As they walked through the bodies strewn throughout the overrun trenches, one officer could not help but comment on the composition of the dead lying everywhere: "Old men with silver locks lay dead, side by side with mere boys of thirteen or fourteen. It almost makes one sorry to have to fight against people who show such devotion for their homes and their country."
Silver-haired men lay across the bodies of thirteen-year-old children piled in clumps or scattered individually where a last desperate stand had been made; the blood of both meeting in one final offering to freedom, liberty and homeland. In clumps they lay with bodies broken, mangled, and torn by shot, explosion, and hand-to-hand mortal combat, a last dying grimace of determination frozen forever on many of the faces; their blood now coagulating in clumps upon each other and on a ground that could absorb no more. These then were the defenders of the last trench.