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Updated: June 1, 2025
In the narrow confines of the trench there was no chance for shooting after the first volley. It was a matter of fists and knives and in this the Germans proved, as they had many times before, that they were no match for the sinewy young Americans who with a yell went at them like wild-cats. Sullenly they retreated and their leader held up his hands and shouted "Kamerad!"
After all this, and after all the Hell through which we had passed from six that morning until after two, when we reached the enemy trench and presented the bright ends of our bayonets, Mr. Fritz went down on his knees and cried, "Kamerad! Kamerad!" What did we do? We did exactly what you would have done under like circumstances. "Kamerad!" Bah!
Thirty others held their hands up and said, in a chorus of fear, "Kamerad! Kamerad!" A company of the 8th Gordons were among the first into Loos, led by some of those Highland officers I have mentioned on another page. It was "Honest John" who led one crowd of them, and he claims now, with a laugh, that he gained his Military Cross for saving the lives of two hundred Germans.
You kamerad wot?" "Kamerad!" the man echoed with an accent of contempt. "I am no German I am French. I have come through the Boche lines to-night with important information which I desire to communicate forthwith to your commanding officer." "Strike me!" his catechist breathed, skeptical. There was a new sound of splashing in the trench. A third voice chimed in: "'Ello? Wot's all the row abaht?"
His fall seemed to take the heart out of the others who were being outfought and pressed back. They wavered, broke and started to flee, but the sharp crack of the corporal's revolver brought one of them to the ground, and the others halted. Up went their hands and from the lips of each came the cry "Kamerad!" in token of surrender. The American boys rounded them up and disarmed them.
In front, Germans numbers of Germans glared snarling at them out of the trench, or whimpered in a corner with arms upraised, as was the nature of the beasts. A non-commissioned officer picked up a bomb and hurled it at the advancing platoon sergeant; only to cry "Kamerad" when it failed to explode. . . .
Seeing their companions dashing across the open, the forces commanded by Lieutenant Hetherton and the sailor Hennessy also broke from the trees and charged. The Germans poured several sharp volleys into the attackers, then threw down their arms. "Kamerad! Kamerad!" came the cry. "Cease firing!" Frank shouted. Silence reigned after the noise of the battle. "Take charge of those men, Mr.
That last meant but one thing food. I rose to my feet: "Kamerad!" One of them stopped short. The other pressed on. He muttered something under his breath and the other broke into a trot to catch up. I edged along, trying desperately to be friendly. That made them the more timid. They would have none of me. No further word was exchanged just then except for a repetition of my "Kamerad."
They may not have understood his words, but there was no misunderstanding the meaning of that black sinister muzzle of the machine gun with a hundred deaths behind it. They were trapped, and their hands went up with cries of "Kamerad!" in token of surrender. On that part of the line the battle was over, for the plan did not contemplate going beyond the second trench at that time.
To this some of the gallant lads gave their attention. With wild yells they rushed at the German crew, and to their credit if credit it be let it be said that these Huns did not cry "Kamerad!" They were ready for a fight and they got it. It was a case of cold steel, and there were no better exponents of that mode of fighting than the American lads.
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