Lt. Manderson walked over, pulled out his side arm and pointed it at the private.
“Remember!” he screamed. “It’s damn bad luck not to!”
It seemed like an eternity passed. Then the soldier looked up and saw everyone staring at him. He knew he had to remember. Then suddenly, Private Grayson Larimore’s eyes lit up. He jumped to his feet. “I remember! She’ll do it for wine, she’ll do it for rum, and sometimes for chocolate or chewing gum! Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentieres, parlez-vous!”
The rest of the unit stared at him for a moment. Then they jumped up, thrusting their rifles in the air, cheering loudly. Lieutenant Manderson pointed toward the sky.
“Only cowards live forever! Big Red Five…Over the top!”
The men quickly began climbing up the wooden ladders and headed out into No Man’s Land. Private Grayson Larimore watched them as they disappeared over the top of the trench.
It was a cool evening, and Grayson was sitting in a wooden chair by the barn. There were two other chairs, but they were empty. Some of Grayson’s friends from the Masonic Lodge had visited earlier, and they sat around smoking cigars, drinking bourbon and talking about their glory days in the army. The conversation left Grayson feeling in rather high spirits. Suddenly, Terrance Schmidt appeared from around the other side of the barn.
“Oh, hi Terry! Didn’t hear you come over!”
He walked over and sat down in one of the chairs. “Thought I’d stop by, Major.”
“Glad you did, old man. Have some bourbon!”
Terrance took the glass of bourbon. “I think trouble is headed our way, Major.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s all the fog. It always makes it hard to see.”
“What fog?”
Terrance pointed straight ahead, and Grayson saw fog rolling in across the cornfields. It suddenly got very chilly.
“I don’t understand,” Grayson said. “Where’d the fog come from?”
Terrence gave him a puzzled look. “It takes precision timing.”
Grayson stared at the fog as it rolled in faster and faster. “What does?” he asked.
Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Demetria standing beside him.
“It’s almost time,” she said.
“Time for what?”
“Don’t you know?”
“No.”
“To remember.”
“Remember what?”
Demetria smiled, reached out and took Grayson’s hand.
Grayson suddenly let go of Demetria’s hand and began rubbing his eyes. The light was too bright. A moment later, the surgeon and nurse were standing over him.
Major Grayson Larimore
The son of Josiah and Rachel Larimore, he is the father of Carl, Kara, and Margaret. He is named after his father-in-law, Matthew Grayson, Josiah's business partner in the dry goods business. But Grayson from early on pursues a career in the military. Grayson's father, being a Civil War veteran, a US Senator, and a close associate of President Grover Cleveland, manages to get Grayson into West Point. He graduates early, since the Army needs officers for the Spanish-American War. He becomes an artillery officer and eventually serves in the Philippine-American War and the Moro Rebellion, receiving a number of rapid promotions before returning to civilian life. When the US enters World War 1, he is sent to Northern France. He marries Demetria, a woman known far and wide for her skills as a cook and as the baker of the best apple pie in Landridge County. He is sent home after being shot in the shoulder by a German sniper while inspecting the effects of his unit's artillery bombardment, a creeping barrage, of German forces during Ludendorff's big push. After the war, Grayson establishes an accounting firm in Greenridge Valley. While his son is serving in Germany during World War 2, Grayson moves the family, and the family business, south, ending up in the town of Westbridge. Grayson is haunted throughout the rest of his life by an event that happens one day during an inspection of No Man's Land.
When they finally arrived, the men made their way through a maze of trenches, until they reached the front-most trench. They covered their mouths and noses with handkerchiefs, and looked through their field glasses. For a long time, no one said anything as they scanned No Man’s Land. Bodies were everywhere, and they couldn’t tell the Americans, from the French, from the Germans. Most of them, anyway. The smell was nauseating, and they soon retreated to a recess in the trench. Grayson continued looking through his field glasses, Higgins standing beside him. Then Grayson turned and looked at him.
“Let’s go up; I want a better look.”
Grayson climbed up a makeshift wooden ladder used by troops to ascend the trench and headed for No Man’s Land. Higgins followed closely behind.
“Sir, I don’t think this is a good idea. The driver said it was a shooting gallery out there.”
“Major Larimore! Get back here this instant!” Bickel hollered.
“I just want a better look,” Grayson called back to him.
“Negative! Fall back! That’s an order, Gray!”
Grayson and Higgins made their way through the mud for about 15 yards. Then they stopped. For the first time, Grayson could get a full appreciation of the carnage. Never in his time in the army had he seen so many dead soldiers. He stood still, his boots sinking into the mud, transfixed by the devastation all around him.
