Without warning, Major McNaughton stood. “I want the four of you to follow me, please. What I’d like to do next is not something that should happen in a room where the desk isn’t even a desk.”
Jake thought it said something, too, that Major McNaughton asked them instead of ordered them.
It was his first realization that, yes, the Canadians could actually do the impossible and take Vimy Ridge.
—
When all of them stepped outside, the scruffy dog moved straight to Thomas and whined and wagged its tail.
“Ahh,” Major McNaughton said. “Your platoon has a mascot of its own. Wonderful. What’s his name?”
“Colonel Scruffington,” Charlie said when no one answered. “Scruffy, for short.”
Lieutenant Norman cleared his throat. “Named after a British officer, of course.”
“Of course,” Major McNaughton said with a smile.
Scruffy followed as Major McNaughton led them to a garden behind the house that served as headquarters. It was well-tended, and Jake had to remind himself that he did not live in a world where all the ground was torn apart by artillery explosions. Someday, when the war was over, he could return to a world like this garden. It made him miss home.
Major McNaughton stopped them at the base of a large tree.
“To take Vimy,” Major McNaughton said, “I want soldiers with the discipline of a well-trained pack of hounds. Soldiers who will find their own holes through the hedges. I’m not going to tell them where those holes are or how to get through them. I want soldiers who can find those holes themselves and get through those holes their own way. Soldiers who will never lose sight of the objective as they do it.”
He gave a tight smile. “Those aren’t my words. More or less, they come directly from General Byng himself. You do realize how different this is from the British and French approach. General Byng was furious to hear that six thousand French soldiers were commanded to attack enemy machine guns with bayonets and were not permitted to fire their own rifles until given the order to do so.”
Major McNaughton paced away from them and back. “Lieutenant Norman, I have heard good things about your platoon. I want you to serve under me at Vimy Ridge as we prepare for a big push.”
Lieutenant Norman took a deep breath of surprise. Then he grinned.
“It would be an honor,” Lieutenant Norman said. “And with respect, sir, may I ask why you needed these men with me to make that request?”
“I didn’t need them for that,” Major McNaughton said. “I needed them for this.”
Major McNaughton pulled an envelope out of his pocket.
“There was a recent gas attack and your platoon saved many men that day,” Major McNaughton said. “These three men, I’m told, were exceptional under fire.”
“They were,” Lieutenant Norman answered. “I am very proud of them.”
“You should be.” Major McNaughton slid three medals out of the envelope. “They’ve each been awarded a Distinguished Conduct Medal. I’d prefer to pin it on their uniforms out here instead of in my office.”
Major McNaughton paused when he got to Thomas. “There is one condition. You must tell me exactly what you said in Cree to Leo. The British officer said you sent the lion from a roar into a whimper, and trust me, I’ve never seen that happen before.”
“I did not know he was your lion,” Thomas said. “Otherwise I would never have made Leo that solemn promise.”
“Which was?”
“Well…some words in Cree are difficult to translate.”
“I’d like to know what you said.”
Thomas spoke in a solemn voice. “I told him he would taste good after a little time on a stick over a campfire.”
Mascots played a very important role in soldiers’ lives in the trenches. Pets like cats and dogs gave comfort and helped make life seem more normal while still serving a practical purpose. But all sorts of mascots became part of units throughout the entire war: monkeys, goats, pigs, donkeys, birds and even lizards.
For one Canadian unit, the adoption of a mascot occurred long before reaching the front. At a train stop in White River, Ontario, on his way to join the war, Canadian soldier Lieutenant Harry Colebourn saw a bear cub for sale for $20. He named it Winnipeg for his home city, and he took Winnipeg all the way to Europe, where the bear became a mascot and pet for the Second Canadian Infantry Brigade Headquarters.
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Lieutenant Colebourn intended to bring the bear back to the zoo in Winnipeg, so before going to France, he left the bear at the London Zoo for safekeeping. After the war, however, Winnie, as the bear was known, remained at the zoo, much loved for her gentleness and playfulness. A boy named Christopher Robin loved the bear so much he renamed his own teddy bear from Edward Bear to Winnie-the-Pooh. That’s why the boy’s father, A.A. Milne, used the name Winnie-the-Pooh in the stories that later became world famous.
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As for a lion in Canadian military headquarters? Major McNaughton did keep a lion as a mascot. He rescued the cub from a zoo in Paris that was being shut down. The lion was not housebroken and spent most of its time with McNaughton in his office. McNaughton also sat beside the lion in his car as he toured back roads, much to the amazement of soldiers they passed.
THE IMPORTANCE OF VIMY RIDGE
The seven-kilometre (4.3 mi.) long Vimy Ridge in northern France, near Arras, held a commanding view over the surrounding countryside. Previous unsuccessful French and British attacks had suffered over 150,000 casualties.
In early 1917, British High Command ordered the Canadian Corps to capture the position as part of a larger spring offensive in the Arras area. In the coming campaign, British forces to the south would have limited success, and the French would fail badly, with many of their units reduced to mutiny. The Canadian attack against Vimy Ridge would be spectacular by comparison….
