There were other dressing stations near by. The
Mairie, and the school, were full of wounded, of whom there were
probably some hundreds in the village. Only 135 dead were buried in the
neighbourhood; the Germans carried off the others in great lorries
filled with corpses.
By Monday the 7th, although they were still to hold the village till the
9th, the Germans knew they were beaten. The rage of the great defeat, of
the incredible disappointment, was on them. Only a week before, they had
passed through the same country-side crying "Nach Paris!" and polishing
up buttons, belts, rifles, accoutrements generally, so as to enter the
French capital in _grande tenue._ For whatever might have been the real
plans of the German General Staff, the rank and file, as they came south
from Creil and Nanteuil, believed themselves only a few hours from the
Boulevards, from the city of pleasure and spoil.
What had happened? The common cry of men so sharply foiled went up.
"Nous sommes trahis!" The German troops in Vareddes, foreseeing
immediate withdrawal, and surrounded by their own dead and dying, must
somehow avenge themselves, on some one.
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