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Updated: May 19, 2025
Some munition-wagons, painted a dull grey, lumbered past, driven by sunburned youths in drab. Life-force, Death-force was it all one; the great unknowable momentum from which there was but the one escape, in the arms of their Heavenly Father?
The troops of cavalry, the teams of mules and horses dragging munition-wagons or travelling kitchens or long "75" guns, clattered along the iron surface of the Via Sacra that blessed road which made the salvation of Verdun possible after the only railway was destroyed. Endless trains of motor-lorries lumbered by. The narrow trenches were coated with ice. The hillside trails were slippery as glass.
We drew the car to the side of the road and waited whilst a long procession of empty munition-wagons passed on the way back from the munition-parks near the fighting-line. There was a smile on the face of every one of the drivers.
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