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Front Lines-Oct 21-1918

Just Before the Battle.

The long night marches had ended, the dragging of weary feet through mud and debris was over, the groping 
through rain and blackness made doubly so by dense forest was done, and now concealed in the Forest of 
the Arragonne [sic] by day, the army of attack quietly rested.

The order of battle was handed me and I read it to my assembled battalion. The day for which the long 
traning, danger and harships had been incurred, had come, we were to attack the hill where forty thousand 
Friend soldiers had fallen in defeat two years before; but death was there, artillery, machine guns, 
mines, wire, trenches, tunnels, a mighty strong hold, we were to be ably supported. I told my men all.

The order was received in silence, their faces took on a determined look but no fear was there. I noticed 
them later all wore smiles

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for the hour of the vindication of right had come: soon was heard the songs about mother short stanzas 
of baby songs, cradle rhymes, lullabys [sic] of childhood all of mother. Manly voices harsh, untrained, 
unmusical became sweet with melody, each his own hearts, deepest longing, was giving expression. Wife, 
sister, sweetheart, we'd-all forgotten-just mother. Then as the truth came to them that some may not 
return, long forgotten songs of religion, learned in days gone by were heard-songs of the Lord, and 
mingled together were the notes of love and protection of mother and Jesus-all others forgotten.

I later heard those same voices when in the attack, not now the soft voice of song, but the shout of 
combat a mighty roar. The voice of the people is not the voice of God, but the mighty voice of soldier 
men, seeing before them those who had lusted and raped and pilloged [sic] and murdered and burned and 
enslaved, we came as the avenger of God and shake with His voice and acted with His honor. I'll never 
forget their look their voice. We sought everything before us returning and wondering and killing the 
enemy in the face of artillery and machine guns.

I heard voices again now subdued-they were of mother and Jesus still. I heard the wounded not a cry-just 
a song, strong for mother as the wounded one felt the earth strong beneath him, but a sort of farewell 
to her who bore him and a clinging to an unseen hand of power as life slowly slipped away.

Mother, you are honored above the king the President the General the great of earth. The song of heros 
is in you. Could you ask more

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than he first and lastby those whom the whole Liberty loving world delights to honor, your name and 
Jesus bound together in a heroes life and death.

"Mother behold thy son, son behold they mother."

J.E. Rieger

Major 139 Inf.

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