HISTORY
OF THE 304th FIELD ARTILLERY
by
James M. Howard
1920
CHAPTER
XII
THE FINAL PUSH
We had a long but easy march. The roads had been put into fairly good
shape by labor battalions brought up from the rear, and there was little
congestion of traffic. When, at nightfall, we reached our destination,
it seemed as though we had arrived in the promised land. Not that the
place was attractive. We were in a very flat part of the
valley of the Biesme, into which seeped all the water
from the steep hills on both sides, making it soggy under
foot-too wet for comfortable camping. Put at least we
were free once more from the strain and toil of the
front, and we had in prospect a bath and a complete
outfit of new clothes. Between La flazaree and Le Four de
Paris the Sanitary Corps had erected a bath tent, with
shower baths and hot water; and in the adjoining tent was
a huge pile of good, warm, woolen underclothes and socks,
new flannel shirts, and winter-weight uniforms.
While the men were being bathed and clothed, word came
that the officers were to be allowed a three days' leave
at the discretion of the regimental commander, and a
dozen or more promptly availed themselves of the
opportunity and started for Nice (via Paris, of course-in
going from any place in France to any other place, it is
always necessary to pass through Paris!).
Clean once more, and comfortably dressed, the troops
found that their spirits rose, and they were quite
willing to forego any further move toward a real rest
area if only they might be let alone for a while. Some
one discovered a piano in an old recreation room at the
foot of the hill, and, hearing that part of the 306th was
to be billeted there, our men carried the piano off
bodily and deposited it in the shed which Captain Ewell
had taken over for a supply room. There for an evening or
two music and song and laughter sounded hour after hour.
Then we found that the military authorities had what
seemed to many of the men to be original ideas about
rest, for, after giving us two days in which to clean up
and get the guns and wagons and harness into good shape,
they issued a training schedule a mile long which
provided close order drills and gun drills, equitation
and radio schools, and all the old stuff that we had
agonized over for two months at Camp de Souge. Every
experienced officer will see that this was necessary to
restore the discipline which had been relaxed during the
fighting; but a feeling of gloom spread through the
regiment and all the troops around us. Why couldn't we be
let alone!
Suddenly, out of a clear sky, came an order, which
changed everything. The whole division was directed to
pack up and be ready to move. The officers who had gone
on leave were wired to report to their organizations at
once-the telegrams were awaiting them when they arrived
at Nice. On October 25th the regiment was again on the
road in march order. No one could imagine what was up. It
seemed incredible that the 77th Division, especially the
infantry, who had suffered such terrible hardships and
lost so many men through wounds and exposure, was to be
sent back again into battle.
Yet such was evidently the case, for our route lay
directly across the forest toward the northeast. After
one night spent near our old positions at Abri du
Crochet, we turned into the, valley of the Aire and
marched northward to Chatel Chehery, where the whole
regiment halted and pitched camp. There we had a good
view of the main road, and day after day as we waited on
the edge of the forest we watched an ever increasing
stream of troops, guns, trucks, and wagons pouring past
us. Another drive was in preparation!
If any one had doubts on the subject, they would have
been dispelled by a trip out to the point where our guns
were ordered to take tip their positions. The narrow
sector assigned to our division was already so crowded
with artillery that we were obliged to go over into the
territory of the 80th Division on our right, and our
batteries therefore crossed the Aire and proceeded
through the town of Fleville, and then off to the right
to the high hills overlooking the village of Sommerance.
Our men thought they had seen massed artillery when the
Argonne drive started, but that was as nothing compared
to the vast array of cannon that now blocked every road
and covered every hillside throughout the entire region.
There were great naval guns, and the long and powerful
155mm. rifles; there were enormous 9.2 inch howitzers
that had to be hoisted on and off their carriages by
cranes; there were batteries of 120'S and 90's, 155mm.
howitzers like the 306th's, and finally an abundance Of
75's like our own, manned by both French and American
gunners. Surely, here was an operation worth being in.
Perhaps-who knew?-it might prove to be the final ,drive
which, coupled with the terrific British offensive in
progress up in Flanders, and the aggressive onslaught of
the French north of Laon, would break the German armies
and force them back to the Rhine!
There was no mystery about this drive, as there had been
about the start of the Argonne offensive. There was no
forest to cover us, and the troops in double and even
triple columns were streaming along the great arteries of
traffic in broad daylight. Division after division
crowded in: marines, regular army, national army,
National Guard, and all (save for a considerable number
of French batteries of artillery) were American troops.
