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Marius Iulian Mihailescu and Stefania Loredana Nita
Pro Cryptography and Cryptanalysis
with C++23
Creating and Programming Advanced Algorithms
2nd ed.
Marius Iulian Mihailescu
Bucharest, Romania
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively
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Table of Contents
Part I: Foundations
Chapter 1:Getting Started in Cryptography and Cryptanalysis
Cryptography and Cryptanalysis
Book Structure
Internet Resources
Forums and Newsgroups
Security Protocols and Standards
Cryptography Tools and Resources
Conclusion
References
Chapter 2:Cryptography Fundamentals
Information Security and Cryptography
Cryptography Goals
Cryptographic Primitives
Background of Mathematical Functions
One-to-One, One-Way, and Trapdoor One-Way Functions
Permutations
Inclusion
Concepts and Basic Terminology
Domains and Codomains Used for Encryption
Encryption and Decryption Transformations
The Participants in the Communication Process
Digital Signatures
Signing Process
Verification Process
Public-Key Cryptography
Hash Functions
Case Studies
Caesar Cipher Implementation in C++23
Vigenére Cipher Implementation in C++23
Conclusion
References
Chapter 3:Mathematical Background and Its Applicability
Probabilities
Conditional Probability
Random Variables
Birthday Problem
Information Theory
Entropy
Number Theory
Integers
Algorithms inℤ
Integers Modulo n
Algorithms ℤm
The Legendre and Jacobi Symbols
Finite Fields
Basic Notions
Polynomials and the Euclidean Algorithm
Case Study 1:Computing the Probability of an Event That Takes
Place
Case Study 2:Computing the Probability Distribution
Case Study 3:Computing the Mean of the Probability
Distribution
Case Study 4:Computing the Variance
Case Study 5:Computing the Standard Deviation
Case Study 6:Birthday Paradox
Case Study 7:(Extended) Euclidean Algorithm
Case Study 8: Computing the Multiplicative Inverse Under
Modulo q
Case Study 9:Chinese Remainder Theorem
Case Study 10:The Legendre Symbol
Conclusion
References
Chapter 4:Large Integer Arithmetic
A Bit of History
What About Cryptography?
Algorithms Used for Large Integer Arithmetic
Subtraction (Subtraction Modulo)
Multiplication
Big Integers
Review of Large Integer Libraries
Conclusion
References
Chapter 5:Floating-Point Arithmetic
Why Floating-Point Arithmetic?
Displaying Floating-Point Numbers
The Range of Floating Points
Floating-Point Precision
Next Level for Floating-Point Arithmetic
Conclusion
References
Chapter 6:New Features in C++23
Headers
The <expected> Header
The <generator> Header
The <flat_map> Header
Conclusion
References
Chapter 7:Secure Coding Guidelines
Secure Coding Checklist
CERT Coding Standards
Identifiers
Noncompliant Code Examples and Compliant Solutions
Exceptions
Risk Assessment
Automated Detection
Related Guidelines
Rules
Rule 01.Declarations and Initializations (DCL)
Rule 02.Expressions (EXP)
Rule 03.Integers (INT)
Rule 05.Characters and Strings (STR)
Rule 06.Memory Management (MEM)
Rule 07.Input/Output (FIO)
Conclusion
References
Chapter 8:Cryptography Libraries in C/C++23
Overview of Cryptography Libraries
Hash Functions
Public-Key Cryptography
Elliptic-Curve Cryptography (ECC)
OpenSSL
Configuration and Installing OpenSSL
Botan
CrypTool
Conclusion
References
Part II: Pro Cryptography
Chapter 9:Elliptic-Curve Cryptography
Theoretical Fundamentals
Weierstrass Equation
Group Law
Practical Implementation
Conclusion
References
Chapter 10:Lattice-based Cryptography
Advantages and Disadvantages of Lattice-based Cryptography
Applications of Lattice-based Cryptography
Security of Lattice-based Cryptography
Lattice-based Cryptography and Quantum Computing
Mathematical Background
Example
Conclusion
References
Chapter 11:Searchable Encryption
Components
Entities
Types
Security Characteristics
An Example
Conclusion
References
Chapter 12:Homomorphic Encryption
Full Homomorphic Encryption
A Practical Example of Using FHE
Conclusion
References
Chapter 13:Ring Learning with Errors Cryptography
Mathematical Background
Learning with Errors (LWE)
Ring Learning with Errors (RLWE)
Practical Implementation
Conclusion
References
Chapter 14:Chaos-based Cryptography
Security Analysis
Chaotic Maps for Plaintexts and Image Encryption
Rössler Attractor
Complex Numbers:A Short Overview
Practical Implementation
Secure Random Number Generator Using Chaos Rössler
Attractor
Encrypt and Decrypt Using Chaos and Fractals
Conclusion
References
Chapter 15:Big Data Cryptography
Verifiable Computation
Conclusion
References
Chapter 16:Cloud Computing Cryptography
A Practical Example
Conclusion
References
Part III: Pro Cryptanalysis
Chapter 17:Starting with Cryptanalysis
Part III:Structure
Cryptanalysis Terms
A Bit of Cryptanalysis History
Understanding Cryptanalysis Techniques
Analyzing Cryptographic Algorithms
Cracking Cryptographic Systems
Understanding Cryptographic Systems
Understanding Cryptographic Keys
Understanding Cryptographic Weaknesses
Analyzing Cryptographic Keys
Penetration Tools and Frameworks
Conclusion
References
Chapter 18:Cryptanalysis Attacks and Techniques
Standards
FIPS 140-2, FIPS 140-3, and ISO 15408
Validation of Cryptographic Systems
Cryptanalysis Operations
Classification of Cryptanalytics Attacks
Attacks on Cipher Algorithms
Attacks on Cryptographic Keys
Attacks on Authentication Protocols
Conclusion
References
Chapter 19:Differential and Linear Cryptanalysis
Differential Cryptanalysis
Linear Cryptanalysis
Performing Linear Cryptanalysis
Conclusion
References
Chapter 20:Integral Cryptanalysis
Basic Notions
Theorem 20-1 [1, Theorem 1, p.114]
Theorem 20-2 [1, Theorem 2, p.114]
Practical Approach
Conclusion
References
Chapter 21:Brute-Force and Buffer Overflow Attacks
Brute-Force Attack
Buffer Overflow Attack
Conclusion
References
Chapter 22:Text Characterization
Chi-Squared Statistic
Cryptanalysis Using Monogram, Bigram, and Trigram
Frequency Counts
Counting Monograms
Counting Bigrams
Counting Trigrams
Conclusion
References
Chapter 23:Implementation and Practical Approach of
Cryptanalysis Methods
Step 1
Step 2
Step 3
Step 4
Ciphertext-Only Attack (COA)
Known-Plaintext Attack (KPA)
Chosen-Plaintext Attack (CPA)
Chosen-Ciphertext Attack (CCA)
Conclusion
References
Index
About the Authors
Marius Iulian Mihailescu, PhD
is an associate professor at the Faculty of Engineering and Informatics,
Spiru Haret University in Bucharest, Romania. He is also the CEO of
Dapyx Solution Ltd., a company based in Bucharest specializing in
information security and cryptography-related research projects. He is
a lead guest editor for applied cryptography journals and a reviewer for
multiple publications with information security and cryptography
profiles. He authored and co-authored more articles in conference
proceedings, 25 articles, and books. For more than six years, he has
been a lecturer at well-known national and international universities
(the University of Bucharest, Titu Maiorescu University, and Kadir Has
University in Istanbul, Turkey). He has taught courses on programming
languages (C#, Java, C++, Haskell) and object-oriented system analysis
and design with UML, graphs, databases, cryptography, and information
security. He served three years as an IT officer at Royal Caribbean
Cruises Ltd., dealing with IT infrastructure, data security, and satellite
communications systems. He received his PhD in 2014, and his thesis
was on applied cryptography over biometrics data. He holds two MSc in
information security and software engineering.
Language: English
FOREWORD v
I.— THE WORLD WAR 7
II.— THE UNCERTAIN PEACE 61
III.— THE PRESENT PERILS 140
IV.— THE HOPE AHEAD 167
FOREWORD
Since the last words of this book were written the political temper
of the nation has been tested by the General Election and has been
revealed by the mighty majority of the Conservatives, the dismissal
of the first Labour Government, and the all but mortal blow to the
Liberal Party.
It would be a bad thing for the British people if that sweeping
change were the sign of reaction to wooden-headed principles of
autocratic rule and class legislation. It would be a worse thing for
the world. But the new Conservative Government will have no
support from the majority of those who voted for it if it interprets its
power as a mandate for militarism, jingoism, or anti-democratic acts.
