One of Four: World War One Through the Eyes of an Unknown Soldier

PREFACE

HÔTEL DE VILLE (CITY HALL): CHALONS-SUR-MARNE, FRANCE

In October 1921, the remains of four unknown soldiers were exhumed from grave sites at four American cemeteries in France, Aisne-Marne, Meuse-Argonne, Somme, and St. Mihiel by teams from the Quartermaster Corps assigned to each location. After the remains were unearthed, each one underwent a thorough, detailed forensic examination to ensure they died of wounds sustained in combat and their identities could not be determined. The location of their deaths, original burial locations, and uniforms were used to ensure they were U.S. troops.

After the examination, the mortuary teams prepared the bodies. They were placed in flag-draped identical caskets and shipping cases. The reason for identical caskets and shipping cases was they wanted an impartial selection of the unknown soldier, a truly random selection. This practice was not an idea of the U.S. government. Great Britain and France buried one soldier each on November 11th, 1920. They used the same selection criteria for their unknowns.

On October 23rd, 1921, all four flag-draped caskets containing the bodies of the unknown soldiers arrived by truck at Hôtel de Ville (City Hall) of Chalons-sur-Marne, a small city with a population of 32,000. The four unknowns lay in identical caskets on top of their new shipping cases. One of the four would be selected to be interred at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia. Inside the city hall, the four unknowns lay in their identical caskets.

An Army sergeant was chosen to select the casket. Sergeant Edward F. Younger of Headquarters Company, 2nd Battalion, 50th Infantry, American Forces in Germany. He was given the honor of choosing the unknown the following day based on his actions in the war. He was a hero, having received the Distinguished Service Cross, the second-highest award that can be given to a service member. He was also wounded in the war and was known for his bravery after being discharged from the Army on October 29th, 1919. The next day, he reenlisted and was assigned to the 50th Infantry in post-war Germany.

On October 24th, 1921, he was given a spray of white roses by a French father who had lost two sons in the war. While Sergeant Younger walked around the caskets, a band played a hymn in the background. He did this four times until he stopped and placed the spray of roses on a single casket, indicating his selection. As he stood in front of the casket, a feeling of sorrow mixed with pride, and then a sense of calm came over him, a feeling he had not felt in years.

He stepped back from the casket, saluted the unknown soldier, and stepped aside. U.S. and French officials walked forward and paid their respects. The spray of roses would remain with the unknown soldier and be interred with him.

Once the ceremony was completed, the casket of the unknown soldier was placed on a horse-drawn caisson and taken through the streets of Chalons-sur-Marne to the local railway station. Along the route, citizens lined the streets to bid farewell to the unknown soldier. But the local population knew him. He was one of the heroes who gave his life fighting for their country. Many wept as the horse-drawn caisson passed.

At the railway station, the casket of the unknown was placed in a special funeral train approved by the French government. Once loaded, the train made its way through Paris to the port city of Le Havre. While the train traveled the tracks, crowds would again stand and pay their respects. Some waved, others saluted, but all prayed for his soul.

At Le Havre, the casket of the unknown was carried aboard the USS Olympia for the trip across the Atlantic Ocean. November 9th, 1921, the ship arrived at Washington Naval Yard. All the service chiefs, the secretary of war, and the General of the Armies, John J. Blackjack Pershing, stood to watch as the casket of the unknown was removed from the ship.

The casket was placed on a horse-drawn caisson led by the 3rd Calvary Regiment for its journey to the Capitol Rotunda until November 11th, 1921. President Harding and over 90,000 ordinary citizens paid their respects as he lay in state.

On a cold morning, November 11th, 1921, exactly three years after the war ended, the casket carrying the unknown soldier made its final journey home and its final resting place from the Capitol Rotunda through Washington D.C. across the Potomac River to Arlington National Cemetery. Escorting the unknown were the president, General Pershing, and eight highly decorated veterans. The eight consisted of five Army soldiers: an artilleryman, a cavalryman, a combat engineer, an infantryman, Sergeant Samuel Woodfill, a Medal of Honor recipient, and a coastal artillery corps. Two of the remaining veterans were from the Navy, and one Marine, Sergeant Ernest A. Janson, was a Medal of Honor recipient.

That day, the unknown soldier was placed under a simple marble slab, what today we call the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

CHAPTER 1

A SOLDIER’S DIARY

NOMENY, FRANCE - OCTOBER 1918

Camille Durand woke to the sound of artillery in the distance, too far for her to be concerned. It wasn’t the first time she woke to the sound—it had become familiar since the war had started four years ago. It was a cloudy late fall day in 1918. A nip was in the air, and winter was coming fast. Her father was off fighting the Germans. He joined the French army in early 1915 and hadn’t been home in months. After the massacre of sixty-three residences on August 20th, 1914, in a small village in northern France, he couldn’t stand by and see his country destroyed. She or her mother didn’t know his exact whereabouts. All they knew was he was on the front and alive, as of his last letter two weeks ago. Her mother had become somewhat of a recluse after her father left for war. The stress of war had taken a toll on her. Camille was but a child when he went to fight the Germans, and since then, she had blossomed into a teenager full of energy, compassion, curiosity, independence, and love for her country. A daughter any father could wish for. She missed her father with all her heart. He used to take her on long walks through the forests and fields, teaching her about nature, animals, and how to pick mushrooms. Her eyes would tear up whenever she thought of him, wishing he were home.