Here, for the first time in our experience, vast
squadrons of American airplanes soared overhead. They
seemed to come in droves, some sailing, in their peculiar
V-shaped formations, toward the German lines, sonic
circling about to protect the observation balloons, some
swooping down from high up in the clouds to pounce upon
an occasional Boche plane that ventured over to pick tip
information. Fights in the air became a matter of daily
occurrence. Sometimes there would be two or three going
on at once, and we were distracted trying to watch them.
Once, when the sound of machine guns was heard overhead,
and our men rushed out of their tents to see what was
going on, the air was so filled with planes that no one
knew where to look. It was on that occasion that some one
called out, "Get your official programs here! You
cannot tell the individual players without a
program!" It was like trying to watch a three-ringed
circus.
There were several days of anxious waiting. They were
anxious because the gun positions, where only a few men
were on guard, were being shelled every night, and we
were having some casualties before ever the real battle
began. One shell struck in A Battery's kitchen, riddling
pots and pans with holes and wrecking the dugout where
the cook slept, and another burst beside one of B's guns
and killed one of their most loyal and trustworthy
soldiers, Private James Brady.
At last, after several false alarms, the order came on
October 31st to send the full gun crews out to the
positions. The battalion commanders had established their
P. C.'s on a very high hill behind the guns, from where,
if the weather was clear, they could see far into the
German lines. Colonel McCleave moved his headquarters to
Cornay where he had quick connections both with his
batteries and with the infantry. Lieutenant McVaugh, of
Battery A, and Lieutenant McDougall, of Battery E, were
sent forward with pirate pieces to the infantry lines,
and everything was ready.
The plan of battle for our sector was for the 77th
Division, after the usual artillery preparation, to send
forward its infantry from St. Juvin and on the first day
to capture the town of Champigneulle. As soon as the town
was in our hands, the artillery was to rush forward and
take up new positions to support a further advance.
"D day" was announced as November 1st, and
"H hour" as 5:30 A. M.
As the evening wore on, every one who could do so lay
down for a little sleep, but there was a tenseness of
expectation that made rest difficult.
Soon after midnight, the German guns began their usual
serenade. All over the slope where our batteries were
across the valley and up toward the battalion -P. C.'s
they plastered their rain of shells. It seemed impossible
that no one was being hit, but, at the aid stations the
surgeons waited in vain for any reports of trouble.
After about a half hour the shelling ceased, and then
began the answering barrage from the American big guns.
Heavier and heavier grew the fire, with ever-increasing
intensity as more and more batteries let loose their
awful roar. The air shook with the concussion, the hills
seemed to rock, and the sky for miles around was lit by
the flashes that belched from the months of a thousand
cannon. So mighty was the volume of sound that when, at
3:30, our own little guns joined in with their vicious
bark, men back on the hill behind then-1 could not tell
when their fire began.
Yet without doubt the Germans knew! Every gun had its
definite target, and by accurate registering the previous
day each battery commander had been able to calculate
perfectly his range and direction. One platoon was
sweeping back and forth along a road, which the Boche
must use to shift their troops. Another was pouring its
rain of death into a wood where Huns were camped. Another
was smothering a trench where machine gunners were
hidden, while a fourth was blasting to pieces an infantry
battalion's P. C. There was not a gun in the whole vast
array but had its definite part in turning the enemy's
lines into a living hell.
Five-thirty came, and as the infantry went over the top,
our fire increased in its intensity. Day was breaking,
but a heavy mist obscured the scene so that we could not
tell just what was going on. Moreover, our own infantry,
it will be remembered, were considerably to our left,
quite out of our line of vision, so that we were
compelled to wait impatiently for news of their progress.
By 7:30, groups of Boche prisoners began to appear,
driven along by Marines. The latter were on the right of
the 80th Division and they seemed to be living up to
their reputation. All day, in gradually increasing
numbers, their captives marched past our positions. Some
one counted those that went by along one road: there were
fifteen hundred and sixty-three. We went out and spoke
with some of them as they halted at a crossroad. A
miserable lot they were, for the most part, pale and worn
and dirty, and apparently glad to be out of the fight.
"When do you think the war will end?" we asked
several.