The verdict of the ballot box was, certainly, not in favour of any
black reaction, but in condemnation of certain foreign, revolutionary,
and subversive influences with which the Labour Party were
believed, fairly or unfairly, to be associated.
It is true that the Labour Ministers had denounced Communism,
and during their tenure of office had revealed in many ways a high
quality of statesmanship and patriotism. But all this good work was
spoilt in the minds of many people of liberal thought, anxious to be
fair to Labour, by the uneasy suspicion that behind the Labour Party,
and in it, there were sinister influences foreign in origin, anti-British
in character, revolutionary in purpose. Up and down the country
some of its supporters indulged in loose-lipped talk about Social
revolution, preached a class war, paraded under the Red Flag.
Political incidents not quite clear in their origin, not fully explained,
intensified this national uneasiness, developed into something like a
scare, in minds not naturally hostile to Labour ideas. They made
allowance for exaggeration, political lies and slanders, but when all
allowance had been made suspicion remained that if “Labour” were
given a new lease of power it might play into the hands of a crowd
fooling with the idea of revolution, not as honest as some of the
Labour Ministers, not as moderate as the first Labour Government. It
was a risk which the people of Great Britain refused to take. Mr.
Ramsay MacDonald and his colleagues failed to prove their
independence from their own extremists, and Liberal opinion entered
into temporary alliance with Conservative thought to turn them out.
To men like myself, standing politically in “The Middle of the Road”
between the extremists, the downfall of the historic Liberal Party is a
tragedy and a menace. It brings the possibility of class conflict
nearer by the elimination of a central balancing party of moderate
opinion. That possibility will become a certainty if Mr. Baldwin’s big
majority drifts into reaction, or into lazy disregard of urgent national
distress. But I am inclined to believe that the new Government will
be more Liberal than is pleasing to some of its reactionary
supporters as Mr. MacDonald’s Government was more moderate than
the wild crowd who tried to force the pace. The nation as a whole
will not tolerate black reaction any more than red revolution, and
England stands steady to its old traditions of caution and
commonsense. Those qualities will be needed in times of trouble not
far ahead.
Philip Gibbs.
Ten Years After:
A REMINDER
The peoples of Europe knew nothing of the forces which had led
up to the conflict. They had never been told about the secret
treaties—made by statesmen of the old school without their consent,
though their lives were pledged in them—by which the Foreign
Offices of Europe had played against each other for high stakes in a
dangerous game called the Balance of Power. They were ignorant of
the rivalries and greeds which had been inflamed for half a century
by the rush for Africa, where France, Germany, Italy, Spain and
Great Britain had bargained and intrigued and quarrelled with each
other for slices of the Dark Continent which had put a black spell
upon the imagination of Imperialists in all these countries. They did
not know that German Imperialists believed, not without reason,
that England and France had squared each other in order to prevent
German influence in Morocco, and that she felt herself thwarted by
the two powers in all her ambitions for “a place in the sun,” for the
sources of raw material, and for the expansion of her trade. They
were ignorant of Pan-German dreams of dominant power in Middle
Europe, and of an Asiatic Empire following the line of Berlin to
Bagdad. They were not aware of Pan-Slav ambitions cutting clean
across Pan-German ambitions and looking forward to a future when
the Russian Tsardom would have its second capital in
Constantinople, and when the Russian race would stretch through
Serbia to the Adriatic Sea. They had never realised the meaning of
the Balkan Wars of 1912, when Russia was behind Serbia and
Germany behind Turkey, in the first skirmish for these rival schemes.
They were never told by their leaders that explosive forces were
being stored up in Europe because of the rival Imperialisms which
sooner or later were bound to result in infernal fire shattering the
whole structure of European life.
