/0/14632/coverbig.jpg?v=f67c4a7dfe7d1c93463a014b3596cf77)
Our Army at the Front by Heywood Broun
A SHIP warped into an English port. Along her decks were lines of soldiers, of high and low degree, all in khaki. From the shore end of her gang-plank other lines of soldiers spread out like fan-sticks, some in khaki, some in the two blues of land and sea fighters. Decorating the fan-sticks were the scarlet and gold of staff-officers, the blue and gold of naval officers, the yellow and gold of land officers, and the black of a few distinguished civilians.
At the end of one shore-line of khaki one rigid private stood out from the rest, holding for dear life to a massive white goat. The goat was the most celebrated mascot in the British Army, and this was an affair of priceless consequence, but that was no sign the goat intended to behave himself, and the private was responsible.
Weaving through this picture of military precision, three little groups of men waited restlessly to get aboard the ship. One was the lord mayor of the port city, his gilt chains of office blazing in the forenoon brightness, with his staff; another was the half-dozen or so of distinguished statesmen, diplomats, and military heroes bringing formal welcome to England; the third was the war correspondents and reporters from the London newspapers.
The waiting was too keen and anxious for talk. Excitement raced from man to man.
For the ship was the Baltic. The time was the morning of June 8, 1917. The event was the landing of John J. Pershing, commander of America's Expeditionary Force. And the soldiers with him were the herald of America's coming-the holding of her drive with an outpost.
When the grandchildren of those soldiers learn that date in their history lessons it is safe to assume that all its historical significance will be fairly worked out and articulate.
It is equally safe to say that in the moment of its happening few if any of its participants, even the most consequential and far-seeing, had a personal sense of making history. Of all the pies that one may not both eat and have, the foremost is that very taking part in a great occasion. All the fun of it is being got by the man who stays at home and reads the newspapers, undistracted by the press of practical matters in hand.
True, for the landing of General Pershing there was the color of soldiery, the blare of brass bands, the ring of great names among the welcomers. There was, of course, the overtone picture of a great chieftain, marching in advance of a great army, come to foreign lands to add their might to what, with their coming, was then a world in arms. The future might see, blended with the gray hulk of the Baltic, the shadowy shape of the Mayflower coming back, still carrying men bound to the service of world freedom.
But what they saw that morning was, after all, a very modern landing, from a very modern ship, with sailors hastily tying down a gang-plank, and doing it very well because they had done it just that way so many times before.
The Royal Welsh Fusiliers were down to give a military welcome, with their mascot and their crack band. The lord mayor, Lieutenant-General Pitcairn Campbell, Admiral Stileman, and other men from both arms of England's service were there, not to feel of their feelings, but to make the landing as agreeable and convenient as possible, and to convey to General Pershing, with Anglo-Saxon mannerliness and reticence, their great pleasure at having him come.
As soon as there was access to the ship General Campbell and Admiral Stileman went aboard and introduced themselves to General Pershing. They met, also, a few of the American staff-officers, and returned salutes from the privates who made up the Pershing entourage of 168 men.
There were congratulations on the ship's safe arrival, which reminded General Pershing and some of his officers that they wanted, before leaving the ship, to pay their respects to the skipper who had carried them through the danger zone without so much as a sniff at a submarine.
This done, the little company of officers walked down the gang-plank, talking cheerily of their satisfaction at meeting, of their hard work on the ship, of the weather, and what-not, all the while the soldiers on the decks behind them waved hands and handkerchiefs in a general overflow of well-being, and finally-set foot in England!
One may not go too far in describing the contents of a general's mind without some help from him, but it's a fair guess that if General Pershing is as kin to his kind as he seems to be, the very precise moment of this setting foot in England escaped his notice altogether, and was left free for the historian to embroider how he pleased. For General Pershing was in the act of being led to the salute of a guard of honor by General Campbell. And almost immediately after that precise moment the Welsh Fusiliers' band began the "Star-Spangled Banner," and again it's a good bet that General Pershing and his staff thought not a thing about England and a lot about home.
But so the historic moment came, and so it went. And presently the American vanguard was finding its places in the special train to London.
Perhaps England knew that a great hour was in the making, for her rolling green hills gave back the warmth of a splendid sun, and her hedgerows and wild blooms braved forth in crystal air. Those of the newcomers who saw England first that afternoon thanked their stars fervently that England and democracy were on the same side.
