"NOOOOOON!!!"

General Matthieu awoke to find himself, as always, on his cot. He had had his recurring nightmare, one that had come again and again since August 1914.

Long lines of poilus, clad in the red trousers and blue capotes of the pre-war era advanced in straight lines against les Boches, bugles blowing and bayonets shining. And they tumbled to the ground, cut down like wheat by the German machine guns. In vain he ordered them - pleaded with them, to take cover. Robot-like they ignored him and marched to their deaths.

But now there was a new twist to the dream. As each man fell, he saw that each face was the face of the Canadian Sergeant he had met but once - Jean, Dominque's son.

Back in September 1914 he had lived that dream, and had lain there wounded as his men fell around him. It had taught him a lesson, one he had never forgotten. Privately he regarded his superiors - Nivelle, Petain, Joffe - as butchers. He remembered the words of an American Marine observor during the British war in South Africa: "Say, General, wasn't there a way around?" He always looked for the weak spot. He remembered an occasion when he had had a Colonel of Chasseurs à Cheval prepared to challenge him to a duel when he had ordered him to forget about charges and get ahead of the army to scout.

His men referred to him as "Père Matthieu" - "Daddy", because of his care for them. At the Chemin des Dames in 1917 they had remained faithful when units around them mutinied. They trusted him.

His pulse raced and his chest was painful. He wondered how much longer he could continue. How ironic it would be to die of a heart attack now, just when he had regained his lost love. He hoped that Dominique had been able to straghten out the misunderstanding with Marie. He didn't blame Marie in the least, but a daughter-in-law who would stick up for her rights was definitely something Dominique needed. He no longer felt strong enough to do the job alone.