Right now I’m looking at a photo of my grandfather, in his doughboy uniform, seated on a sorry-looking horse. He was 15 when he enlisted (lied about his age), and when he was shipped to France, his superior officers insisted he be placed behind the lines with the horses and mules. I wish we still had his dog tags. He died at the age of 82.
Fifteen... he was a very special and brave man. He was just a kid and enlisted to do a man’s job. Bless him.
My doughboy grandfather was with the 7th ID over there. I looked it up by the insignia on his helmet. I used to have his uniform as well, but it got lost in moves over the years.