as quiet as they can manage – the German line is far enough away that their voices couldn't possibly carry, but as the NCO who gave them the order said, better safe than dead.
The entrenched division is mightily glad to see them, and all the men manage to change places in the middle of the night without too much trouble. Davies' brigade, the 54th, spreads itself along the front-line trench, NCOs and platoon commanders and company commanders moving up and down the line to make sure everyone's bayonets are fixed and that their helmets are on. They post sentries – Powell draws a short straw but Davies is spared – and wait.
The bottom of the trench is covered with boards for the men to walk on, but the recent rain and constant tramp of feet has kept them wet and slippery in places. Davies can just see the occasional dugout along the back wall of the trench, and a kind of bench has been built up along the front wall, apparently for sentries to stand or kneel on while they peek over the lip of the parapet and keep watch. He settles himself on the bench next to Powell, leans back against the sandbags holding the dirt back, and takes a nap.
He's woken by Powell practically kicking him and hissing "Stand to", and gets to his feet just in time to see Captain Bradford and one of the platoon commanders coming down the line, checking up on them. Davies climbs up onto the step with the rest of his company, ready in case the Germans try an attack. He wonders if he should be nervous or scared, considering that a horde of Germans could come rushing at them any minute. He hasn't talked to anyone who sounded afraid, not even among the other divisions in Amiens.
It's a little exhilarating, in fact, to stand in a trench at last and feel like you're actually part of the war.
Nothing happens, though, and at sunrise they stand down, eat breakfast (the hardest biscuits Davies has ever had in his life, plus jam, nearly-cold porridge, and tea that tastes almost but not quite like he thinks it should), and then Captain Bradford and his second in command pass through the trench again, handing out work and sentry assignments.
words: 728
total words: 5857
note: nanowrimo is totally fucking with my sleep schedule. and i want a grilled tomato.
There are other divisions and brigades headquartered at Amiens, so in their downtime the men of the 18 Div try to meet some of the men of other divisions. Davies felt a certain amount of camaraderie on the steamer over from England, which only grew as he marched towards the front, and he's pleased – but not surprised – to note that the feeling persists even among men from wildly different areas. They even try to get a football game together, splitting into teams according to battalions.
And then the order comes to relieve another division in the line, so they'll be much closer to the front and the Germans.
Several companies stay behind at headquarters as reserves, and the rest march out to relieve the other division under cover of darkness. Davies is surprised at exactly how dark that is at first. He has lived in London almost his whole life, and he is not used to walking around in the near black. The only lights come from the stars and moon and occasional flare from either their side or the Germans.
His eyes adjust fairly quickly, but not so for other men. The private walking behind him stumbles and falls into him, and in reaction Davies almost falls into Powell. They are all carrying enough equipment that he imagines the whole marching line of them might fall down like dominoes, pulled over by the weight of all their stuff.
"Sorry, mate," mumbles the guy who stumbled into him, trying to steady himself again.
"No problem," Davies mumbles back. They've been told to be as quiet as they can manage – the German line is far enough away that their voices couldn't possibly carry, but as the NCO who gave them the order said, better safe than dead.
The entrenched division is mightily glad to see them, and all the men manage to change places in the middle of the night without too much trouble. Davies' brigade, the 54th, spreads itself along the front-line trench, NCOs and platoon commanders and company commanders moving up and down the line to make sure everyone's bayonets are fixed and that their helmets are on. They post sentries – Powell draws a short straw but Davies is spared – and wait.
The bottom of the trench is covered with boards for the men to walk on, but the recent rain and constant tramp of feet has kept them wet and slippery in places. Davies can just see the occasional dugout along the back wall of the trench, and a kind of bench has been built up along the front wall, apparently for sentries to stand or kneel on while they peek over the lip of the parapet and keep watch. He settles himself on the bench next to Powell, leans back against the sandbags holding the dirt back, and takes a nap.
He's woken by Powell practically kicking him and hissing "Stand to", and gets to his feet just in time to see Captain Bradford and one of the platoon commanders coming down the line, checking up on them. Davies climbs up onto the step with the rest of his company, ready in case the Germans try an attack. He wonders if he should be nervous or scared, considering that a horde of Germans could come rushing at them any minute. He hasn't talked to anyone who sounded afraid, not even among the other divisions in Amiens.
It's a little exhilarating, in fact, to stand in a trench at last and feel like you're actually part of the war.
Nothing happens, though, and at sunrise they stand down, eat breakfast (the hardest biscuits Davies has ever had in his life, plus jam, nearly-cold porridge, and tea that tastes almost but not quite like he thinks it should), and then Captain Bradford and his second in command pass through the trench again, handing out work and sentry assignments.
words: 728
total words: 5857
note: nanowrimo is totally fucking with my sleep schedule. and i want a grilled tomato.
