![]() ![]() Mead, 29, of Detroit, awoke, dressed, and ran to his 47-man platoon’s forward position. ![]() The first artillery shell flew at the Americans at dawn. Beyond the platoon’s position, flares and rockets flashed, and shadowy figures moved through tiny villages-Bolshevik soldiers from Russia’s Red Army, hoping to push the American invaders 200 miles north, all the way back to the frozen White Sea. Through their field glasses, lookouts gazed south into the darkness. Just outside the Russian village of Ust Padenga, 500 miles north of Moscow, the American soldiers crouched inside two blockhouses and trenches cut into permafrost. It was 45 degrees below zero, and Lieutenant Harry Mead’s platoon was much too far from home. An American infantry camp in Siberia, Russia, December 1918 ![]()
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