After the smoke from the explosion cleared, only eight men remained in Captain Pierre's platoon. Two of them were still lying on the ground, their fate unknown, but at least they hadn't been blown to pieces or lost limbs like the others.
"Get them out!"
Captain Pierre gave the order. The soldiers were reluctant, but on the battlefield, their superior had the right to execute them at any moment.
After a brief exchange, two unlucky men were chosen to go to the rescue.
The two unlucky men cautiously approached the two bodies that were still relatively intact. One had already stopped breathing. Though there were no visible wounds, his internal organs had probably been damaged.
The other was Benoît Valentin. The comrade in front of him had shielded him from most of the blast and the flying shrapnel, while the comrade behind him had broken his fall.
Even so, Benoît Valentin was still unconscious. The two unlucky men prepared to grab him by his straps and drag him back.
But how could the Sélestat militiamen, who were already seeing red, let them get away so easily?
At the sound of a whistle, the Sélestat militiamen hiding among the ruins popped up again and opened fire.
Captain Pierre ordered his men to return fire, and chaos erupted once more. Bullets and chips of stone flew everywhere, but poor marksmanship and limited weapons kept the casualties low.
In the end, Captain Pierre withdrew from the combat zone with six of his men, and another platoon took their place.
What had happened to Captain Pierre and his platoon was only a glimpse of the whole war. Most of the French Army's tactics had become utterly useless in the street fighting.
Victims like Benoît Valentin kept multiplying, and they were forced to carry out