8th Septembre 1939

The start of war has now become a reality for me and the rest of the squadron, as we are now moving across the border into germany proper, and with this, the fear of combat continues to linger, like a fine Muscadet in the summer on the shore of moulin blanc. With this new movement comes the new sounds and sights of the war, with machines, from truck to char, moving in great collumns, like those men of the revolution centuries old. Our officers would like to believe us to be those same men, but I have my doubts to the veracity of such ideas. I still worry about my fear of the lull and how combat will change me, so I focus on the things I miss from home and my duties as Corporal. Brest, my home, my love, and who's winter I loath, and detest with the ferocity of some demagogue from the Confédération générale du travail! Winter and it's cold, muck and evil was created by the devil to make all other seasons be put under it's grasp. Not to be reminded of but the mud! Oh how I hate mud! And so does this army which even now in Septembre has had to deal with mud from each other's churning of the earth below it.

The Battalion moves now towards bockweiler, with the investigation units already in Altheim, sending runners back stating little to no resistance by the boche. One report that I personally received as I was the first person to meet with one of these runners was that the small garrison, around 50 men strong was ambushed by them and after surrender were suprised by the depth our forces made into their nation, believing themselves the masters of speed. Oh if only they knew their history! For it was the french masters of horse throughout time immortal, who created the grand cavalry of old, from Charles VIII to Murat it was we who made speed our Saint! May that Saint along with our God Almight bring us every closer to putting this war to a swift end.

Signed, Pierre Martin, Corporal of the 5th Support Squadron, 1st Mounted Dragoon Battalion, First DLM, Cavalry Corp, First Army Group.