"In about a week," was the usual reply.
.
Now and then an officer marched, grim and defiant, with
his men. One of these was standing by while the privates
were hustled into a truck to be taken to the rear.
"Now then, you get aboard," ordered the driver
when the men were all in. The officer started to climb
tip into the seat.
"No, not here. Get in with the rest," said the
driver.
"Do you mean to say," said the officer, in
perfect English, "that you expect an officer to ride
with privates?"
"0, so that's bothering you, is it? We'll soon fix
that." Ripping out his knife, he cut the shoulder
straps from the officer's uniform. "Now," said
he, "you're a private. Get in!"
The barrage by this time had slackened and finally died
out altogether and there was nothing for the batteries to
do but wait. The hours dragged by interminably with no
news from the front. At last, however, the Second
Battalion received the order to advance. The pursuit was
on!
Moving off to the left, our batteries proceeded to St.
Juvin. There they were told that the infantry, meeting
with a withering fire from the machine guns at
Champigneulle, had failed to take the town, and it was
necessary to halt for the night. The next morning,
however, the doughboys renewed their attack and rushed
the Hun defenses, and Major Devereux's battalion
following as closely as possible, pushed ahead and came
that night to Verpel.
Meantime the First Battalion, still commanded in Major
Sanders' absence by Captain Hervey Perrin, had
received orders to advance, and pulling out their guns
they started forward on the afternoon of November 2nd.
The battalion and battery commanders rode ahead to locate
the infantry and to find suitable positions for the guns,
leaving guides at the various crossroads to pilot the
batteries as they came along.
By the time the guns were on the road it seemed as though
the whole American Expeditionary Force had crowded into
our sector in a mad rush to overtake the fleeing Huns.
The few roads leading north were literally jammed with
troops and trains.
There were huge trucks, piled high with ammunition and
supplies, snorting through the mud and trying desperately
to avoid the shell holes and ditches that hampered their
progress. Now and then one would get stuck, and the
entire column, reaching back for miles, would be blocked.
Chains, ropes, horses and manpower would be applied in an
endeavor to persuade it to move and then, if no other
means could succeed in removing the vehicle, a hundred
men would lay violent hands on it and heave it over
bodily into the ditch. Amid the shouts of men, the
creaking and rumbling of wheels and the purring of
motors, the endless procession would start again, only to
be halted a few rods farther-on by some other accident.
Long lines of escort wagons, with their prairie schooner
tops, bumped over the rutted roads. The drivers, from
their lofty seats, coaxing and cursing by turns, urged on
the long-suffering mules that strained at the traces.
Horse-drawn wagons, too, were crowding along with the
rest,-ration carts, limbers, water carts, baggage wagons,
fourgons and blacksmith carts, in endless profusion; but
always the great army escort wagons loomed above the
rest, giving the column the picturesque appearance of an
emigrant train in the early days of the western plains in
America.
Here would be a vehicle one of whose wheels had caved
in-probably a fourgon, for those French wheels were
notoriously weak-tilted at an angle which prevented any
team from passing. If it could not be mended, or if no
extra wheel was available, it would share the fate of the
truck and be thrown into the ditch.
Yonder could be seen an emaciated horse that had given
way under the strain. There was no time to waste over
him! If he could stand, he would be unhitched and led off
the road, and put under the care of some disgusted
soldier. If the horse were completely exhausted, he would
be dragged to one side and shot, and once more the column
would move forward.
There were little two-wheeled machine gun carts, each
drawn by one quick-stepping mule. There were rolling
kitchens that rattled and banged over the rough roads.
There were despatch bearers on motor cycles threading
their way through the traffic, singly mounted riders
trying to get ahead, and irate generals in automobiles,
impatient at the delays. There were batteries of
artillery struggling to move forward where they could go
into firing positions,-light field pieces like our own,
their cannoneers trudging along, wearily carrying their
packs so as to save the horses, and huge rifles and
howitzers that lumbered behind the coughing, panting
tractors which pulled them.
All mixed in with the vehicles, sometimes walking
alongside, often taking to the fields to escape the mire
and confusion of the roads (and finding it just as muddy
there as everywhere else), marched the infantry. With
packs on their backs and rifles in their hands, with
hatchets and shovels and trench knives and bayonets
hampering their movements, that continuous stream of
doughboys toiled along, weary and footsore, in a kind of
dumb, uncomprehending monotony of effort.
