November 11th, 1918.

All across the Western Front, the clocks that were lucky enough to escape the four years of

shelling chimed the 11th hour.

And with that, the First World War came to an end.

From 10 o'clock to 11, the hour for the cessation of hostilities,

the opposed batteries simply raised hell.

Not even the artillery prelude to our advance

and the Argon had anything on it. To an attempted advance, it was out of the question.

It was not a barrage. It was a deluge. Nothing quite so electrical in effect as the sudden

stop that came at 11 a.m. has ever occurred to me. It was

uncandy precisely and the roar stopped like a motor car hitting a wall.

The resulting quiet was uncanny in comparison.

From somewhere far below ground, Germans began to appear.

They clamored to the parapets and began to shout wildly.

They threw their rifles, hats, bandoliers, bayonets, and trench knives toward us.

They began to sing.

Lieutenant Walter A. Davenport, 101st Infantry Regiment, U.S. Army.

And just like that, it was over.

Four years of the bloodiest carnage the world had ever seen came to a stop as sudden and bewildering as its start.

And the world vowed never again.

Each year we lay the reef.

We hear the last post.

...