Chapter two (Françis Bonnefoy)

Not the born soldier by the looks of it, Françis Bonnefoy was a Sergeant of the French Army in 1939. He was in his army base when the news broke that both Great Britain and France had declared war on Germany. However, no command was given to make ready to support and defend Poland. At least for the French, they knew that they were next. 'They won't attack the Soviets, so they can only turn west' – that was the conclusion most came up with. The question was just… when? And where? Would the Germans use the Schlieffenplan again? Would they dare to enter neutral territory again, hence breaking international law again? But then again, this was not normal warfare – this was Blitzkrieg. And the enemy was Germany – the country that had defied any boundaries of morality in the great war.

"And remember, gas is invisible. It killed way too many soldiers of our nation in the last conflict, so we have developed new masks that will protect the lungs from being poisoned" his battalion's commander stated. Françis was part of the 87Infantry Regiment, which belonged to the 32nd Infantry Division. Said division served under the organisation of the First French Army. The Army was led by General Gaston Billotte. He had been active in the great war, and just like most senior commanders of the French army, made his experiences with the 'German warfare' in the great war. Especially the gas – mostly mustard gas. From what Françis had heard, that was one of the worst things in that conflict: Entire trenches, filled up with bodies that looked intact, but all of them had perished. Would it be like that again? Would the enemy be invisible? Françis had trained for gas attacks in the course of his training, but obviously, they never trained with actual gas – no one, except the veterans, knew how a gas attack looked like – and how you even realise one is going on. Even though he didn't like the prospect of a shoot-out, Françis preferred the idea of having an enemy that he could see. The ten men under his command, his squad, asked him about that when they heard the news of a new war in Europe. "As much as I hate to choose one of the options, I can shoot a human. I cannot shoot gas. Furthermore, a bullet can kill one. One canister of gas might kill an entire platoon" Françis had replied. However, both of these options were things Françis didn't want to think about. On the brink of war, on the brink of actually having to go to war, all he wanted to think about was his fatherland. The pride he took in being French. The people he had to serve now. "Aren't you afraid?" a soldier under his command asked him. "I will not be afraid of a people that doesn't want peace. I will not be afraid to face the monsters that have brought havoc to our nation. As I love what is behind me, I can't allow myself to be afraid" Françis lied. He lied without even realising it. Because he had lied to himself for far too long. He was afraid – he was scared of death. But he pushed the fear aside, buried it under the patriotism that had been indoctrinated in their generation. But there was one more reason to lie: In war, sometimes the truth doesn't matter. Not on such a basic, psychological level. If it helps you to fight, believe it. Françis knew that. Even though he hated killing, he could make himself believe that pulling the trigger was the most courageous, most admirable action one could ever do. In the name of and the love to the fatherland. Something that was greater than him.

Mobilisation in France was fast. Young men drafted within days, send to the many camps to train. It was a race against time.

News broke that the soviets, too, had invaded Poland. Apparently, Germany and the Soviet Union had signed a contract to split Poland in half – and everyone knew that no one would dare to go against the Soviets. So Poland… well, Poland was lost, at least for now. No French or British troops had seen combat to oppose the invaders – it just made no sense anymore. Number one priority had to be defence.

After a training session on the camp ground, Françis and a few other sergeants sat around a table in the camp. "We should have crushed these spiked-heads in 1918… Do you think they will attack soon?" one of them, Théo, asked. "What do you mean, we should have? They were in front of Paris! It wasn't like we could have just won. Who knows what would have happened if the Americans didn't join the war" another, Henri, replied a bit annoyed. "What we could have or should have done is irrelevant now" Françis replied "I don't think this will be a war won by trenches. It seems like their best weapon till now is sheer speed. So yes, they will probably make their move rather soon. Unlike Britain, there is no ocean, no country to separate us." "So you really believe this will be a world war again, Françis?" Henri asked. Françis shrugged: "I can't say if the world will go to war. Till now, Asia, Africa and South America aren't involved in it. But who knows? Maybe. But Europe will have to burn, once again." "I can't believe these idiots just invade a country! That's unbelievable! No declaration of war – nothing! Just imagine, you sleep unsuspectingly in one second and then the other, bombs are dropped on your head!" Théo muttered angrily. "It's war, Théo. If you search for humanity, love and kindness in your enemy, you will be heavily disappointed. Those people are brainwashed monsters. They don't know empathy" Françis replied solemnly. "What happened to you, Françis? I mean, sure, this is horrible and all, but where is your smile and cheeriness?" Henri asked silently. Françis shook his head, but he laughed: "It's temporarily washed away when I think about the enemy. But when they pay the price, don't worry, my friend. I will never lose my laugh, heart and hope."