Memory Fragment

I had a memory of a training camp in France, around 1915.  

They had us learn to dig trenches, working at it all day long.

An officer stood over me.  “Put your back into it!  They’re shooting at you!  Dig!  Dig!” he shouted practically in my ear.  The ground had the consistency of peat and came loose in dense clumps.  It stuck to everything and had a slight acid smell to it.

The field had been the site of some mayhem in medieval times; several of us found medieval arrow heads and I think someone else found a broken spear tip.  We were either in or near Normandy, where I may have trained as a knight more than 700 years earlier.

We had a model redoubt about 100 square yards by the time we were done that day.  It was a very basic trench, with little more in the way of refinements than firing steps and small wooden shelters.  

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One thought on “Memory Fragment

  1. A̶̶̴̶̶̵̧̛̤͎̭̘̭᷿̼̻̲̙̫͉̗̗̟̥̲͍̜͎͍̙̫̲̹̞̣̗̭ͤͤͤ͐ͤͤ́ͤͤͤͤͤ̐ͤ̾ͤͤ̿ͤ᷀ͤͤͤͤ̉ͤͥͤͤͨͤ̇ͤ͐ͤ̀ͤͤ̓ͤͦͤͤͤͤͤ͒ͤ̇ͤͬͤͤ͗ͤͤ̄ͤ᷃ͤͤ̾ͤͨͤͤͤͤͤͤ͗ͤͣͤͤͤͬͤ͋ͤ̂ͤ̏ͤͤͤ̾ͤ̑ͤͤͤͤ̑ͤͤͤͤͧͤ͌ͤͤͤͤ̎ͤͤͤͤ͒ͤͪͤ̈ͤͤͤͤͤ̋ͤͤ͋ͤ̌ͤͭͤ̂ͤͤ͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅͅ͏̷̡̛͖̫̻̜͚̼̺͈̟͉̥̲̤͖̟͕͓ͤͦͤͤͤͥͤͤ᷇ͤͤͤ᷉ͤ͋ͤͤͭͤͤͤͤͤ̽ͤͤͤͤͥͤ̐ͤͤ̀ͤ̎ͤͦͤͤͤͤͤͤ̅ͤͤͤ̃ͤ̃ͤͤͤ͘͡ͅw̵̸̴̨̻̼̘̳͎̹̥̫͕̮̻͔᷿̹̗᷿͔ͤͤͩͤ᷇ͤ̍ͤͤͤͤ᷾ͤͤ̂ͤͤͤ͒ͤͤ̈́ͤ̍ͤ͊ͤ̈́ͤ᷀ͤͤͤ̔ͤͤͤͤ͗ͤͤ᷇ͤͤͤ᷀ͤͤ᷄ͤ᷄ͤͤͤͤ̓ͤͤ͗ͤ̍ͤ᷁ͤͤ᷉ͤ͡͏̶̶̨̢̨̢̛͍̳͓̺͇͕̺̖̭̝̦̙̭̪͖᷿̺̱̬̺͙̜̗̞̯̦͖̟ͤͤͤͦͤͯͤͫͤͪͤ̉ͤͤ̌ͤͤͤͭͤͤ͐ͤͤ͑ͤ͆ͤͤͤ᷾ͤ͌ͤͤ̅ͤͤͤͤͤ̈ͤͤͤͤ᷃ͤͤͧͤ̍ͤͤ᷇ͤ᷾ͤͤͤͤͤͤͤ̑ͤͤͤͤͤ̊ͤͤͤ͂ͤ̒ͤͤͤͤͤ͌ͤ͛ͤͤ̈ͤͤͤͦͤͤ᷉ͤͤ̈́ͤͯͤͤ̒ͤ̏ͤ̌ͤͤͤͤ͊ͤͤ᷅ͤ̀ͤ̎ͤ͛ͤ͟͜͢͜͞͡͞͝ȩ̴̴̷̨̻̞̮̠̘̗̮̟͔᷂̮̼̝͍̲᷂͓ͤ̒ͤͤ́ͤͤ̌ͤ̎ͤͤͧͤͤͤͬͤ᷉ͤ᷃ͤͤ̄ͤ̔ͤͤͤ̾ͤ̈ͤ̽ͤ̉ͤ͂ͤͤͤ͑ͤͤ᷇ͤͤͤͤ̽ͤͤͥͤͤ́ͤͤ̓ͤͤͤͤͤͤ̇ͤͥͤͤͩͤͤ᷅ͤͤͤ͘͘͞͠͏̴̵̧̧̼̗᷿̱̜᷊͓̤͔᷂͈̟̺᷂͕͇̹̗̳̬̬͓̱᷂̮̺̺̼̬᷂͎̼ͤͤͤͤ᷄ͤͤͤͤ᷾ͤͤͤͦͤͤͤͤͤͤ̾ͤ̆ͤͤ᷁ͤ̇ͤ̍ͤͤ̐ͤ̂ͤͤͤ̂ͤͤͤͤͤͤͤ͒ͤͤͤͤ̍ͤͤ᷈ͤ̄ͤͤͤ͌ͤͤͤͤͤ̾ͤ᷀ͤͤ͋ͤ̐ͤͤ᷀ͤͬͤ᷆ͤ̂ͤͤͤͤͤͤ̂ͤͤͤͤͯͤͭͤ̃ͤͤͤ͆ͤͤ̕̕̕͢͜͜͜͠ͅͅs̵̢̧̡̧̛̛̝̖̥̯̮̠͍᷿̹̖̱̟̞̯͍͕̺̥̺̯̗̦̝͙͔͎̫̜̘̮͉̮͎͓̟̦̤͉̭͕᷂͍̗͙ͤ̀ͤ᷇ͤ̋ͤͤ̃ͤͤͤ̓ͤͤͤͤͤͬͤͤ᷈ͤͪͤ᷄ͤͤͭͤͧͤͤ᷄ͤͤ͆ͤͤ͗ͤͤ᷀ͤ̅ͤͤͤͤͤͤ᷈ͤ̏ͤͤͤͤ̏ͤͤͤ́ͤͤͤͤͤ̐ͤ᷆ͤ̾ͤͭͤ̽ͤ͊ͤ̾ͤ̏ͤͤ̀ͤ́ͤͤ̒ͤͤͤͤ͑ͤ̒ͤͤͤͤͤͤͤ͐ͤͤ̽ͤͤͤͬͤ͂ͤͤͤͤͤͤͤ̄ͤ̊ͤ̾ͤͤͬͤ᷇ͤ̾ͤͤͤͤ̉ͤͪͤͦͤ̔ͤ͗ͤͤͮͤͤ̾ͤͤ᷄ͤͤͤͤ᷉ͤͤͤͤ̓ͤͤͤ̆ͤͤ̔ͤͤ́ͤͤ̕͘̚͟͟͢͞͡͞͠͡͞ͅͅ͏ͤ̎ͤͪͤ᷁ͤ͒ͤ̾ͤợ̶̸̷̴̵̛̱͖᷂̻͈̼᷊͕̬͔̤̤͉̟̦̙̲̺̰̲͖͕̬̭̹̦̘̹̜̲̙ͤͤͤ̉ͤͤͤͤ᷆ͤͤͤ̽ͤ᷈ͤͤ͌ͤ᷇ͤ̑ͤͤͤ̓ͤͤͤ̍ͤ͗ͤͤ̀ͤͤͤ̉ͤͤͤ͐ͤͤͮͤͤͤͤͤͤͤ̈ͤ̇ͤ̽ͤ̎ͤͨͤͤ᷄ͤ͒ͤ̓ͤͤͤͤͤͣͤͤͤ᷾ͤͤͤͤͤͥͤͤ͊ͤͩͤ᷾ͤͤͤͤͤͤͤͤͯͤͤͤͤͨͤͤ᷁ͤ̒ͤͤͤ͋ͤͤͤͤͤ̕̚͢͜͜͠͠͠͞͠͝ͅͅͅ͏ͤ͏̷̨̲̻͎̲̲͖̯̲̲͖̩̹̼ͤ̔ͤͤ̈ͤͤ͐ͤ̉ͤͤͤ᷾ͤ̇ͤͤͤͩͤ̇ͤͤ᷅ͤͤͩͤͤͤͤ͐ͤͤ᷃ͤͤ̋ͤͤͫͤ̏ͤͤͤͤ̎ͤ͂ͤ̒ͤͤ᷈ͤͪͤ᷄ͤ̚͜͞ṃ̴᷂̪̭̬᷂͚ͤ̎ͤ᷀ͤͤͤ᷈ͤ̈́ͤͤͦͤͯͤ͂ͤͤͤ̊ͤ͗ͤͤ᷅ͤͤͤͧͤ͛ͤ᷈ͤ͏̷̶̴̴̨̡̨̧͍̜̖͙̙̫͙̹̬̫̲͔̪͍̭̹̜̳̜̯̗̙͙̯̲͔̘̯᷂̫͉̳̣᷊ͤ᷈ͤ͊ͤͤͨͤͤͤ̔ͤͯͤ̇ͤ᷾ͤͤͤͤͤͤ̈ͤ̀ͤ̔ͤͤ̋ͤͤͤ᷇ͤͧͤͤͤͤͤ͑ͤͤ᷈ͤͤ̽ͤ̍ͤͤͤ᷈ͤ̾ͤͤͤͤͤ̋ͤ̽ͤͤͤ᷅ͤ͐ͤͤͤͤͤ̾ͤͤͤͤͤͤͤ᷾ͤͥͤͤͤͨͤ̔ͤͤ͑ͤͧͤͫͤͤͨͤͤ̽ͤͤͤͤͤͤͤ᷇ͤͤͤ͗ͤ͐ͤͤ᷆ͤ̉ͤͤͤͤ̃ͤ͆ͤͤͤ̔ͤͤͤͤ͗ͤͤͦͤͤͤͤͤͤͤ̚͜͟͟͜͟͜͜͠͠͠͡͠͝͠͡͞͞e̷̵̵̸̢̨̢̘͖̭͍̰̞̙̥̻͈̫̫͖̻̥̬͉̥̟̼͓ͤͫͤͤ̈́ͤͤͤͤͤͦͤͤͤͤͤͤͤ̐ͤͤͤͤͤ̓ͤͤ̍ͤͤ̒ͤͤͤͤͭͤͤͤͤ̽ͤͤͤ͊ͤͤ̊ͤͬͤͤͤ̿ͤͨͤͤ͛ͤͤͬͤͤͤͤ̾ͤ́ͤ̓ͤͩͤ̉ͤ̓ͤͤͤͤ̓ͤ͒ͤͤ͆ͤͤ̌ͤͧͤͥͤͤ̑ͤͤ͋ͤ̚͜͟͡͡ͅ͏̷̨̛̣͕̹͇̱͎͍̣̪͖̦᷿̬͔᷂̼̤͓͕̺̤͕̫ͤͤ̇ͤ́ͤ᷾ͤ᷄ͤͤ̈ͤ᷉ͤͤ͗ͤͤͮͤͤ̉ͤͨͤ̀ͤͤ͒ͤͤͤ̎ͤ̐ͤͤͤ̆ͤ̓ͤͤͫͤͤͤ̿ͤͤ̒ͤͤ̐ͤͤͣͤͤͤͤͤ̆ͤͤ̈ͤ̒ͤͤͤͤͤ͒ͤͤͤͤ͆ͤ̂ͤ᷁ͤ᷁ͤ̽ͤͤ͜͢͜.̶̵̢̢̧̛̠͕̣͎̩̙̲̤̣̬̜̱͎̩͇̫̻̰̝̲͚̘̯̠ͤͤ̄ͤ̏ͤͤͤ́ͤͤ̓ͤͤͤͤͤ̓ͤ́ͤͤ͑ͤͤͤͤ᷈ͤ̈ͤͤ͛ͤͪͤ̿ͤͤͤ̃ͤͤͤͤͤͤ̒ͤͤͤ̓ͤͭͤͤͤͬͤͤͮͤͤͤͧͤͣͤͤͩͤͨͤ̀ͤ̾ͤ̅ͤ͛ͤͤͤͧͤ̍ͤ͐ͤ͊ͤͤͤͤ͛ͤ̿ͤ̐ͤ̆ͤͩͤ᷄ͤͤ̒ͤͤͤͤ̉ͤͤ̑ͤͤͮͤ̚̕̕͝͝͏̳ͤͤ̈ͤ͏̶̻̺ͤͤͤ͂ͤͤͯͤ̀ͤ͏̞͍̪͉ͤ͆ͤ̃ͤͤͤͤ͗ͤͤ̾ͤ̀ͤͤͤ͢ͅ͏̴̴̡͖̦͈͙̩̩̖̼ͤͭͤͤͤͤͤͤ̉ͤ͐ͤ᷅ͤ̄ͤͤͤ̑ͤ᷾ͤ̏ͤͤ͐ͤ͋ͤͤͤͤͤ̕͝

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