The battle has since become an important symbol for Canada, the place where Canadians from across the country delivered an unprecedented victory, all four divisions of the Canadian Corps fighting together for the first time in the war.
—War Museum of Canada
GENERAL BYNG AND GENERAL MCNAUGHTON—NO CLASS DIVISIONS IN THE ARMY
In Britain, unlike the raw young country of Canada, class divisions in society were clearly marked and not to be crossed. The British army was the same: birth, marriage and social position played a big part in which officers were chosen to lead enlisted men. It was an elitism that did not always result in smart, capable officers. Men from the lower classes were expected to obey orders without question, no matter how bad an officer’s decision might seem.
For the Canadians, however, class divisions were seen as undemocratic, and when a newly promoted Sergeant Cassels was informed that he could not walk down the streets with a soldier who was a private, he tore off his stripes and declared that he was not a sergeant anymore.
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Canadian officers reached their ranks based on their intelligence and leadership qualities. And Canadian soldiers were expected to think for themselves. General Byng made this statement to his Vimy sector in 1917: “What I want is the discipline of a well-trained pack of hounds. You find your own holes through the hedges. I’m not going to tell you where they are. But never lose sight of your objective. Reach it in your own way.”
To help his officers and soldiers achieve this goal, Byng was very careful to give them the training to succeed, as shown in the next chapters.
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EARLY JANUARY, 1917
COURCELETTE, FRANCE
Jake had not known that Lieutenant Norman could ride a horse, yet the officer was mounted on Coal Dust ahead, holding a pole with a red flag highly visible to the whole platoon.
It was a cold morning, with frost tingeing the chewed-up ground. Marching beside Charlie, Jake held his rifle at the position called high port, with the bayonet in place. This position would allow him to
either lunge and use the rifle like a spear or drop the barrel and shoot.
“No lines!” Lieutenant Norman shouted at the men. “No lines! Clumps!”
A battle called the Somme Offensive had gone horribly for the Allies. Part of the reason was that, fighting traditionally, brigade after brigade had advanced in neat waves that made the soldiers easy targets for modern weaponry. General Byng had decided he didn’t care about military tradition. If it didn’t make sense to attack in lines, Canadian soldiers would do it differently.
A few other platoon soldiers moved ahead of Jake and Charlie to make the group more of a circle than a line. As they advanced, Jake continued counting his steps. He reached ninety. He expected the next order shortly and it came.
“Halt!” Lieutenant Norman shouted a few seconds later. “Check your watches.”
“Welcome to the Vimy Glide,” Charlie said to Jake. “How did we do?”
One step every few seconds. Precisely one hundred yards in three minutes. That was called the Vimy Glide. Each soldier needed to be able to move at that exact pace. One hundred yards in three minutes.
“Answer for yourself,” Jake said. “That’s the whole point of this.”
At the brutal Battle of the Somme, too many officers had been taken out of action, and too few of the soldiers under their command knew enough to lead the others. General Byng had ensured that the Canadians would differ from the British and French troops in another way. The French and British did not believe their soldiers needed to be trained in tactics or battle strategy. But every Canadian, from junior officer down to the lowest ranked soldier, had been given a detailed responsibility and understood their role in the larger plan.
“I only think for myself when necessary,” Charlie said. “I don’t like to waste my energy when I can get others to do my work. So keep it up and I’ll match you step for step.”
Before Jake could answer, Lieutenant Norman gave another expected order. “Advance!”
The platoon was less than twenty-five paces from the enemy trench, marked by coils of barbed wire that protected the front lip. Lieutenant Norman spun his horse away to give the platoon a clear shot at the target.
Even this close, Jake and Charlie held back from charging. According to the plan, their pace had to be exact. No faster. No slower.
The sky was clouded and their bodies threw no shadows as they marched in a slow rhythm to the pace of the Vimy Glide.
Fifteen steps away. Then ten. Then five.
Finally, the moment to attack.
Jake shifted his rifle to his right hand. With his other hand, he reached into a pouch on his belt and grabbed a grenade.
The lead soldiers threw mats over the barbed wire. Jake and Charlie joined the platoon in a final rush over the mats to jump down into the enemy trench.
Jake landed on his feet and twisted sideways, alert for any attacking soldier.
He stared directly into the face of a defender. Jake reacted instantly. He tossed the grenade farther down the trench where it would do the most damage, far enough away that the explosion wouldn’t hurt him or the other Canadians.
Then Jake lifted his rifle and pointed it at the defender.
“Surrender or die,” Jake snarled. Jake shoved his rifle forward, stopping the bayonet only inches from the other soldier’s chest.
“You may think you sound frightening,” the enemy said. “But all I see is a farm boy who would like to go home. Not only that, but a farm boy who is still terrible at chess.”
“Surrender or die,” Jake snarled again.
“Is it only one or the other?” the enemy asked. “Can we not discuss another possibility?”
“Like what?” Jake said, lowering his rifle.