In mid-afternoon the train reached London, and here the Americans were greeted, not alone by soldiers and England, but by the English. The secret of their coming, carefully kept, had given the port civilians no chance. But they knew it in London and the station was crowded to its doors.
General Pershing stepped from the train as soon as it stopped. Ambassador Walter Hines Page came over to him, both hands outstretched, and asked leave to introduce another general who had taken an Expeditionary Force to France-General Sir John French. Other introductions followed-to Lord Derby, General Lord Brooke, and Sir Francis Lloyd. And there was a hearty handshake from a fighter who needed no introduction-Rear-Admiral William E. Sims.
Inside and outside the station the civilians cheered. None of them needed to have General Pershing pointed out to them. He was unmistakable. No man ever looked more the ordained leader of fighting men. He was tall, broad, and deep-chested, splendidly set up; and to the care with which Providence had fashioned him he had added soldierly care of his own.
He might have been patterned upon the Freudian dream of Julius C?sar, if Julius was in truth the unsoldierly looking person they made him out to be, whose majesty lay wholly in his own mind's eye.
The gallant look of General Pershing fanned the London friendliness to contagious flames of enthusiasm. He and his officers were cheered to their hotel, the soldiers were cheered to their barracks in the Tower of London.
At the hotel they found three floors turned over to them, arranged for good, hard work, with plenty of desk-room, and boy and girl scouts for running errands. Squarely in the entrance was a money-changer's desk, with a patient man in charge who could, and did, name the number of cents to the shilling once every minute for four days. A little English lady who visited America complained bitterly, just after arrival, "Why didn't they make their dollar just four shillings?" thereby summing up the only really valid source of acrimony between England and America. The money-changer made the international amity complete.
Once installed, General Pershing and his staff fell to and worked, continuing the organization that had been roughly blocked out on the Baltic, and building up the liaison between English and American army procedure, begun by the help of British and Canadian officers on board, by frequent conferences with England's State, War, and Navy Departments.
The day after the arrival General Pershing went to "breakfast at Windsor," the first meeting between America's fighter and England's King. Here, at last, the momentousness of the matter found voice.
King George, having done with the introductory greeting, said earnestly: "I cannot tell you how much your coming means to me. It has been the great dream of my life that my country and yours would join in some great enterprise ... and here you are...."
After this visit, prolonged by an inspection of the historic treasures of Windsor Castle, General Pershing made the rule of unbroken work for himself and his officers till his task in London was finished and he should leave for France to join his First Division.
He made what he expected to be a single exception to this rule. He went to a dinner-party, at which he met Lloyd-George, Arthur Balfour, just back from his American mission, and half a dozen others of commensurate distinction. He found that his exception was no exception at all. The English do not merely have the reputation of doing their real work at their dinner-parties-they deserve that reputation. Staff-officers, telling all about it later on, said that it could hardly have been distinguished from a cabinet meeting, or a report from the Secretary of State for War. So were the final plans made and the business of the nations settled.
Concerning all these meetings and all the national feeling that was behind them, General Pershing and his officers were of one voice-that England's welcome had been precisely of the sort that pleased them most. It was reticent, charming, too genuine for much open expression, too chivalrous at heart to be obtrusive.
What with spending most of each twenty-four hours at work, the American vanguard finished up its affairs in four days. And early on the morning of June 13, long before the break of day, General Pershing and his officers and men boarded their Channel boat, the Invicta, and set sail for France.
On the day of their wedding anniversary, Joshua's mistress drugged Alicia, and she ended up in a stranger's bed. In one night, Alicia lost her innocence, while Joshua's mistress carried his child in her womb. Heartbroken and humiliated, Alicia demanded a divorce, but Joshua saw it as yet another tantrum. When they finally parted ways, she went on to become a renowned artist, sought out and admired by everyone. Consumed by regret, Joshua darkened her doorstep in hopes of reconciliation, only to find her in the arms of a powerful tycoon. "Say hello to your sister-in-law."
Due to the plight of her family, Phoebe had no choice but to embark on the path of selling herself. In an accident, she had a tangled night with Alexander. Everything began to derail, and even if she fled to the ends of the earth, she would still be found by him and entangled... *** Phoebe screamed in frustration, "What do you want from me?" What was this supposed to be? He raised an eyebrow wickedly. "What do I want? You'll find out soon enough." With that, he hoisted her up and carried her back into the office. The door slammed shut with a kick, and he cleared the desk with a sweep of his arm before laying her down on it, his body pinning hers in place, completely trapping her in his grasp. Every cell in his body was telling him he wanted her. He wanted to claim her again. This time, there would be no escape for her-he wouldn't let her slip away. Never again. If he had suffered for five years, then this woman wouldn't get off easily either!
