5 totally awesome reasons you’re going to LOVE Northwestern!

 

By Chronicle Staff

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Captain Paré, a good officer, never cried in front of his men. Not that he was unfeeling.  By 1916, Paré commanded an artillery battery at Verdun and had seen so much carnage he resorted to pretending he was at the butcher’s.

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But that June morning had seemed special from the start. The sky was completely blue and crisp, radically different from the endless iterations of grey the men were used to. None of the artillery was firing yet. It was almost like both sides had mutually decided not to spoil such a beautiful day.

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The calm was interrupted at 7am, when a farmer’s cart somehow made it past the trenches on the French side and emerged onto no man’s land. The cart was empty and towed by two huge country horses, their muscular bodies glistening in the sun’s glare. As the men stared on in disbelief, the two creatures kept creaking by and were now approaching the German lines, totally oblivious.

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A barrage of German shells landed around the horses’ position, and both of them were severely wounded as shrapnel cut into their shiny black skin. The horses, bleeding profusely, neighed and shrieked their heads off. Paré’s troops watched intently and fired pot shots in a vain attempt to put the brutes out of their misery. But the bullets which did reach their target just made the tortured sounds louder.

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Finally, after twenty minutes which seemed like the entire day, the sounds stopped. In that brief period watching the horses’ agonized faces, Paré was reminded of all the soldiers he had seen die and the combined grief hit him all at once. He broke down in tears and cried uncontrollably in front of his men for the first and last time.

 

 

h/t KalebHorton

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