March's chill lingered, as the Anglo-American Allies continued to endure the baptism of fire along the Lorraine line.
Amidst the booming cannon fire, the earth was ruthlessly torn apart, the mud and blood forming a bleak oil painting.
Yet the US Army soldiers had grown accustomed to it; their faces marked with fatigue, yet they gathered in the trenches, talking and laughing, with a few even playing poker in the midst of the smoke, the stakes being cigarettes.
"Colonel," Williams approached Patton, who was observing the enemy with binoculars, and asked:
"Rumors about Shire are everywhere now."
"Some say he will choose to cease fire, some say he's negotiating with the Germans privately, and others say he will join us in launching a final assault on the Germans."
"Which one is true?"
Patton put away his binoculars, pulled back his neck, and after considering for a moment, gently shook his head: "I don't know, Lieutenant Colonel; nobody can guess what Shire is thinking."
