Paths of Glory (18 page)

Surprised at such a question, he would have told anybody who asked him that it was perfectly simple; he knew the place well. He had reviewed troops there more than once.

Below the perfectly simple explanation there was, however, a deeper, if equally simple reason for his unusually retentive memory of the detail of a parade ground. That parade ground had become, ever since he had first seen it, a permanent fixture of his day-dreams. It was the place where the President of the Republic, no less, would pin the star of a Grand Officer of the Legion of Honour on General of Division Assolant's right breast. What more fitting then, than that those who had cost him his star should pay the debt on the same ground? The woods would make a good backstop for the execution posts and there was plenty of room for the regiment to form in three-sided square so that no one would miss the spectacle.

The other two reasons for the selection of the Château de l'Aigle were its convenient distance from both the line and Divisional Headquarters (it was about ten kilometres from each) and the general's feeling that a château would be a more dignified and, therefore, a more appropriate place for a court martial to sit in than some tumbledown billet nearer the line.

In its day the estate had undoubtedly been one of some charm, of a decorous charm which still was evident in places in spite of its having been in the zone of the armies since the beginning of the war. The château itself was in the centre of a good-sized park. Most of the park was now overrun with huts which had been built there under the trees for concealment. These were the officers' billets and messes. Beyond the park there were fields, and beyond the fields, woods. Sections of the woods to the north and to the west had been cleared of underbrush and thinned out to allow the construction of two cantonments for the troops, Camps A and B. The one nearest to Assolant's parade ground was Camp B, and this was the one that the 181st Regiment was now approaching down the avenue of poplars.

The men were talking.

“. . . I heard the colonel committed suicide.”

“He got over it quickly enough, then; I just saw him go by in that car.”

“That's right. He was in the car with the general.”

“Maybe he's under arrest.”

“He ought to be, for sending us into that slaughter house.”

“They say he threatened to shoot an officer.”

“Who did?”

“The general.”

“He ought to shoot the colonel for sending us into that attack.”

“He ought to shoot himself then. The colonel didn't have anything to do with it. He was just obeying orders.”

“That's right. The colonel said he'd resign if they went ahead with the attack.”

“Who told you that?”

“I heard it.”

“And I heard one of the headquarters runners saying the telephonist had said that there was a devil of a scene somewhere and they threatened to shoot each other.”

“Who did?”

“Dax and the general.”

“Suits me if they do.”

“There's something in the wind, all right. This sudden relief . . .”

“Nobody could advance against that fire. Georges, you know Georges, stuck his head up to climb the parapet and the machine guns took the top of it clean off, right through his eyes.”

“Machine guns don't slice that neatly.”

“That one did. I got his brains splashed all over me.”

“Funny, I never thought he had any.”

“More than you, anyway.”

“No. I had brains enough not to get killed.”

“It doesn't take brains to hide in a dugout, only cold feet.”

“Well, his troubles are over. He was always saying they didn't have his number. That's a sure way to get it.”

“If you stay here long enough you'll get it.”

“Somebody's going to get it for this fiasco, that's sure.”

“Get what?”

“Well, if you're a general it'll be a medal. They always get medals, no matter what happens. But if you're a trooper you'll get a kick in the face. And they get that, too, no matter what happens.”

“There's something queer going on. I can feel it. All this bustle to get us out of the line. And the officers, they don't act natural. Hello! Dragoons . . .”

The regiment had turned off the avenue of poplars to the right and was making for the woods, fifty metres or so away. They could see the nearest huts just beyond the line of the trees and, in front of the entrance to the camp, a group of mounted Dragoons. The cavalry had very much the look of a reception committee, but not an effusive one, it must be admitted.

The column passed between the ranks of the Dragoons, who stared at them with a cold curiosity, then disappeared into the wood. They soon found out what the guard of honour was for when they lined up in their company areas before being dismissed to their billets. Company commanders read out the following order:

The presence of the Dragoons was Assolant's fourth and retrospective reason for being satisfied with the Château de l'Aigle.

 

Captain Pelletier finished his coffee at the Café du Carrefour and asked the old woman how much he owed her.

“Five sous,” she said.

Pelletier put the money down and lighted a cigarette.

“Going on leave?” she said as she picked up the coins. It was the first purely conversational question she had asked anybody in several weeks.

“Yes,” said Pelletier.

“Ten days?” she said.

“No, longer than that, I think,” said Pelletier, smiling half at her, half to himself. He looked very young, very tired, and very dirty. The old woman saw his pallor, the taut muscles around his mouth, the glassiness of his eyes. She noticed, too, that his movements and gestures began jerkily and ended listlessly.

“Been in a long time?” she asked.

“Too long,” he answered.

“Have another coffee with some cognac in it,” she suggested.

“No, thank you, I must be going.”

“If you wait a half hour, the empty ammunition trucks will be passing on their way back to railhead.”

“Thank you, but I think I'll start walking. The exercise will do me good.”

“It's a bad day.”

“It is indeed.”

“Well, good luck to you, young man.”

“Thank you, I shall need it. And the same to you.”

“Au revoir, captain.”

“Adieu, madame.”

 

When General de Guerville, chief of staff of the Fifteenth Army, entered Assolant's office at Divisional Headquarters shortly before noon, he had the feeling for a moment that he was interrupting a court martial, so much did the scene resemble one. He found General Assolant seated behind the long table which served him for a desk. On his left was the divisional chief of staff, Colonel Couderc, and on his right an empty chair. In front of the table stood a group of officers, in much the same attitude in which Assolant himself had stood two nights before to express his misgivings about the attack to the Army Commander. Whatever was being said was silenced by Assolant's rising to greet de Guerville. Everyone clicked his heels and saluted.

