The General’s Second Star
Soldiers of the Great War (The Ammo Humpers)
126-Men over the Trench
((WWI, 1917-1918) (Corporal Austin C. Abernathy Story))
The Ammo Humpers
The three sergeants stood side by side in the trench in the dim shade of the privates, the Ammo Humpers that rushed artillery rounds across the field to the nearby trenches, and for the larger shells they used donkeys and even dogs when possible, they were part of a forty-four man platoon, and there were a few corporals in with the platoon that did some of the humping and when needed, acted as infantry.
The First Sergeant was a tall ugly heavy man, a Briton. And then there was the other sergeant, he was the Staff Sergeant of the Ammo Humpers’ platoon. And then there was the Buck Sergeant, he was a Frenchman; his rank was equal to an American Buck Sergeant’s. It would seem the Staff Sergeant was the thinker, and the Buck Sergeant was the action man, the fighter, and the First Sergeant, was the overseer, quiet, but very observant. They seemed to have an unlimited supply of ammunition, to include rounds for their rifles, and shells for their artillery, nearby in stock.
Orders came down, Battalion level, with its four companies, of 126-men each, lacking four-men in the four companies—that is, twelve per platoon, for the five-hundred plus men, minus four to crash over the trenches, and take on the Germans, straight forward, under the barbwire, in the mud, and onto destiny— hopefully gaining some ground.
Those three years of waiting was two-years too many for a certain general who wanted another star, “…and this is how we are going to get it: take the trenches in front of you, or make a good show of it so my superiors take note,” the general told his personal staff. Implying to take the ones that were nine-hundred feet away (if possible), if not take the ones five-hundred feet away—take those trenches, the very ones everyone had been looking at for countless hours, days, weeks, months, and now years in little dugout square holes in the earth, as not to be too obvious to the enemy above and beyond. Today was the day—and out of the bunkers, the mud brick, and wooden framed bunkers, where mostly privates lived, they came out, and the three sergeants, ordered them to lock and load their rifles and fix bayonets.
Then the order came down, take a battery of the Ammo Humpers out of the fight, have them supply the artillery, and the three companies that will clear a blazing path for the 126-men, meaning one company will crash over the trenches, stay low so the other 378-men can shoot over their heads to keep the Germans busy, so the 126-men can storm the trenches one-thousand yards away, or perhaps the trenches nine-hundred feet away, one German trench was as close as five-hundred feet away (which was the most dangerous), all three trenches were manned by fifteen-hundred Germans. The General must have wanted that star pretty bad because it was a suicide mission, and every soldier involved knew that.
For over three years they couldn’t take those trenches, what made the general think today was the day, so all the privates and the few sergeants, and a half dozen corporals gossiped amongst themselves on this very matter, this issue.
Everything was quiet, very quiet, just before the attack, and the Germans could feel something was in the makings, up to this point in time, they had enjoyed a stalemate, and intended, or at least wanted to keep it that way, although a bit worried when the Americans came—and the French now feeling, the war could be won without a battle—but that was not so; plus in this situation, the game had shifted to break that long enduring stalemate (even if sacrificing a hundred and some troops to do it), and the offensive was to take place in a matter of hours, the Buck Sergeant was to lead the troops like a pack of wild-bees, storm troopers, and the Staff Sergeant was to keep the Ammo Humpers busy filling the rifles for the 378-shooters, shooting over the 126-heads that were attacking the three trenches with those 1500-Germans in them, and the First Sergeant, he was the overseer, as usual, and the General, he was safe behind, deep entrenched in his bunker was the one star general, as usual, as most Generals are—but this one was anxiously waiting an opportunity for his second star, watching for a break in the war to attack, perchance wondering, and perhaps dreaming of that second star ever day of the week of the month and now years.
Corporal Justin C. Abernathy was in the attacking group, Langdon’s grandfather (Langdon Abernathy, who had not been born yet), and now the roar of the guns had started, and they speeded toward their targets, which was the German trenches.