"Ahh!" She was in a moaning mess. She did not want to feel anything for this man. She hated him. His hands began to move all over her body. She gasped when he pulled down the back chain of her dress. The chain stopped at her lower waist, so when he zipped it off, her upper back and waist were exposed. "D-Don't touch m-ummm!" His fingers rolled around her bare back, and she pressed her head against the pillow. His touches were giving her goosebumps all over her body. With a deep angry voice, he whispered in her ear, "I am going to make you forget his touches, kisses, and everything. Every time you touch another man, you will only think of me." - - - Ava Adler was a nerdy omega. People bullied her because they thought she was ugly and unattractive. But Ava secretly loved the bad boy, Ian Dawson. He was the future Alpha of the Mystic Shadow Pack. However, he doesn't give a damn about rules and laws, as he only likes to play around with girls. Ava was unaware of Ian's arrogance until her fate intertwined with his. He neglected her and hurt her deeply. What would happen when Ava turned out to be a beautiful girl who could win over any boy, and Ian looked back and regretted his decisions? What if she had a secret identity that she had yet to discover? What if the tables turned and Ian begged her not to leave him?
When Corynn mustered up the courage to tell Elliot about her pregnancy, she unexpectedly found him gallantly helping another woman from his car. Her heart sank as three years of effort to secure his love crumbled before her eyes, compelling her to leave him behind. Three years later, life had taken Corynn down a new path with someone else, while Elliot was left grappling with regret. Seizing a moment of vulnerability, he pleaded, "Corynn, let's get married." Shaking her head with a faint smile, Corynn gently replied, "Sorry, I'm already engaged."
After three years of loveless marriage, Kira was slapped with divorce papers. She has shown him her unrequited love throughout her entire marriage with him, but he decided to turn blind eyes all because of his lover. Distraught and heartbroken, Kira choose to sign the divorce papers with bitter heart. But then and there, she promised herself that when she's back, he will come crawling to her, but she will make him pay for hurting her. Join Kira as she transform to a wealthy heiress and soared as the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar empire, a remarkable healer and make her ex-husband pay!
Elodie took a deep breath and knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor. A moment of silence passed, broken only by the pounding of her heart. Finally, the door snicked open, revealing a surprised Dashiell. 'Can't you see the Do Not Disturb sign? We don't want-' His initial frown quickly morphed into confusion at the sight of his wife. 'What are you doing here?' he demanded. 'Your girlfriend invited me,' Elodie replied, her voice laced with icy calm. She tried to peer past him, but his broad frame blocked the view. A saccharine voice chimed in from within the room. 'Elodie? Oh dear, we didn't mean for you to find out this way. It's just that-' Elodie cut her short. 'Oh please, Selene. Spare me the fake apologies. You wouldn't have sent me all those texts if you didn't want me to know.' Dashiell shifted uncomfortably, his face a mask of annoyance. 'What texts?' Elodie stepped past him, taking in the luxurious suite with a sardonic smile. The king-sized bed, the scattered rose petals, the lingering scent of sex – it all painted a vivid picture of their betrayal. She looked up at Dashiell, her gaze unwavering. 'I want a divorce.' ****** Dashiell lived a life of luxury, surrounded by the best things money could buy. But when a car accident left him vulnerable, he met Elodie, a seemingly ordinary woman who nursed him back to health. Mistaking her for just another employee, Dashiell entered into a loveless marriage with her solely for convenience. However, fate had a different script in store. Elodie, the 'ordinary nurse,' held a secret more precious than any diamond: she was the sole heiress to Northstar, a vast and powerful enterprise. Unaware of her true identity, Dashiell cast her aside when his ex-girlfriend returned, leaving Elodie humiliated. But Elodie was not one to be easily broken. She shed the facade of the meek nurse, reclaiming her rightful inheritance and stepping into the role of Northstar's CEO. Now, the woman Dashiell discarded was the one holding the reins of power. As Elodie thrives in her new role, Dashiell is consumed by regret. He finally sees Elodie for the extraordinary woman she truly is, realising the depth of his mistake. But will his remorse be enough to win back the heart he so carelessly discarded?