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Epilogue

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France

The AEF elected not to court martial William J. Donovan for refusing to attack the Landres-Landres et St. Georges line again. In fact, Donovan was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for his leadership in the attack and for refusing to be evacuated until his men were safely out of contact. He was also promoted to full colonel and given command of the regiment when Mitchell was promoted out of the billet.

Sigmund, too, was awarded the DSC, with no small push from Donovan on the matter. General Pershing pinned Sigi and Donovan with their medals for actions in the Argonne on the same day in the same ceremony. General MacArthur even paused to offer Sigi a word of congratulations after the ceremony before sweeping off to loftier matters.

The 42nd’s attack, while disastrous in many respects, had weakened the Germans significantly. Fresh American units broke the main German line in the Argonne but were halted before they could take the key road and railway juncture of Sedan so that the French could reconquer their city themselves.

Sigi and his men occupied relatively quiet sectors and ran routine patrols until the armistice was signed. For both the 165th and the AEF as a whole, the final victory came as more of a sigh and a collapse onto the couch than as a climactic crescendo.

With the war in the West decided, all eyes turned to Russia. Grand Duchess Anastasia’s speech before Congress had galvanized public opinion. President Wilson, with the consent of Congress, held that the Bolshevik Revolution had been the act of an enemy state, Germany, against a sovereign allied nation and that alliance with the legitimate government of Russia in the person of Empress Tatiana necessitated a strong American response to the disease of communism.

Sigi hadn’t even realized that America had dispatched troops to Archangel and to Siberia until after the armistice.

“Well, Sigi, it looks like we may be visiting the land of your fathers,” Donovan had said after the regimental intelligence officer had briefed them on the capabilities of the nascent Red Army.

“I take it you don’t mean Israel, sir.”

“If only I did; we all could use a little heat.”

Several weeks passed in garrison duty in, of all places, Luxembourg. Sigi found the locals cold and disingenuous, but he was too busy to do much sightseeing in any event. The 69th was nearly up to full strength again, but the army had filled their ranks with a combination of brand-new replacements and the survivors of other units that had been shattered beyond repair in the Argonne.

Each category of replacement posed their own type of command challenges. The survivors needed to be evaluated and acclimated to the 69th and its ways. If they were going to Russia, Sigi didn’t want a shellshock case endangering his men; best they were identified and shuffled out.

The replacements had all the clueless naivete one could expect, plus the added bonus that many were foreign born and spoke English poorly, if at all. As a polyglot, Sigi ended up devoting a significant chunk of his time to helping Father Duffy run a basic English course for these immigrant recruits.

He was in such a class when the orders finally came down. The 42nd Infantry Division and all subordinate units would inventory and entrain all assigned personnel and materiel for the port of Le Havre, there to be sealifted to New York for a victory parade, refit and resupply, and one week of R&R, then another boat to the Panama Canal, the Pacific, and sunny Vladivostok.

Sigi read the order twice, then chuckled, shook his head, and handed it back to his superior.

“Well, sir, at least we get to spend a week at home first.”


It was night in Le Havre. The moonlight played softly upon the water, creating an adequately romantic scene for anyone, but Hank Thornton wasn’t peering out over the water with a local mademoiselle. Instead, he gazed upon the forty-two brand-new Renault FT-17s lined up on the dock and grinned. His tanks, that the men of his new command would man.

The first thing Colonel Patton had dropped on them upon his return from the hospital had been their orders for Crimea. The second had been a passel of promotions, and the third a new table of organization.

The 1st Tank Brigade (Provisional) was now the 304th Tank Brigade. Sereno Brett still commanded the 344th Battalion, now sporting a lieutenant colonel’s silver oak leaf. Major Compton command the 345th, which Patton intended to become a tank school for their Russian allies, and Major Henry C. Thornton commanded the newly formed 346th.

Hank touched his new gold oak leaves, then, realizing he’d done it, quickly moved his hand back to his side. The promotion was a brevet due to exigencies of operations, etc., all caveats amounting to a warm; don’t count on keeping it, kid. He hoped no one had seen him fondling his rank insignia.

“Oh, Major Thornton, sir, your leaves are oh so shiny.”

Hank would’ve recognized that Queens accent anywhere. He turned to see Sigi Abramovich approaching. Sigi now wore captain’s bars on his collar and overseas cap, a Distinguished Service Cross and a Legion of Honor with Palm pinned to his chest. His Victory Medal bore two citation stars.

Sigi threw his friend a mockingly precise salute, which Hank returned with equal overstatement. Then the two friends laughed and pulled each other in for a back-slapping hug.

“I should’ve known you’d find a way to make sure you outranked me,” Sigi said, ruefully.

“You know it’s mostly my sunny disposition, Sig. Flies with honey, and all that. You should try being pleasant sometime.”

“And take away your only advantage? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“My only advantage? Are you sure you won’t need me to give you a boost onto your ship when you’re ready to go, shrimp? I can ask Colonel Patton for temporary duty to give you a hand.”

Sigi laughed.

“So, do you at least get an R and R back in the States?” Sigi asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Hank said. “We’re sailing straight for Crimea with the French.”

The two friends were quiet for a moment.

“Are you all right, I mean, going back to the motherland? I know your folks don’t exactly feel kindly about the Tsars.”

Sigi shrugged.

“Tatiana is not her father, let’s hope she turns out better. Besides, you’ve read the papers. The Bolsheviks are worse than the Kaiser on his foulest day.”

Hank nodded.

“Well, I see you ignored my advice to keep your head down,” Hank said, pointing at Sigi’s DSC.

“Me? You have two of them,” Sigi retorted, jamming a finger at the oak leaf cluster that indicated a second award on Hank’s ribbon.

“Well, you have more citation stars than me,” Hank said, waving a hand at the silver star pins on Sigi’s Victory Medal.

“These? These were for administrative excellence.”

Hank laughed from his gut and slung an arm around Sigi’s shoulder.

“I’ve got six hours until I’ve got to be back on this dock, what say you and me find a good bottle of wine and you can catch me up on all your adventures in administrative excellence.”

“That plan is so good, I have a hard time believing you didn’t copy it off of me,” Sigi said.

Hank grinned and together they walked toward the part of town with all the restaurants designed to separate American GIs from their overly generous pay.

“I can’t believe you’re going straight from here to Russia,” Sigi said. “I find it hard to believe we’re going to Russia at all. Didn’t we just fight the War to End All Wars?”

Hank snorted.

“You know, Colonel Patton is an interesting fella to work for sometimes,” Hank said. “But he’s no dummy. He said something during St. Mihiel that stuck with me, ‘there isn’t a War to End All Wars until Kingdom Come.’”

Sigi cocked his head and nodded.

“Well, at least we won’t lack for employment.”



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