It was raining, and Denis Chapelle was suffering from chill and damp again for the third time this week. Like most of the men in his regiment, he had laid his second greatcoat aside many days back when the July temperatures had begun to wear upon him. At that time, it had seemed that there would be no use for such a thing now that the cold of winter and spring were gone. Now, even though it would contribute to his burden for marching, he wished he had it back.
No matter… There would be a supply train along soon, and he would find himself another greatcoat.
Chapelle cared nothing for the war… except that it was not right here, right now, and thus he could imagine there was no war. He had felt largely the same about the war in the Crimea, where he had been for a time, though he had seen little action. The rumors around his company were that France had participated in that war mostly so they could be seen to be present, and to show the French people that the President, or Emperor, or whoever he was at the time that the conflict started, was running the government in a needful and effective manner.
For days his infantry regiment had been marching along roads of dirt or mud, lined almost everywhere by the countless trees of the Thuringer Forest. These had certainly given some protection against the occasional summer rains – reducing them from downpours to distributed dribbles. To Chapelle, it had at least been more tolerable than being exposed to the sweltering summer sun in the rolling Hessian wheatfields – the same sun which had compelled he and his companions to find ditches along the roadside to stash their heaviest equipment where it would not be seen by the officers.
True, there was some concern about the cover the forest provided for snipers, but Chapelle’s 27e Regiment d’Infanterie, at least, had been largely spared the attentions of Prussian sharpshooters.
Other nearby divisions, probably further up this same road upon which they marched, had kept the Prussians at bay. In fact, the word they had was that the Prussians were on the run once more, after having held up the advance for a short time. When they did stop and give stiff resistance, that was when Chapelle would see countless stretchers and ambulances passing en route to the hospitals that existed in their rear areas. As well as the war seemed to be going for France, it certainly seemed to Chapelle that there must be a lot fewer Frenchmen now. But what did that matter to him, so long as he and his friends were safe?
“Sergeant!” called a gruff voice from behind Chapelle, probably atop a certain gray mare he had thought he heard clopping nearer. LaFavor was angry again, as usual.
“Oui, mes Capitaine?”
“Why do your soldiers not have their oilcloths?”
“I am sorry, my Captain. I have no idea,” he lied. LaFavor tightened his gaze on Chapelle, noting that he, too, was missing some gear. Aware that he would have to provide a better answer, Chapelle explained, “The march has been exhausting, Captain. I think many of them felt they could not go on while carrying so much equipment. The coats were heavy, so…” he made an excusing shrug. He figured to sugar the captain’s mood – “But we have moved fast, my Captain! These constant victories have had us running to catch up with the enemy!” He giggled, nervously.
LaFavor peered around unhappily at some of the nearby soldiers as they trudged past. “That man is missing his rifle!” he exclaimed, pointing with great energy. “And him! And him!” He wore an incredulous expression of horror.
“Captain, when the supply train arrives I shall ensure that they all get resupplied. And,” he added, hoping to damp some of the captain’s fury, “I will make sure they know there will be discipline for any who lose things along the path.”
“They are not coming!” LaFavor stated with finality. Chapelle looked on dumbly, not comprehending. “L’Empereur,” LaFavor explained, “Or, for all I know, his meddling wife – has negotiated peace with the Hessians. Our general is trying to decide whether to now violate their neutrality and retreat across their territory, or to make a stand.”
Then LaFavor locked eyes with Chapelle and chose to lay out for Chapelle exactly their situation, so perhaps he would understand the consequences of his laziness. “Sergeant, we have just chased a Prussian prince with 200,000 men under arms and 80,000 horse 200 miles into the heart of Germany, and –
soudainement! – we are cut off from supply, reinforcement and paths of retreat.” Chapelle felt the blood draining from his face. “This prince is angry,” the captain emphasized. “He is coming back… and your men had best find their rifles!” With a flurry of splashes, the captain wheeled his horse and galloped away.
Chapelle was left drenched, with rain dripping down his face, and wiping mud off his cheek as he tried to decide what he, as these mens’ sergeant, should do.
(AARthor’s note: This is not an attempt to stereotype – I have read two separate accounts that dwelt upon the fact that French (and sometimes Prussian) conscripts during the Franco-Prussian War regularly ditched equipment and even rifles and cartridges to lighten their load while marching! Incomprehensible to the military mind, but… these conscripts aren’t possessed of military minds.)