Her house had been in her father’s family for over one hundred years. It was located along the Aire River in a small village. The once beautiful town had been ravaged by years of war, and now the almost abandoned village lay in ruins with skeletons of buildings that looked like they would fall if a strong wind hit them. What was at one time beautiful ornate structures, some of them dating back to the Renaissance and Neoclassical periods, that usually would be filled with shoppers, families, and goods, were now empty and in ruins. Bricks and pieces of those once charming buildings litter the virtually indistinguishable streets. Walking down the street took considerable balance. In addition to the bricks littering the way, there were shell craters and pieces of lumber everywhere to step over or through. Her home didn’t escape the war. It had been hit more than once with machine gun fire and shrapnel from artillery shelling. But yet, it stood as a testament to the quality of the construction. Most other houses were abandoned, and the families that once occupied them were long gone. However, her mother vowed to remain until her husband came home. She would not be forced from her home.

Camille got off the bed, headed downstairs hungry, and dreamed about eating a large breakfast with fruit, cheese, meats, and fresh bread. However, there wasn’t much her mom could buy or trade for in the local markets. Most of the chickens, pigs, goats, and other farm animals had been slaughtered. The army took all the horses to move equipment and weapons. Fresh vegetables and fruit were almost impossible to find, yet she and her mother survived. When she could gather enough flour, she made bread. Camille loved to bake. It was a form of relaxation, allowing her mind to wander about what could be.

She sat at the kitchen table, eating a slice of stale bread—it was all she had. After eating, Camille returned to her room to prepare for the day—another day of survival.

She sat on her bed and continued dreaming of life before the war, going outside and playing with her friends. All of them either moved away or were killed in the war. She wondered if she would ever see any of them again. Her days were occupied with reading, helping around the house, and locating food. Her mother told her no matter what the war brought, they would have a clean house. She would always say, Cleanliness is next to godliness. A devoted Catholic, her mother often took out the family Bible and read verses from it.

Camille also dreamed of what could be after the war and wanted to go to Paris. But today felt different. She couldn’t explain it and didn’t know if it was a good feeling or bad. Maybe it was from the lack of the machine guns firing in the distance last night or deep, uninterrupted, peaceful sleep. Yet she knew in her heart the day would be like every day since the war started. Why would it be any different? She decided to lay back in her warm bed. After a few minutes, she finally got out of her cozy bed, finished getting dressed, and walked to the glassless window. She pulled the torn curtains to the side.

In the distance, a small group of American soldiers advanced across a barren artillery-cratered wasteland that was once a bountiful grass field filled with beautiful bright yellow daffodils, an occasional oak tree, and a small herd of cattle. She waved at them, but they didn’t wave back. She could tell they were American soldiers by the uniforms. She loved them. They had traveled thousands of miles and left their families to fight for her country, France.

A country they might have yet to hear of, or maybe they read about France in a book, or perhaps a place they would have loved to travel to and visit at a different time. Sometimes, when an American patrol came close enough to her house, she would go out and greet them. However, if the Germans saw her interact with them, they would kill her and her mother. Even at an early age, Camille was rebellious. In turn, they would give her some of their rations, like bread, meat, or sugar if they had it. To her, it seemed they always had enough food. They always smiled, but there was something behind their smiles. Maybe they were just homesick, missing family or friends. At such a young age, what she saw behind their faces was exhaustion, pain, fright, and suffering that no one should have to endure. But still, their smiles would brighten her mood, and she thought maybe, just maybe, her smile lifted them up.

Camille continued to watch the patrol advance when she heard the sounds of machine gun fire and artillery cannons. They were closer than the ones she had heard in previous days. She crouched behind her bedroom wall, peeked over the window ledge, and watched the soldiers advance across the cratered field. They were running now, trying to avoid the machine gun fire and looking for any protection from the incoming bullets and shells. One soldier ran toward his comrade, who was already wounded. As the shells began to impact, the soldier leaped on top of the fallen soldier, shielding him from the incoming rounds. As she watched, the same soldier knelt and fired toward the machine gun nest. She turned her head, not able to watch anymore. The brave soldier was getting hit by the machine gun fire and the shrapnel from the shelling.

They had walked into an ambush.

She ducked behind the wall as rounds found their targets, and the shells began to impact. Boom, boom, boom—the vibrations shook the wall, along with the concussions from the shells crashing into the ground. Her eardrums vibrated, and she put her hands over her ears.

She screamed, "Stop, stop!"

She placed her head in her hands. Her whole body trembled as she crouched behind the bedroom wall. Pieces of her ceiling fell to the floor. The vibrations were so strong that she wondered if the house would implode and she would be crushed, yet she didn’t move. The air filled with dust and a musky smell. When the machine gun fire stopped and the barrage waned, she raised her head to view over the window ledge. When the smoke and dust settled, all she could see were the craters left by the shelling. In the blink of an eye, the patrol she had been watching took almost a direct hit from the German artillery. As the air cleared further, none of the soldiers were visible. It was like they just vanished, vaporized.