There was perhaps a thousand shells that burst into the atmosphere, aimed at the German trenches, five-thousand rounds of bullets, whizzed through the air, towards the German dugouts and furrows, and the Germans did likewise, thus, the atmosphere was on fire, suffocating smoke, no shame from either side, people digging-in, and dodging flying scraps of metal, bullets, it was a sleepless, and agitating, nerve-racking, night.
The Ammo Humpers were racing back and froth, from the ammo dump to the front line, the trenches, and over the top went the 126-men, like phantoms, ghosts, and Corporal Abernathy, he stopped after shooting several rounds, turned over on his back, Corporal Abernathy, watched and listened to the blazing bullets whiz by him, he was taking a rest, an odd kind of rest; lit a cigarette, figuring if it was to be his last so be it, but it felt good to have one. Then he looked about, if he stood up he’d be either shot by his comrades, or the Germans, he was in an open field, but he needed to turn about to go forward and shoot some more bullets at those trenches that Germans who were now jumping over the top edges like crazy cockroaches, and restless rats, like he and his comrades had did moments ago. He rolled over on his side, slightly turned upward, just an inch or two, no more, and a bullet hit the side of his temple, just grazed it, and his glasses flew off: he wasn’t blind, but he couldn’t aim correctly, he was shooting half-sightless now. And then retreat was sounded, and he wiggled his way back to his trenches, he and four others, all the rest, they all had been killed, all the rest—meaning, one-hundred and twenty-one others, as expedited, near all dead, every one but five out of 126-men, all slaughtered cut open by bullets and flying scraps of this and that, and bayonets.
The next day, the general that wanted that one more star ordered the corporal to come to his safe haven, behind a bunker, ten-feet on each side of pure adobe mud bricks, so nothing could penetrate it.
“Either you’re a hero or a coward,” said the General, “because you should be dead, by all rights, if 121-men are dead, out of 126, why are you and the other four not? Why are you alive?” asked the curious general, he saw that the right side of his head, close to his ear was slightly cut, “I see there’s a scrape-wound near your temple? Your justification for being alive?” the general told the corporal, “the other four never even got a scratch, so I hear, and so I have to assume, they were hiding.”
“I’ll go back there sir,” said the Corporal, “too bad you can’t keep me company though, then you’ll get your second star for sure!” he added with a smirk.
“It says in the report, you lost your glasses and was firing wildly and blindly, and you may have shot two or three of the enemy in the process, but you can’t be sure,” said the General, with a little better attitude, “but the way I see it is, you shot what you were looking at, and so we’ll just modify the report a bit, I hope you don’t mind.” And the Corporal simple nodded his head, moving his shoulder up to the right, and waved his hands upward as if to say, “Whatever!”
“I didn’t have time to count the dead, nor did I have time to hide behind a bunker, I shot and was shot at, that is all I remember, and then retreat was sounded so I crawled backward to the trenches…” said the Corporal. And he then was dismissed. And the general knew they had gained five-hundred feet, took a German bunker in the process, and for that he was assured he’d get his second star, plus, he made sure he had a hero in his command, and awarded the corporal the ‘Distinguished Service Medal for service in World War I.
The General’s Star
(WWI, 1917-18)
The General watched from his dugout, the battalion, was to charge over the top of the trenches, day two in his war with the Germans, after three years watching nothing happened, and wanting his second star, the general was desperate. He had put in Corporal Abernathy for the Distinguish Service Medal, and there was much talk about it, everyone now wanting a medal to bring home, and the General wanting the second star firmly in place, and everyone’s blood was like hot vinegar, hoping to impress the general, and so he ordered another attack, he was reinforced with a new company, a new 172-troops, soldiers, untested under fire, and these new troops knew, the General had lost 125- soldiers a day before, and these new troops they had just arrived, to be told there was a second suicide mission, and they heard about what happened to that 121-soldiers that never returned from the previous battle, and they didn’t like what they heard, and they were causing trouble with the other three companies, over 600-soldiers.