In the fields as they passed sprawled the dead, both
Germans and Americans, who had fallen in the previous
day's fighting. Here and there a shattered wagon lay, its
load strewn about in disorder, its horses and driver
lying where they had fallen; in a pool of blood-a
sickening tribute to the accuracy of some American gun
crew.
Frequently at the crest of a hill would stand one or two
deserted German cannon, whose crews had worked them until
the last, and then had fled or been captured. Nearby, and
at every available place, lay huge piles of empty shells
and unused ammunition. All along by the road lay the
stuff which had been thrown away by pursuer and pursued
to make travel easier: helmets, rifles, packs, blankets,
shovels, overcoats, pistols, harness, cartridge belts,
saddles, reels of telephone wire, canned food, mess kits,
shoes, everything that could possibly be discarded was
strewn about in wild disorder.
The villages through which we passed were mere skeletons.
Pounded by shells and gutted by fire, their streets a
labyrinth of mine craters and wreckage, they added but
one more detail to the vivid picture which stamped itself
on every man's memory.
Through such scenes and in the midst of that vast throng
our regiment made its way on that memorable second day of
November. The batteries which got farthest ahead and
followed closely on the heels of the infantry escaped
some of the traffic confusion, but for about six days the
bulk of the regiment forced its way along in the thick
of the turmoil. When it is remembered that the supply
companies and the ammunition trains had to bring every
ounce of food and every round of ammunition forward to
the men in the front lines, take their wagons back again
and repeat the whole trip day after day, the wonder grows
that we had anything to eat or to shoot.
On the night of November 2nd the First Battalion overtook
the Second at Verpel. They had had a long, hard march of
some fifteen kilometers, most of it in a drizzling rain.
The battery commanders, who had gone ahead with Captain
Perrin to reconnoiter, spent some anxious hours of
waiting in Verpel before the batteries arrived, for the
roads were being shelled, and the town itself was under
fire. But at length, long past midnight, the last battery
pulled in and camped in the muddy fields just outside of
the village.
The next morning we were all astounded by an unheard of
order from the Brigade commander; on account of the
shortage of horses, one battalion in each regiment was to
be demobilized, in order that the other might have the
animals needed! Major Devereux, being for the present the
senior battalion commander, was given the privilege of
taking his batteries forward as the pursuit battalion,
and he was presently on his way, reinforced with a new
equipment of horses and one extra gun, under Lieutenant
Graham, of C Battery. Reluctantly Captain Lyman, Captain
Doyle, and Captain Bacon parked their guns in Verpel, and
settled down with their men to that most difficult of all
tasks-doing nothing!
Meanwhile Colonel McCleave, with his staff and the
headquarters detachment of telephone and radio men,
orderlies, runners, and a cook or two, and Major Devereux
with his three batteries, "started (as Lieutenant
Welling's song has it) hell or-leather riding over
France."
Each day a new P. C. was established, as close as
possible to the advancing infantry lines, in order that
we might keep constantly informed of their exact
positions and the location of the enemy's points of
resistance on which we were to fire. At one place, La
Besace, our headquarters were in the town before it was
really in possession of American troops. Going forward in
the morning to reconnoiter, Colonel McCleave and Captain
Martin had found the bridge across a stream destroyed,
and had been obliged to leave their car and walk toward
the town. Finding that the infantry had not yet taken it,
they returned. In the afternoon the colonel with several
of his staff proceeded by another route, but coming to a
place where the road had been blown up, Colonel McCleave
got out, and taking with him Major Sanders and Captain
Kempner, walked into the town while Captain Martin and
Lieutenant Cunningham, with one messenger, went back with
Corporal Moran, the chauffeur, to find a road by which
the guns could be brought up. They were caught under
shellfire, during which Corporal Moran showed his nerve
by remaining in the car-the most dangerous place
conceivable-while the officers continued their
reconnaissance on foot. By evening practically the whole
staff was in Besace, and a P. C. was, established while
enemy machine gun bullets were still whistling through
the streets.
The main firing batteries never got quite so near, but
they were continually on the move, and frequently went
into position very close behind the infantry's front.
Fortunately they were not often shelled. The Boche was so
busy withdrawing his artillery that he used but few of
his guns. Every afternoon he would open fire on
crossroads, bridges and suspected gun positions, and
several times we had occasion to realize that our enemy
still knew how to shoot. But by midnight his guns would
be silent, and we would know that he was withdrawing
again, and that our guns would presently have to be
advanced in order to keep him within range.