She looked in the direction the soldiers came from, but there were no follow-on soldiers—nothing and no one. The artillery shifted to the right and continued for a few more minutes. The machine gun fell silent.

She sat with her back to the wall and cried. Once the artillery subsided, after what seemed like a lifetime, she didn’t hear any more machine gun fire. She got up, ran down the stairs, passed her mom in the living room, and left her house.

Camille, où vas-tu? Reviens ici. Vous m’entendez, her mother yelled.

Camille didn’t look back or respond. She just kept on running. She knew a little first aid and had to see if she could help the soldiers. After all, some were just a few years older than her and fighting for her country. She ran as fast as her little legs could, jumping over cracks and craters in the field. She was not worried about her safety. Luckily for her, the machine gun crew abandoned their position, thinking a more significant number of American soldiers would advance toward them. Their job was to harass the Americans, not get themselves killed.

With her thoughts on the soldiers, if she could help just one, then the risk of danger would be worth it. It took her a couple of minutes to reach the crater’s edge. Panting and out of breath, she peered over the rim, then dropped to her knees and cried. She had seen death before, many times, but the sheer savagery of the machine gun and artillery was beyond comprehension. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she got up and walked toward the remains of the soldiers.

She could do nothing but pray for them. She knelt, put her hands together, looked up at the sky, and prayed for their souls.

"Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen."

As she got up and moved closer, off to her right, the man who had shielded his fellow soldier was lying partially on top of his comrade. His right hand was outstretched, and next to what was left of the brave soldier’s hand was a small leather-bound book that looked like a personal diary with a rubber band around it. It was weathered from use but undamaged from the shelling. It was as if it were laid there by the hand of God. While standing over it, a sense of calm overwhelmed her. Should she pick it up or leave it? She looked up at the sky and asked God for guidance. As she looked up, the sky grew dark, and the rain fell. She heard what seemed like a young man’s voice. Pick it up, please, please. She tried to tune the voice out, but it appeared to get louder. Not a harsh or evil sound, but soothing, more like a young man at peace or an angel.

Camille bent over, picked up the diary, and put it in her dress pocket. The voice ceased, but the calmness remained. The rain stopped, and the clouds parted, giving way to a beautiful blue sky. She walked around the other soldiers to see if there was anything she could do for them, even the one he tried to save. They were all dead. Tears ran down her cheeks. She put her hand in her pocket and felt the diary. The calmness overtook her again, and her tears stopped. Today was not typical for Camille, as she had thought when she woke up this morning.

Camille ran back home. When she entered the house, her mother had not moved. Camille went up to her bedroom, took out the diary, and tried to read it, but she couldn’t read English and only spoke a couple of words of English. The typical terms were hello, goodbye, and thank you. She put the diary under her mattress for safekeeping and went downstairs. She wanted to check on her mother. As she entered the kitchen, her mother was sitting on a chair at the table, the only one of the two remaining out of six. She didn’t look up at Camille with her head in her hands. She hadn’t said one word since she got back. Camille felt her mother’s pain but could do nothing. She walked over, put her arms around her mother, and leaned her head against hers. She kissed her forehead and said, I love you, Momma.

She decided to sit at the doorway, hoping for an American patrol to come by the house. She had to inform them of what she witnessed. Camille didn’t want to tell the local authorities. She didn’t know who she could trust. Years of war turned friends into enemies, once trusted officials into eyes and ears for the Germans, but she could trust the Americans. After a few hours, a column of soldiers advanced in the distance. She couldn’t determine who or what country they represented, so she waited. As they got closer, she was able to make out the uniforms. They were American soldiers. Camille got up and ran toward them. As she got closer, someone yelled, Halt, halt. She froze in her tracks. She knew that word in English. It was almost universal.

The column of soldiers stopped, and one of them walked toward her with his pistol aimed at her.

Panting from running toward them, she said in French, American soldiers died over there. She pointed into the field in the distance.

Shaking his head from side to side, the lieutenant said, I don’t speak French. Do you speak English?

Looking confused, she replied, No, no., pointing in the direction of the dead soldiers.

He put his hand up for her to wait.

The lieutenant yelled back to the column. Get Sergeant Younger up here on the double.

Sergeant Edward Younger ran toward Lieutenant Carlson. Yes, sir.

You speak French, correct? If so, what the hell is she saying? I could make out it was something about American soldiers.

Sergeant Younger, an average-looking man from Chicago, leaned over, and asked, Pouvez-vous me répéter ce que vous avez dit au lieutenant ici.

Camille nodded and told him what she had witnessed earlier that day.

He said, Reste ici, got up, looked at the lieutenant, and told him the story she had just spoken.

Sergeant, in the field over there? The lieutenant pointed toward where the soldiers lay.

Yes, sir. Do you want me to take a couple of men and check it out? Shouldn’t take a few minutes.

After a moment, the lieutenant replied, "Take two men, verify what she said, and meet us at the T in the road. We will hold there and wait