Frenchman Meets That Strange Being, Tommy Atkins

The thousands of English soldiers now on French soil are, to Frenchmen, strange, exotic creatures, the study of which is full of delightful surprises. Recently a French journalist traveled to the trenches, interviewed several specimens of the genus Tommy Atkins, and published the results in a Paris newspaper.


Under The Croix Rouge

I never expected to drive a motor ambulance, with badly wounded men, down the Champs Elysées. But I did. I have done many things since the war began that I never expected to do;—but somehow that magnificent Champs Elysées—and ambulances—and groans of wounded seemed a combination entirely outside my wildest imaginations.


The Field Of Battle

“To see the damage done by the Germans in unfortified villages.”

This was the quest that first passed me into the zone of military operations, that first landed me on the field of battle, and gave me my first experience under fire.


Fuck Olaf Scholz

Once upon a time the Germans started World War 2 and exterminated 6 million Jews.

Nowadays they pussy out and, metaphorically speaking, suck Jewish dick.


The Fort William Henry Massacre

I have frequently been a spectator of them, and once bore a part in a similar scene. But what added to the horror of it was that I had not the consolation of being able to oppose their savage attacks. Every circumstance of the adventure still dwells on my memory, and enables me to describe with greater perspicuity the brutal fierceness of the Indians when they have surprised or overpowered an enemy.


The Field Of Glory

The battle of the Marne was fought by the Allies in the direct interest of the city of Paris. The result was the city’s salvation. At the time, only a small percentage of the inhabitants knew anything about it.


The Outbreak Of War

A night spent sending despatches—a yelling, singing mob beneath the windows making it almost impossible for messengers to cross to the cable office;—a dawn passed in riding from one ministry to another, wherever any portion of the war councils might still be in session;—and a forenoon spent in a Turkish bath, brought me near to the fateful hour on Saturday, August 1st, when France went to war.


The Rider Of The Black Horse

It was the 7th of October, 1777. Horatio Gates stood before his tent, gazing steadfastly upon the two armies now arrayed in order of battle.


Fuck Lindsey Graham

Three American troops were killed in an overnight drone strike in Jordan mainly because, well, they were in Jordan.

But they tell us it’s Iran.


The Night

A “beat” or a “scoop,” otherwise known as exclusive news, is a great matter to a newspaper man. To “put over a beat” gives soul satisfaction, but to be beaten causes poignant feeling of another sort.