When the rain was less frequent in the winter, one could feel somewhat at peace.
On the front lines of the River Somme, the French Army achieved a level of detachment from worldly troubles.
Under the morning sky, a light rain was falling, with the smell of rotting corpses filling the air. Murky water pooled at their feet, and occasionally a whistling shell would fly overhead, resulting in a wave of mud and water upon impact.
However, the soldiers entertained themselves within the trenches.
Some were sleeping soundly in the dugouts, others were huddled under rain capes carving pieces of wood with their bayonets, and some were catching rainwater with their upturned helmets while carefully shaving in fragments of mirrors.
(The image above shows French soldiers carving a "Whippet" tank out of hardwood during World War I. Creating "trench art" from wood, shell casings, and other materials was their most common form of amusement, and they could also trade these "art pieces" for cigarettes with their comrades.)
Captain Jeremy and a few subordinates were huddled under a raincape, seizing the moment to play cards.
They called it "the last joy," as the cards would soon turn to mush from the moisture, and they wanted to play as many rounds as possible before that happened.
They were cautious, using two rain capes for overhead coverage and an anti-damp cloth on the table surface.
"At this rate, we might play all day," Captain Jeremy said optimistically.
No sooner had he spoken, clumsy Leo, the orderly, dropped two cards while shuffling, and they instantly became dirty and soaked from the muddy water.
This prompted complaints from the soldiers:
"You should learn to bleat like a sheep more often, Leo."
"You’re worse than the officers who drive us to the battlefield."
"Well, there goes another boring day!"
Picking up the cards, Leo’s expression changed as he looked toward the other end of the trench: "Look over there, the ’shepherds’ are coming."
The soldiers likened themselves to "sheep" and referred to the senior officers who commanded them to charge as "shepherds."
They turned their heads to follow Leo’s gaze and saw a few officers, trudging through the water under the protection of their guards. The one in the lead was small in stature, his appearance and rank obscured by a raincoat, with only his cap visible.
Captain Jeremy snorted, "Ignore them. If all the ’sheep’ disobey, the ’shepherds’ would have nothing to do."
The soldiers chuckled quietly, feeling a hint of smugness.
Leo carefully wiped the dirt off the cards and fanned them out: "Perhaps drying them out might still work."
They expected the officers to pass by but were surprised when they stopped beside them and asked, "What are you playing? Count me in!"
Everyone was stunned.
This was not what they had imagined. They thought the officers would shout orders for them to man their battle stations or grab rifles and attack.
"We’re playing barbu, sir!" Leo replied.
But he quickly received a glare from Captain Jeremy, indicating that they shouldn’t speak readily with the officers.
Leo shrank back, not daring to speak any further.
"Alright," the officer said, lifting his rain cape over his cap, "It seems I’m not welcome here."
Without thinking, Captain Jeremy retorted, "Indeed, sir..."
He paused mid-sentence, staring at the officer intently before finally realizing, "Shire? Is that you, Shire?"
Nearby soldiers halted their activities, turning to look in astonishment.
Shire nodded, surveying the surroundings: "Gentlemen, is everything alright?"
Had it been anyone else, the soldiers would have taken the question as sarcasm. There was nothing remotely good here. They might have even beaten the officer and sent him back or made him experience the trench life with them for a few days.
But because it was Shire asking, they felt it was natural, even comforting.
Most of those present had received some form of aid from Shire. His company consistently d supplies to the front lines and published tactical and survival knowledge in the Merit Newspaper.
To them, Shire represented hope—the hope to win the war and survive.
Someone responded with a choked voice:
"Thank goodness you’re here, General!" Thıs content belongs to novel※fire.net
"Are you here to lead us?"
"We’re all fine, General!"
But immediately, someone contradicted: "No, General, we are not fine. We need your help!"
Shire nodded and calmly replied, "I understand. That’s why I’m here."
Silence fell, the only sound being the "plink" of raindrops hitting the pools of water.
Jeremy was initially in shock. He couldn’t believe Shire was right in front of him. After a moment, he realized it was real and stood up to shake Shire’s hand.
"General," Jeremy said, "You can consider me their representative."
Shire looked slightly surprised: "You’re very brave."
Being a representative of a mutiny meant certain execution regardless of the negotiation outcome.
Jeremy chuckled softly: "No, General, it won’t make a difference."
Shire understood his meaning: they wouldn’t live long anyway, being executed was just another way to die.
Jeremy got to the point:
"I respect you deeply; we all do, General."
"But I’m sorry, we can’t just pick up our guns and head back to the battlefield because you said so."
"That’s not what we want."
Shire nodded: "Of course."
He then added: "Go ahead, name your terms."
It was time to settle accounts openly.
"First, we refuse to attack."
"But please don’t misunderstand, we are not cowards or deserters."
"We have no problem holding the line; we just don’t want to die meaninglessly under enemy fire."
Shire raised an eyebrow, not hesitating:
"That’s a bit difficult, Captain."
"Fighting inevitably involves attacking; we can’t just defend."
"But I can promise that we will minimize meaningless attacks!"
Jeremy was taken aback; he hadn’t expected Shire to reject the first request outright.
Looking around at the growing crowd of soldiers, including several representatives, Jeremy decided to consult with them. With a quick gesture, the group gathered at the other end of the trench:
"I believe Shire’s words are trustworthy, not just because he is Shire."
"Yes, other officers would first agree to everything to pacify us and then go back on their word later. He could have easily done that."
"But he didn’t. He partially accepted our terms and stated his bottom line: a war cannot be fought with just defense and no offense."
This was Shire’s decision before he came. He believed that only by being honest could he gain the soldiers’ trust.