Corporal Abernathy being the only one of four that survived the slaughter yesterday, some soldiers had made it to the first trenches, the ones five-hundred feet away, and took them, but the Germans that were 900-feet away from them, took it back an hour later, supported by those other Germans, 1500-Germans 3000-feet away, but the General figured if one company could reach the 500-level, six-hundred might make it to the 3000-level, and that was his new star, his second star, and it would be given to him on a sliver platter—notwithstanding the loses.
Forenoon, the fields were quiet, empty, no firing of artillery or of any kind of ammo, the Germans just waiting as always eating their sour cabbage, and bratwursts, eating lunch, bored, and perhaps wanting the General to send some more troops their way so they could practice shooting them down like pigeons, as usual.
Corporal Abernathy figured it was hard to beat the Germans without air support, that is really what they needed, but he, the general didn’t want to wait, he wanted that star now—and he figured even today was not soon enough, he should have had it yesterday, before he was sent back to Paris to discus the rest of the war with Pershing and the other generals, he didn’t want to be standing in the last line of generals.
When they called the six-hundred to get ready for the advance, the offensive, they sat around where the officers were, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, just like the officers.
“What’s the problem?” asked the General to Major Sharp.
Major Sharp, who had been, somewhat tongue-tied, now was spitting out the words, “The troops heard what happened yesterday, the new ones and they see the officers safe in their dugouts, and they see the sergeants not too willing to go over the top with them, and they want everyone to go, if they’re going to die for a worthless cause, everyone should die with them, everyone….”
“So the soldiers are on strike, is that what you are saying, and if so, how can that be possible, that is called treason, and I’ll have them shot.” Said the General, but ordered the Major to remain where he was while he thought this out clearer, then remarked:
“Well, Major, the only thing left is for everyone to go over the top, and you too!” said the General.
“Perhaps we can get some air support,” asked the Major.
“Major,” said the General, “if you do not go over that top with your troops, you’ll be a Second Lieutenant tomorrow; where is the devotion in this war, you are like a vegetable tree, fate has me in for a second star and you are in my way Major,” and he pulled out his silver plated revolver, ivory handle, and aimed it at Major Sharp’s forehead, as he dropped his baton at the same time, and when he went to pick it up, the Major jumped on him, and in the struggle, the General was shot in the heart—dead.
In the investigation, they could not find the weapon the German insurgent used to kill the General with, the Major being the only one to escape the fatal disarray that took place in the General’s shelter, and the only eyewitness being the Major of course. The German, the report read was hiding in the General’s closet, and when the Major came in he had the General’s gun in his hands, and escaped right past the Major, knocking him down. The inquiry asked how this could be possible; it all sounded so far fetched, kind of fishy, like a cover-up. The Major said it was as possible as sending 126-soldiers out to commit suicide, and only four returning, and there was no questions asked about that, that wasn’t fishy or abnormal, to Headquarters, matter-of-fact, a Distinguish Service Metal was handed out to the one and only considered hero of the battle who never even knew if he killed one enemy, it was all assumed, this one hero survivor of the suicide mission, and after the fact, not a word from Headquarters was said, and no investigation for the 121-privates now dead as a doornail.”
Thus, the Major, received a Distinguish Service Metal—likewise, for his bravery, like Corporal Abernathy who was now called Buck Sergeant Abernathy, and the war went on for another year as normal.
Notes: Written 2005, revised in 2008, originally from the four chapter Manuscript “The Great War Years,” and this is Chapter one and two, named: ” The Generals 2nd Star” originally chapters called: “The Ammo Humpers” along with three other chapters to the story (Chapter two being: The General’s Star, 3) Wench is Dead, and 4) the Peculiar Case of Judson Small: chapter one and two being interconnected. Reedited July 4, 2010.