Lieutenant Graham and Lieutenant McDougall, however, with their forward
pieces, had to keep right up with the infantry itself. The former had relieved Lieutenant
McVaugh when the First Battalion was demobilized at
Verpel; but Lieutenant McDougall had been on this
difficult duty ever since the night of October 31st, and
had already taken part in several attacks and had
suffered one or two casualties. In the assault on
Champigneulle he had fired, with open sights, about a
hundred rounds into the Germans in the town.
On November 4th, he was with an infantry battalion commander, Captain Newcomb, on a hill near St.
Pierremont. The infantry and some machine gunners were
deployed in funk holes along the side of the hill. From
the opposing hills to the north the Germans were pouring
a heavy machine gun fire toward them, and for the
infantry to cross the valley for a frontal attack was out
of the question. Captain Newcomb said that several
companies were attacking the Germans' hill from the east
and west, and suggested that if Lieutenant McDougall
could drop some shrapnel into the woods it might shut off
some of the machine gun fire and enable him to advance.
Apparently the only way to accomplish this was to take
the gun around the left end of the hill, right out in the
open in front of the American lines.
This Lieutenant McDougall did. Driving around the
shoulder of the hill he moved across an open field and,
getting the gun into position, opened fire directly on
the Boche lines before him. It was a daring move, and it
might have succeeded had not a German battery on the left
suddenly begun to fire on McDougall's gun. Evidently he
was at the point of a salient protruding into the enemy's
lines.
Looking in the direction from which the fire came, and
seeing the flash of a gun, he quickly ordered the gunner
to shift his aim and lay the piece on the spot where the
Boche battery was located. He was just about to fire when
a shell burst close by, dropping three of the crew. The
shelling was now so heavy that it was useless to try to
do anything further, and our men were ordered to retire
with their wounded to the cover of the woods. All three
men were badly hurt, but only two could be carried at
once. There was no time to discriminate. Privates Clark
and Schoenberg were picked tip and borne away, and
Capasso was left for the second trip. 'It looked like
certain death for any one to go back to where he lay, for
the Germans had calculated the range perfectly and shell
after shell was dropping within a few feet of him. Two
men volunteered-Corporal - and Private Fromni-and with
splendid heroism they ran out boldly, picked up their
fallen comrade, and brought him safely back. He had not
suffered any further injuries, but the original wound was
mortal, and Capasso died that afternoon at the first aid
station.
Meantime our main batteries bad opened fire on the Huns,
and in a short while their guns were silenced and the
hill was taken. When Lieutenant McDougall went back for
his piece he found both gun and caisson hopelessly
smashed.
During the advance through this region we had, begun to
meet French civilians, released after four years of
virtual captivity within the German lines. Some had been
living in their homes in the villages all during the
enemy occupation, enduring the tyranny of an unfeeling
and brutal invader. Others had been carried away early in
the war to the region around Sedan and kept there as
laborers until the approach of the American army, when
they had been sent forward to where the rear guards were
fighting and then left behind when the Boche retreated,
with white flags flying from the housetops to announce
their presence. They were a pitiful lot: old men and
women who had seen their precious property seized and
destroyed; middle aged people grown old and haggard from
terror and hardship; young girls who were soon to become
the mothers of children begotten by German fathers, and
little boys and girls who had been denied the rightful
joys of home and childhood. They appeared dazed by the
sudden change when they found themselves among friends.
Some of them wrung our hands with delirious joy as we
entered their towns.
Some talked freely of their experiences and expressed
their opinion of the Boche in no uncertain terms. Many
dug into their scanty stores and brought food and hot
coffee to the men who dropped into their houses. Others
there were who could do nothing except stand in their
doorways and look on in dumb amazement as the Americans
poured through the streets.
The German retreat had now taken an easterly direction,
-and on November 6th, closely followed by the whole
American First Army, they withdrew across the River
Meuse. The 77th Division pushed right up to the west bank
of the river, and the 153rd Brigade in front of our
regiment established itself in the vicinity of
Autrecourt. Our headquarters accordingly moved to
Raucourt, where they were bothered every night by a
harassing fire from the long range guns across the river.
