The Rathdrum tribune. (Rathdrum, Idaho) 1903-1963, 1918-08-23
Zero Hour.
published for State W. 3. 8. Campaign

1t ls Zero hour" All night the
boys-our Boys-have been waiting,
watching, knowing that with the
coming of the dim shadows Of dawn
would come Zero hoLr''-the hour 10
which they would "go over the top"
The artillery has been pounding,
pounding, pounding through the long
hours-Were they long? Were they?
1t Is all so much like dream-ages,
or was 1t only mloutes?--that rush
through the slush and mud, over
she'll swept roads, from "Back there
somewhere to sup here" into the
front line trench.
An hour ago hell broke loose. 1t
was the final deluge of death poured
from American and French guns into
the German positions out yonder
beyond that forbidden strip all
nations have named mo Mans Land"
For an hour the air has been filled
with the sob and Shrek and scream
of great shells.
Now it is Zero hour" There is a
moments lull in the canuonflre. It's
like the dead silence, the unearthly
calm, that comes sometimes iu the
midst of furious storm.
The men are grouped about the
ladders.
Every nerve in every man is tense
as steel wire-five minutes more
-four mlnutes-three minutes
Down the line a whisper runs:
Remember! At the whistle every
man goes over! No waiting keep out
Of the way Of the man behind-aDd
give them help
ooh, want TO get boche on my
old BaYonet" huns a voice like an
echo and a suppressed laugh ripples
through the air.
"Sh-hh! Sllence!"
Two minuteS-0ne minute
Every man knows that some who
are waiting, waiting for the command
to ''go over" are spending their last
few seconds on earth; every man
knows that before the red sun throws
his lances above the eastern horizon,
already lighted by the gray heralds of
morning, some of those crouchng
there will have paid the last farthlng
OF the Great Price that men who
fight for Liberty, for Country, for
Home, for Righteousness. are called
to pay.
What thoughts go tumblng
through their minds-what images Of
home, of green fields, OF faces-faces
All, the whistle!
Now! Over! Over! And get em!
Shadowy forms spring out of the
trenches. Figures running. stopped
forward-leaping shell-holes- stumb
ling, dash toward the lanes cut
already through the wire
Every mans eyes fixed straight
ahead; every mans mind alert to the
thing HE is to do; every mans
attention rlveted on HIS especial
duty.
Machine guns belch death into
their faces, they drop-hat-th next
Instant are up, part of them-some
will never rise again-and rush on.
Into the enemy trench!
Now-now-It is steel against
steel, or keen point into quiyering
flesh-Are great shells flying over
head? Are hand grenades, bombs,
bursting all around? Are men drop
ping-surprised- startled-by the
sudden thrust of bayonet or smash of
gun but on helmet covered heads?
Perhaps-perhaps-There is no
time to see! Each man is busy, too
busy with his own part in the Great
Adventure to notice. There is no
pausing TO see il Comrade is doing
"his bit"; No grumbllng at the work,
at the enthusiasm, of the "other
fellow; no whining that "I-I-am
doing more than my shared" No-and
thank God! There is no comparative"
patriotism "over there"! Every man
is doing all, All, that he can do:
every man is doing HIS best
Only so may the trench be taken