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Updated: June 8, 2025
"I'm remembering how you saved my life and named your gun after me." "Hey, Fritzie, have they got any Boy Scouts in Germany?" Roscoe asked, ignoring Tom, but speaking apparently at him. The nearest Boche gave a glowering look at the word Fritzie, but otherwise paid no attention.
Every one forgot breakfast when word was passed down the line that we were going to "mortarfy" Fritzie. The last-relief night sentries, who had just tumbled sleepily into their dugouts, tumbled out of them again to watch the fun. Fatigue parties, working in the communication trenches, dropped their picks and shovels and came hurrying up to the first line.
"Oh, Fritzie Hun, he had a gun, And other things that's worrse; He didn't like the foe to strike, So he shot a Red Cross nurrse," Archer rattled on. "Can't you say nurse?" said Tom. "Surre I can nurrrrse." Tom laughed. They tramped up through the main street of a village, for the populated area was too extensive to afford hope of a reasonably short detour.
It goes like this: "Oh, Fritzie that hands those Blighties out so free, Just send a nice sweet cushy one to me One that will strike me just below the knee. Six months in Blighty oh, how sweet 'twould be! "Send me a shell with pellets nice and round; Scatter them, all but one, upon the ground; Send me that one, but let it come a mile, And I will give you the sunshine of my smile."
A few nights later we made another trip to the front lines, and this was disastrous for No. 10. First of all, Tucker got shot in the face while on a wiring party; then Jack Branch was on a working party behind the trench when Fritzie started shelling, and he got a shrapnel bullet through his arm. We bound him up, and he was in great pain, but he smiled all the time.
"Watch the roads carefully as we go, so you can get back all right. Noise don't bother you?" "No, I'm used to artillery I mean the noise," said Tom. "You probably won't have much to do unless in an emergency. If Fritzie cuts the wire or it should get tangled and we couldn't reach the airmen quick enough you'd have to beat it back. There's two roads out of Cantigny. Remember to take the south one.
As he approached one stretcher, a cheery voice called, "Hello, Mr. Bok. Here I am again." It was the boy he had left just seventy-two hours before hearty and well. "Well, my boy, you weren't in it long, were you?" "No, sir," answered the boy; "Fritzie sure got me first thing. Hadn't gone a hundred yards over the top. Got a cigarette?"
"Goddard and McMurchie, you will take charge of the bombing-post at the end of the trench: Sergeant Oldershaw will show you where it is." Mac was ticked to death, and I followed him looking as happy as I could but, say, I wasn't feeling a bit heroic. We went on the post and Fritzie shelled us there for two days, and it sure was a marvel that we didn't get hit.
WE: "Now, boys, does that always happen? How often do you fellows polish Fritzie off and clean up the trench?" It's got so it's mighty damn risky for any Prussian to surrender to any Canadian!" When the line out there in the training camp has gone to its objective, which usually is the third or fourth enemy trench, the men begin digging in.
"Let's see," said the sailor; "didn't I jolly well tell yer? Congratulations!" "Does it mean I go to Slopsgotten?" Tom asked. "They'll keep us there till the war's over, too," said the one called Freddie. "We'll never get a good whack at Fritzie now." Tom's heart fell. "We'll be wittling souveneers out o' wood," Freddie concluded. "We'll have plenty o' wood," said his comrade.
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