better. I did it, I said. I came back from a gas attack and an exploded grenade. You can get better, too.
They kept me at the Red Cross until they were sure my wounds were healed. Every day I was there, I made my rounds. Then I would take position near the entrance, where the medics brought in the wounded. When these boys came in, scared and hurting, guess who was there to offer a friendly face and a warm lick.
Everything’s going to be all right, I told them. You’re safe now. The folks here know what they’re doing. Take it from me.
When I was being discharged, the doctor said to Conroy, “That dog of yours is the best medicine these men could have. Come back and visit sometime—but not on a stretcher, okay, Stubby?”
Hey, he didn’t have to tell me twice.
—
I got back to the Front just as the battle was winding down. With the worst over, I went into NoMan’s Land and helped the medics track down the wounded. By then, I knew all the ambulance drivers and medics, and they knew me.
All in all, in spite of casualties, this had been a successful campaign. We were able to drive out the enemy and recapture the village of Seicheprey.
I dared anybody then to call my boys green. The boys of the 102nd Infantry, Yankee Division, were seasoned soldiers and brave men, every last one of them.
By the end of June, we were on the move again, traveling by train to the next battlefield. The men were ragged and dirty. But with a solid victory behind them, they were feeling cocky. We got out at a station northwest of a place called Chateau-Thierry (SHA-toe teary), where we joined up with the French forces and prepared for battle. Again, the men dug trenches. Conroy’s hands had becomehard and calloused from digging. Once we were hunkered down, the American and French soldiers put their heads together and plotted. They whispered to avoid being overheard. The enemy was clever, covering their uniforms with branches to make themselves look like bushes. Then they snuck behind enemy lines and listened in.
While the men were talking, I rested. I was a little out of shape and needed all my strength.
Our plan was to launch a surprise attack on the enemy while they slept. The night before the battle, we all hit the sack early.
“I’ve got butterflies in my stomach,” Conroy said to me. “You watch yourself tomorrow, boy.”
We were up before dawn. Quietly, we ate our rations in the dark. The soldiers checked their gear and weapons. Then, at 4:45, we climbed out of the trenches and started moving toward enemy lines.In their hobnailed trench shoes, their long coats flapping, they ran silently across the scarred and pitted ground of No Man’s Land, toward enemy territory. I ran with them.
As we came upon their trenches, we saw that, except for a few drowsy guards at the end of their watch, the soldiers were wrapped in their sleeping bags, dead to the world. Somebody on our side blew a whistle, the shrill noise piercing the dawn. The men raised their rifles and began to fire into the trenches, shouting as they bore down.
And that was just the beginning of many hard days of battle alongside the French soldiers. Moving in advance of us, the French tried to take a German-occupied hill and failed. We stalled out behind them. Finally, we pushed through and liberated the town from enemy occupation.
In the days that followed, in dribs and drabs,the good people of Chateau-Thierry returned to find that the city was theirs once again. They were grateful to the American Expeditionary Forces. One night, torches burned, and soldiers and villagers sat around tables in the square. They pooled together what little food they had to make a feast. The ladies patted me and made goo-goo eyes. Conroy explained to them with his few French words that I was no ordinary pet.
I was un chien extraordinaire, he told the ladies. He told me that meant extraordinary dog. He told them that I was a brave soldier who had been wounded twice. He boasted about
They kept me at the Red Cross until they were sure my wounds were healed. Every day I was there, I made my rounds. Then I would take position near the entrance, where the medics brought in the wounded. When these boys came in, scared and hurting, guess who was there to offer a friendly face and a warm lick.
Everything’s going to be all right, I told them. You’re safe now. The folks here know what they’re doing. Take it from me.
When I was being discharged, the doctor said to Conroy, “That dog of yours is the best medicine these men could have. Come back and visit sometime—but not on a stretcher, okay, Stubby?”
Hey, he didn’t have to tell me twice.
—
I got back to the Front just as the battle was winding down. With the worst over, I went into NoMan’s Land and helped the medics track down the wounded. By then, I knew all the ambulance drivers and medics, and they knew me.
All in all, in spite of casualties, this had been a successful campaign. We were able to drive out the enemy and recapture the village of Seicheprey.
I dared anybody then to call my boys green. The boys of the 102nd Infantry, Yankee Division, were seasoned soldiers and brave men, every last one of them.
By the end of June, we were on the move again, traveling by train to the next battlefield. The men were ragged and dirty. But with a solid victory behind them, they were feeling cocky. We got out at a station northwest of a place called Chateau-Thierry (SHA-toe teary), where we joined up with the French forces and prepared for battle. Again, the men dug trenches. Conroy’s hands had becomehard and calloused from digging. Once we were hunkered down, the American and French soldiers put their heads together and plotted. They whispered to avoid being overheard. The enemy was clever, covering their uniforms with branches to make themselves look like bushes. Then they snuck behind enemy lines and listened in.
While the men were talking, I rested. I was a little out of shape and needed all my strength.
Our plan was to launch a surprise attack on the enemy while they slept. The night before the battle, we all hit the sack early.
“I’ve got butterflies in my stomach,” Conroy said to me. “You watch yourself tomorrow, boy.”
We were up before dawn. Quietly, we ate our rations in the dark. The soldiers checked their gear and weapons. Then, at 4:45, we climbed out of the trenches and started moving toward enemy lines.In their hobnailed trench shoes, their long coats flapping, they ran silently across the scarred and pitted ground of No Man’s Land, toward enemy territory. I ran with them.
As we came upon their trenches, we saw that, except for a few drowsy guards at the end of their watch, the soldiers were wrapped in their sleeping bags, dead to the world. Somebody on our side blew a whistle, the shrill noise piercing the dawn. The men raised their rifles and began to fire into the trenches, shouting as they bore down.
And that was just the beginning of many hard days of battle alongside the French soldiers. Moving in advance of us, the French tried to take a German-occupied hill and failed. We stalled out behind them. Finally, we pushed through and liberated the town from enemy occupation.
In the days that followed, in dribs and drabs,the good people of Chateau-Thierry returned to find that the city was theirs once again. They were grateful to the American Expeditionary Forces. One night, torches burned, and soldiers and villagers sat around tables in the square. They pooled together what little food they had to make a feast. The ladies patted me and made goo-goo eyes. Conroy explained to them with his few French words that I was no ordinary pet.
I was un chien extraordinaire, he told the ladies. He told me that meant extraordinary dog. He told them that I was a brave soldier who had been wounded twice. He boasted about
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