One shell crashed through the roof of the house where our
men were billeted, and it was indeed fortunate that none
of them were there at the time. Our French interpreter on
one occasion took to the cellar during a bombardment, and
when he went back to his room he found the whole wall of
the house piled up on his bed.
The firing batteries passed around Raucourt and took up
their position on the high hills behind Autrecourt,
overlooking the Meuse valley. With admirable liaison
established with the infantry, they did effective work in
demolishing dugouts and trenches across the river. The
two forward pieces, one still under Lieutenant Graharn
and the other under Lieutenant Richard from D Battery,
were located well down toward the foot of the forward
slope, where they fired directly on the German positions.
By this time rumors began to reach us concerning a new
German appeal for an armistice. We had been misled so
often that for a time we gave no credence to these
reports, but on Saturday, November 9th, word was handed
down officially that a German commission had actually had
an interview with Marshal Foch and had received at his
hands the Allies' terms, and that their answer was due in
a very short while. Far from slowing tip the Americans'
efforts, this news served only to make the men more eager
to deliver all the blows they could, in order to make the
final catastrophe as complete as possible.
On the afternoon of the 10th our guns, directed by
Captain Kempner, and Lieutenants Graham and Tunney, who
were in an observation post with the German lines in full
view, fired round after round of high explosive shell
into a series of Boche trenches. Those who were observing
could see that the Huns were much disconcerted, for
pandemonium reigned, and the Boche could be seen running
about and ducking for cover in all directions.
But the final stroke of artillery genius (at least, so
the infantry believed) was made late that afternoon by
Lieutenant Richard. He had been relieved from his forward
position, and was back again with D Battery, when the
telephone buzzed. Captain Bateson was on the wire.
"Richard," he said, "I've got a job for
you. The infantry reports a German dugout located across
the river, with smoke coming out of a stove pipe. They
want it demolished."
"Have you got the coordinates?" asked the
lieutenant.
"That's just it," replied Captain Bateson.
"They want us to put down this fire, but they could
only give us the hectometric coordinates (i. e.,
approximate location) of the position. I told then we'd
fire four shots. They could observe the fire, and if they
thought it was worth while we would continue. They
cautioned me to be careful, because the place is pretty
close to their own lines."
Lieutenant Richard took down the coordinates. "All
right," he said. "I'll figure my data and then
add a couple of hundred meters to the range for
safety!"
Presently four shots rang out. Then -there was a few
minutes' silence, while Captain Bateson awaited the
infantry's report.
"I don't believe they can see anything," he
said. "It's almost dark."
Just then the telephone rang. It" was the infantry
headquarters.
"What did you see?" asked Captain Bateson.
"Here is the observer's report," was the reply:
"one direct hit, one ten meters left, one a trifle
to the right, and one just over. Please continue the
fire!"
Fifteen rounds were promptly pumped into that dugout, and
although the darkness prevented further observation, we
had the satisfaction of knowing that these, our last
shots of the war, had convinced the infantry that their
supporting artillery knew how to shoot.
On Sunday evening, November 10th, there was heavy cannonading away off to the right, but at our own gun
positions it seemed strangely quiet. An occasional
whizz-bang came over, and we could hear the
"Bow!" as the German gun fired, then the short,
wild shriek of that peculiar shell as it rushed over our
heads, and finally the "Bloom!" of the
projectile's burst somewhere behind us in the valley.
Aside from that, the night was very still.
After supper the men of the battalion headquarters detail
gathered for a service in the center of their little
encampment. They sat on a huge log, and some of the
officers brought chairs and joined the gathering. There
in the darkness, while the Chaplain recited some
Scripture and offered prayer and gave a brief talk, there
was an atmosphere of peace which in an undefined way
prepared men's minds for the present cessation of war.
Monday morning came, and while preparations for the usual activities
were tinder way, we wondered vaguely what was taking place at the
headquarters of the Supreme Allied Command. The most credible rumor was that the Germans
were to reply on that day to the terms which had been
offered them, and most men believed that the end was
near.
Then suddenly the telephone buzzed in the Major's P. C.
Captain Bateson took down the receiver.
"Captain Martin? . . . Yes. . . . Yes. . . . All
right."
He turned to the group of officers standing about, and in
a matter-of-fact voice announced, "By command of
Marshal Foch, all hostilities on this front will cease at
II A. M. to-day."
The war was over!