“Good morning, general. Good morning, gentlemen,” said Guerville affably as he advanced into the room towards the empty chair which Couderc was holding for him. “A nasty day. Please don't let me interrupt you.”

“Good morning, sir,” said Assolant. “Allow me to present these officers. Colonel Couderc, I think, is known to you. Colonel Dax, commanding the 181st Regiment of the line. Colonel Labouchère, one of my staff. Captain Herbillon, Colonel Dax's adjutant.”

There was more heel clicking and saluting, even by Saint-Auban and two other junior officers whom Assolant had not bothered to introduce.

“Please don't let me interrupt you,” said de Guerville. Dax took him at his word and addressing himself to Assolant, from whom he had received a nod, plunged right in again where he had been stopped.

“I repeat, sir, I insist it was not mutiny.”

“I order an attack and your troops refuse to attack. What's that if it isn't mutiny?”

“My troops did attack, sir, but they could make no headway.”

“Because they didn't even try. I saw it myself you know, from the observation post. Three-quarters of the regiment never left the jumping-off positions.”

“Two-thirds of the regiment was in support, sir. Not even in the front line.”

“I mean battalion, of course. Please don't quibble. By the way, where's the battalion commander? He ought to be here.”

“Major Vignon? He was killed. By our own barrage. Several shells fell short. I'm going to make a report of it as soon as I have time. That was another thing, sir . . .”

“Will you please stick to the point, Dax, which is that your First Battalion failed to advance as ordered and that, as I've already repeated several times, I'm going to have one section from each company executed. I call that lenient. The whole battalion should by rights—”

“Lenient, you cannot mean it, sir. And the men did advance. By God, we had almost fifty per cent casualties . . .”

“Yes, in our own trenches, Dax. For that many we should have been on the other side of the Pimple.”

“It seems to me, Assolant,” de Guerville put in, “that the casualties prove the fire was heavy, even if most of them happened in the jumping-off positions.”

“Yes,” said Assolant, “but the point is that the men failed to advance. They should have gotten themselves killed outside the trenches instead of inside.”

“They weren't choosing where to be killed,” said Dax. “The Germans were doing that for them.”

“They didn't advance. Can't you understand that?” said Assolant.

“Yes, sir,” said Dax. “But you say they refused to advance and I say they couldn't advance. It was physically impossible. In spite of that, many of them did manage to go a few metres. Some of them were literally blown back into their own trench.” Dax, thinking he had found an ally in de Guerville, had turned and finished his remarks to him.

“Oh,” said de Guerville, hastily disclaiming the alliance, “we must have some examples.”

“Absolutely,” Assolant agreed. “A section from each company.”

“That's somewhat excessive, I think, general,” said de Guerville.

“Well, what do you suggest, sir,” said Assolant.

“Oh, say ten men from each company. Forty.”

“That's practically a section,” said Dax, “with the strength of the battalion what it is now.”

“Aren't you exaggerating a bit, colonel,” said de Guerville, smiling pleasantly.

“If it's an example you want, sir,” Dax went on, “one man will do as well as a hundred. But I wouldn't know how to choose him. I'd have to offer myself. After all, I'm the responsible officer.”

“Come, come, colonel,” said de Guerville, “I think you're overwrought. It isn't a question of officers.”

“Well, why shouldn't it be?” Dax asked. He had noticed that de Guerville was disquieted by the suggestion, and he was pressing the point. De Guerville, in truth, didn't like the turn the discussion was taking at all. He quickly decided on the paradoxical manœvre of retreating from and at the same time ignoring Dax's attack. He turned to Assolant and said:

“Suppose we make it a dozen. We won't say it was mutiny. It would be just as well, I think, to keep that troublesome word out of it. Just cowardice in the face of the enemy.”

“I was talking about four sections,” said Assolant, “and here we are down to one squad already . . .”

“I implore you, gentlemen,” Dax broke in, no longer wishing to restrain himself now that he felt he had de Guerville on the run. “A dozen men! A dozen men, like a dozen head of cattle. It's monstrous! Either the whole battalion is guilty or I alone am. But think of our record, of our
fourragères,
of what we've just been through at Souchez. Of the condition of the men. Of the rain. And of the murderous Boche fire. The general sampled some of it himself, yesterday. If it's an example you must have, will not one man do? But twelve men! Who knows which ones they will be? Where they come from? What connexions they may have? Poor devils, they tried to advance. It was impossible. On my honour, gentlemen, they weren't cowards. Far from it. They were heroes . . .”

De Guerville interrupted again. One of Dax's remarks had struck his ear and had remained there: “Who knows what connexions they may have.” De Guerville did not like the possibilities evoked by that phrase. The chances were, he was forced to admit, that a dozen men would have more connexions than a lesser number. And those connexions would be more widely scattered too. Also, there were deputies in the ranks. An interpellation in the Chamber would . . .

“I think on the whole, Assolant, that we'd better fix on one man from each company. That'll make four.”

“But, sir . . .” Assolant began.

“No buts, general. My mind is made up.”

“If you insist, sir, then I'm forced to yield. But only because you speak with higher authority.”

“Yes, I must insist, Assolant. No more than four.”

“Very well, then, I'll have to content myself with four. A man from each company, Dax, to be shot tomorrow. Is that clear?”

“But without trial, sir?”

“Oh, no. The court martial will meet at the château at three this afternoon. That'll be convenient for you, won't it, Labouchère?”