Soldiers of the Great War (The Ammo Humpers)
126-Men over the Trench
((WWI, 1917-1918) (Corporal Austin C. Abernathy Story))
The Ammo Humpers
The three sergeants stood side by side in the trench in the dim shade of the privates, the Ammo Humpers that rushed artillery rounds across the field to the nearby trenches, and for the larger shells they used donkeys and even dogs when possible, they were part of a forty-four man platoon, and there were a few corporals in with the platoon that did some of the humping and when needed, acted as infantry.
The First Sergeant was a tall ugly heavy man, a Briton. And then there was the other sergeant, he was the Staff Sergeant of the Ammo Humpers’ platoon. And then there was the Buck Sergeant, he was a Frenchman; his rank was equal to an American Buck Sergeant’s. It would seem the Staff Sergeant was the thinker, and the Buck Sergeant was the action man, the fighter, and the First Sergeant, was the overseer, quiet, but very observant. They seemed to have an unlimited supply of ammunition, to include rounds for their rifles, and shells for their artillery, nearby in stock.
Orders came down, Battalion level, with its four companies, of 126-men each, lacking four-men in the four companies—that is, twelve per platoon, for the five-hundred plus men, minus four to crash over the trenches, and take on the Germans, straight forward, under the barbwire, in the mud, and onto destiny— hopefully gaining some ground.
Those three years of waiting was two-years too many for a certain general who wanted another star, “…and this is how we are going to get it: take the trenches in front of you, or make a good show of it so my superiors take note,” the general told his personal staff. Implying to take the ones that were nine-hundred feet away (if possible), if not take the ones five-hundred feet away—take those trenches, the very ones everyone had been looking at for countless hours, days, weeks, months, and now years in little dugout square holes in the earth, as not to be too obvious to the enemy above and beyond. Today was the day—and out of the bunkers, the mud brick, and wooden framed bunkers, where mostly privates lived, they came out, and the three sergeants, ordered them to lock and load their rifles and fix bayonets.
Then the order came down, take a battery of the Ammo Humpers out of the fight, have them supply the artillery, and the three companies that will clear a blazing path for the 126-men, meaning one company will crash over the trenches, stay low so the other 378-men can shoot over their heads to keep the Germans busy, so the 126-men can storm the trenches one-thousand yards away, or perhaps the trenches nine-hundred feet away, one German trench was as close as five-hundred feet away (which was the most dangerous), all three trenches were manned by fifteen-hundred Germans. The General must have wanted that star pretty bad because it was a suicide mission, and every soldier involved knew that.
For over three years they couldn’t take those trenches, what made the general think today was the day, so all the privates and the few sergeants, and a half dozen corporals gossiped amongst themselves on this very matter, this issue.
Everything was quiet, very quiet, just before the attack, and the Germans could feel something was in the makings, up to this point in time, they had enjoyed a stalemate, and intended, or at least wanted to keep it that way, although a bit worried when the Americans came—and the French now feeling, the war could be won without a battle—but that was not so; plus in this situation, the game had shifted to break that long enduring stalemate (even if sacrificing a hundred and some troops to do it), and the offensive was to take place in a matter of hours, the Buck Sergeant was to lead the troops like a pack of wild-bees, storm troopers, and the Staff Sergeant was to keep the Ammo Humpers busy filling the rifles for the 378-shooters, shooting over the 126-heads that were attacking the three trenches with those 1500-Germans in them, and the First Sergeant, he was the overseer, as usual, and the General, he was safe behind, deep entrenched in his bunker was the one star general, as usual, as most Generals are—but this one was anxiously waiting an opportunity for his second star, watching for a break in the war to attack, perchance wondering, and perhaps dreaming of that second star ever day of the week of the month and now years.
Corporal Justin C. Abernathy was in the attacking group, Langdon’s grandfather (Langdon Abernathy, who had not been born yet), and now the roar of the guns had started, and they speeded toward their targets, which was the German trenches.