“I have become quite fond of tea,” the enemy said. “Would it not be nice to sit down and share a pot and some conversation? I have no interest in surrendering or dying. Tea with two milk and two sugar and some chocolate would be much better.”
“Sure, Thomas,” Jake said. “You’ve got some chocolate left from the last mail call, right? Why do you get so many packages?”
Lieutenant Norman blew a whistle. Jake glanced upward from the trench bottom to see Lieutenant Norman’s outline against the sky.
“Good work, men,” Lieutenant Norman said. “Now we’ll switch. Attackers become defenders. And defenders become attackers. One more time and then we’ll break for lunch.”
“See you in about fifteen minutes,” Jake told Thomas. “Don’t forget to pick up my dummy grenade as you go. It rolled into the corner behind you.”
—
“I have never liked mules,” Thomas said over his shoulder to Jake. “And yet, when our army has ten thousand to do the work, here I am, doing an excellent imitation of one.”
The two of them walked one in front of the other in a trench. There was a light drizzle, and the mud at the bottom was slippery.
“It’s Charlie’s job to complain,” Jake said. “Not yours. And he would be telling us that he’d get a servant to carry his load.”
Jake and Thomas shared a sling filled with boxes of ammunition. Each end of the sling was attached to the center of each of their rifles.
“Charlie is right behind you,” Charlie said. He, too, was carrying ammunition down the trench with another member of the platoon. Hundreds of pairs of soldiers formed a line. Their job was to carry the ammunition from wagons at the back of the line, through all of the trenches until they reached the defending posts at the edge of No Man’s Land. All of this was to prepare for the attack on Vimy Ridge. “Charlie does not like it when you talk about Charlie.”
“Does my friend Jake speak the truth?” Thomas asked “Would you not want all of us to know that in your mansion in Toronto you have a servant to do this kind of work for you?”
“Since you already know this, why bother explaining?” Charlie asked. “Besides, I’m beginning to believe that Toronto doesn’t exist, that it was all a dream. So don’t remind me of it, okay?”
“Watch out, Charlie,” Jake said. “Once you lower yourself to our kind of life, we might actually start liking you.”
“The horrors of war,” Charlie said. “Anything but that.”
Then Charlie laughed.
“I am beginning to like that man,” Thomas said. “Perhaps I too am losing my mind. I am still impressed that he named my dog Colonel Scruffington. Who knew that Charlie had a sense of humor?”
“Again,” Charlie said, “Charlie is right behind you and Charlie can hear every word. Move faster, please. And shut up. I have no intention of liking either of you in return.”
It was impossible to move faster. The mud was too slippery, and it was awkward to keep balanced with the sling full of ammunition between Jake and Thomas.
“Don’t let him hurt your feelings,” Jake told Thomas. “He is still mad about losing to you in chess.”
“He should not be angry,” Thomas said. “Everyone loses to me in chess.”
“If you are so smart,” Charlie called ahead, “why are you packing ammo like an ordinary mule?”
Thomas was quiet, but only for a moment. Then he said, “Charlie, that is an excellent question. By tomorrow, I will have an answer for you.”
—
“I have never liked mules,” Thomas said to Jake. “You have heard me say this before, have you not?”
Thomas held the halter of a mule. He pulled, but the mule refused to move.
“At least it’s not raining,” Jake said. “And we’re finally out of the trenches.”
Now the platoon was on a large, gently sloping hill in an area miles away from the trenches at the base of Vimy Ridge. Most of the preparation work in the trenches was finished. Thousands and thousands of pounds of equipment and ammunition had already been moved to the front line by thousands and thousands of soldiers.
The platoon was scattered across the slope. This far from the front line, there was no danger.
“But we are out of the trenches with a mule,” Thomas
said. “This mule in particular. I think I will name him Charlie. Yes. Charlie the Mule.”
Charlie the Mule was a sorrel—copper red—and his large ears were gray.
Thomas pulled at the halter again.
“How about pushing it,” Jake said.
“Mules can kick in any direction,” Thomas said. “And they are smart. Very smart. I prefer to stand here where his feet cannot reach me and where I can let him see that I mean business.”
Thomas spoke directly to the mule. “Charlie, do not make me show you the wrath of a Cree warrior.”
The pack on the mule was loaded with boxes filled with blue pennants. Charlie the Mule twitched his large ears and pulled his lips back, almost as if he was making a face at Thomas.
“Tell Charlie the Mule what you told McNaughton’s lion,” Jake said to Thomas. “That he will taste good after a little time on a stick over a campfire. Maybe he understands Cree.”
“Mules understand everything,” Thomas said. “But they are like cats. They just do not care. With cats, at least, you can pick them up and put them down where you tell them to go. This is not so with mules.”
Thomas pulled on the halter and the mule remained as immovable as a wall.
“This is what I am talking about,” Thomas said. “Charlie the Mule pretends I am not even here. Perhaps that means we should rest.”
“Good idea,” Jake said.
Jake and Thomas surveyed the hillside. The flags that the mule packed were there to add to the miles and miles of flags already fluttering in the cold breeze.
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