There was perhaps a thousand shells that burst into the atmosphere, aimed at the German trenches, five-thousand rounds of bullets, whizzed through the air, towards the German dugouts and furrows, and the Germans did likewise, thus, the atmosphere was on fire, suffocating smoke, no shame from either side, people digging-in, and dodging flying scraps of metal, bullets, it was a sleepless, and agitating, nerve-racking, night.
The Ammo Humpers were racing back and froth, from the ammo dump to the front line, the trenches, and over the top went the 126-men, like phantoms, ghosts, and Corporal Abernathy, he stopped after shooting several rounds, turned over on his back, Corporal Abernathy, watched and listened to the blazing bullets whiz by him, he was taking a rest, an odd kind of rest; lit a cigarette, figuring if it was to be his last so be it, but it felt good to have one. Then he looked about, if he stood up he’d be either shot by his comrades, or the Germans, he was in an open field, but he needed to turn about to go forward and shoot some more bullets at those trenches that Germans who were now jumping over the top edges like crazy cockroaches, and restless rats, like he and his comrades had did moments ago. He rolled over on his side, slightly turned upward, just an inch or two, no more, and a bullet hit the side of his temple, just grazed it, and his glasses flew off: he wasn’t blind, but he couldn’t aim correctly, he was shooting half-sightless now. And then retreat was sounded, and he wiggled his way back to his trenches, he and four others, all the rest, they all had been killed, all the rest—meaning, one-hundred and twenty-one others, as expedited, near all dead, every one but five out of 126-men, all slaughtered cut open by bullets and flying scraps of this and that, and bayonets.
The next day, the general that wanted that one more star ordered the corporal to come to his safe haven, behind a bunker, ten-feet on each side of pure adobe mud bricks, so nothing could penetrate it.
“Either you’re a hero or a coward,” said the General, “because you should be dead, by all rights, if 121-men are dead, out of 126, why are you and the other four not? Why are you alive?” asked the curious general, he saw that the right side of his head, close to his ear was slightly cut, “I see there’s a scrape-wound near your temple? Your justification for being alive?” the general told the corporal, “the other four never even got a scratch, so I hear, and so I have to assume, they were hiding.”
“I’ll go back there sir,” said the Corporal, “too bad you can’t keep me company though, then you’ll get your second star for sure!” he added with a smirk.
“It says in the report, you lost your glasses and was firing wildly and blindly, and you may have shot two or three of the enemy in the process, but you can’t be sure,” said the General, with a little better attitude, “but the way I see it is, you shot what you were looking at, and so we’ll just modify the report a bit, I hope you don’t mind.” And the Corporal simple nodded his head, moving his shoulder up to the right, and waved his hands upward as if to say, “Whatever!”
“I didn’t have time to count the dead, nor did I have time to hide behind a bunker, I shot and was shot at, that is all I remember, and then retreat was sounded so I crawled backward to the trenches…” said the Corporal. And he then was dismissed. And the general knew they had gained five-hundred feet, took a German bunker in the process, and for that he was assured he’d get his second star, plus, he made sure he had a hero in his command, and awarded the corporal the ‘Distinguished Service Medal for service in World War I.
The General’s Star
(WWI, 1917-18)
The General watched from his dugout, the battalion, was to charge over the top of the trenches, day two in his war with the Germans, after three years watching nothing happened, and wanting his second star, the general was desperate. He had put in Corporal Abernathy for the Distinguish Service Medal, and there was much talk about it, everyone now wanting a medal to bring home, and the General wanting the second star firmly in place, and everyone’s blood was like hot vinegar, hoping to impress the general, and so he ordered another attack, he was reinforced with a new company, a new 172-troops, soldiers, untested under fire, and these new troops knew, the General had lost 125- soldiers a day before, and these new troops they had just arrived, to be told there was a second suicide mission, and they heard about what happened to that 121-soldiers that never returned from the previous battle, and they didn’t like what they heard, and they were causing trouble with the other three companies, over 600-soldiers.
Corporal Abernathy being the only one of four that survived the slaughter yesterday, some soldiers had made it to the first trenches, the ones five-hundred feet away, and took them, but the Germans that were 900-feet away from them, took it back an hour later, supported by those other Germans, 1500-Germans 3000-feet away, but the General figured if one company could reach the 500-level, six-hundred might make it to the 3000-level, and that was his new star, his second star, and it would be given to him on a sliver platter—notwithstanding the loses.
Forenoon, the fields were quiet, empty, no firing of artillery or of any kind of ammo, the Germans just waiting as always eating their sour cabbage, and bratwursts, eating lunch, bored, and perhaps wanting the General to send some more troops their way so they could practice shooting them down like pigeons, as usual.
Corporal Abernathy figured it was hard to beat the Germans without air support, that is really what they needed, but he, the general didn’t want to wait, he wanted that star now—and he figured even today was not soon enough, he should have had it yesterday, before he was sent back to Paris to discus the rest of the war with Pershing and the other generals, he didn’t want to be standing in the last line of generals.
When they called the six-hundred to get ready for the advance, the offensive, they sat around where the officers were, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, just like the officers.
“What’s the problem?” asked the General to Major Sharp.
Major Sharp, who had been, somewhat tongue-tied, now was spitting out the words, “The troops heard what happened yesterday, the new ones and they see the officers safe in their dugouts, and they see the sergeants not too willing to go over the top with them, and they want everyone to go, if they’re going to die for a worthless cause, everyone should die with them, everyone….”
“So the soldiers are on strike, is that what you are saying, and if so, how can that be possible, that is called treason, and I’ll have them shot.” Said the General, but ordered the Major to remain where he was while he thought this out clearer, then remarked:
“Well, Major, the only thing left is for everyone to go over the top, and you too!” said the General.
“Perhaps we can get some air support,” asked the Major.
“Major,” said the General, “if you do not go over that top with your troops, you’ll be a Second Lieutenant tomorrow; where is the devotion in this war, you are like a vegetable tree, fate has me in for a second star and you are in my way Major,” and he pulled out his silver plated revolver, ivory handle, and aimed it at Major Sharp’s forehead, as he dropped his baton at the same time, and when he went to pick it up, the Major jumped on him, and in the struggle, the General was shot in the heart—dead.
In the investigation, they could not find the weapon the German insurgent used to kill the General with, the Major being the only one to escape the fatal disarray that took place in the General’s shelter, and the only eyewitness being the Major of course. The German, the report read was hiding in the General’s closet, and when the Major came in he had the General’s gun in his hands, and escaped right past the Major, knocking him down. The inquiry asked how this could be possible; it all sounded so far fetched, kind of fishy, like a cover-up. The Major said it was as possible as sending 126-soldiers out to commit suicide, and only four returning, and there was no questions asked about that, that wasn’t fishy or abnormal, to Headquarters, matter-of-fact, a Distinguish Service Metal was handed out to the one and only considered hero of the battle who never even knew if he killed one enemy, it was all assumed, this one hero survivor of the suicide mission, and after the fact, not a word from Headquarters was said, and no investigation for the 121-privates now dead as a doornail.”
Thus, the Major, received a Distinguish Service Metal—likewise, for his bravery, like Corporal Abernathy who was now called Buck Sergeant Abernathy, and the war went on for another year as normal.
Notes: Written 2005, revised in 2008, originally from the four chapter Manuscript “The Great War Years,” and this is Chapter one and two, named: ” The Generals 2nd Star” originally chapters called: “The Ammo Humpers” along with three other chapters to the story (Chapter two being: The General’s Star, 3) Wench is Dead, and 4) the Peculiar Case of Judson Small: chapter one and two being interconnected. Reedited July 4, 2010.
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