All these things had been kept secret in the minds of kings and
emperors, statesmen and diplomats, and the peoples in the mass
went about their work without a thought of the dark destiny that
was being woven for them in the looms of Fate. In Germany, it is
true, the military caste, the Civil Service, and the Universities had
been steeped in the poison of an Imperial philosophy based upon
Brute Force and the right of the strong to seize the power and
places of the weak. The Kaiser, picturing himself in “shining armour,”
with God as his ally, had made himself the figurehead of this school
of thought. From time to time he uttered portentous words. He
threatened with “a mailed fist” all who dared to cross the path of
German aspirations. He vowed that he would “dash to pieces” all
those who opposed his will. Even in Germany before the War these
words were ridiculed by peace-loving citizens, scorned by millions of
theoretical Socialists, and ignored by the peasants who were busy
with their sowing and reaping in quiet fields. In England they
seemed but the bombast of a theatrical man born too late in the
world’s history for such mediæval clap-trap. Outside small circles, in
touch with the undercurrents of international policy and afraid of
unspeakable things, or ready to risk them, the common folk knew
nothing of their peril, and were not allowed to know.
Ten years ago! Who can remember the spirit of Europe then? Or
his own mind? That sense of horror, chilling the heart of
unimaginable things, that bewilderment because so monstrous a
tragedy had come out of the blue sky, without warning, as it
seemed, for trivial causes, and then ... and then ... a call to the
secret courage of the soul, a dedication to service and sacrifice, a
welling-up of old traditions, emotions, passions, primitive instincts,
which had seemed dead and useless because of world peace and
the security of civilisation.
In Great Britain it was as though the nation had been shaken by a
great wind in which the Voice of God was heard. In those first days
—and months—there was no degradation of the height to which the
spirit of the British people was uplifted. Even their enemies admit
that. The petty, squalid, rotten things of life fell from them. They put
away their own quarrels, self-interests, political and industrial
conflicts. This thing was too big for those trivialities. It was bigger
than individual lives, loves, hates, fortunes, homes or business. The
old barriers of class, strongly entrenched in the structure of English
life, were broken down with one careless and noble gesture. The
sons of the great old families joined up with the shop boys, the
peasants, the clerks, the slum-folk, and stood in the same ranks with
them as volunteers in the “war for civilisation.” The daughters of the
county gentry, of the clergy, and professional classes went down on
their knees with shop girls and servant girls, to scrub the floors of
hospitals or do any kind of work. Those wild women who had fought
the police for the Vote became ambulance drivers, nurses, farm girls,
ammunition workers, needlewomen—anything for service. The rich
poured out their money and the sons of the rich their blood. The
poor offered their bodies and all they had. It took some time for
England to understand this need of soldiers. It was not until after
the Retreat from Mons and terrible despatches, revealing dreadfully
that the little Regular Army was but a small outpost, half-destroyed
after immortal valour against overwhelming odds in France, that the
recruiting stations were stormed by the young manhood of the
nation, from public schools, factories, city offices, and the little
villages of the countryside. Husbands left their wives, lovers their
sweethearts, fathers their children, scholars their books, and
enrolled themselves, as they knew, for the chance of Death. And the
women let them go, urged them to go, and hid their tears. There
was not a mother in England at that time, or none that I knew or
ever heard of, who, looking at the strained face of her son, held him
back by any passionate plea when he raised his head and stared into
her eyes and said: “I must go!”
The whole nation, apart from a few individuals, was inspired by a
common loyalty to ideals which seemed very clear and bright. They
believed, without any complications of thought and argument,
without any secret doubts, that this war had come upon the world
solely because of German brutality, unprovoked, against peaceful
neighbours. Stories of German atrocity, some true and many false, in
the first invasion of France and Belgium, deepened their horror for a
nation which had threatened civilisation itself with a return to
barbarism, and under whose rule there would be no liberty, no life
worth living. The chivalry of the British people, their love of fair play,
their pity, were outraged by the trampling of Belgium and the agony
of France, attacked by the greatest military power in the world. That
was enough for them. That was what inspired them in their first rush
to the rescue. It was only later that they understood the menace to
their own Island and Empire, whose existence was at stake. In those
early days there was no self-interest in the spiritual uprising of
England and her sister nations. There was a nobility of purpose,
undimmed and untarnished, crystal clear to simple minds, knowing
nothing and caring nothing for deeper causes of the war than
German militarism and its brutal assault. Only the newspaper press
vulgarised and degraded the splendour of this simple chivalry by its
appeal to blood lust and its call to hate and many frantic lies.
From all parts of the Empire the old Mother Country saw her
homing birds. From Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa
came bronzed and hardy men who were the uncles or the cousins or
the brothers of the boys who were still storming the recruiting
stations at home. After them came wave after wave of young
manhood from the far Dominions, and for the first time in history the
British Empire, so loosely linked, so scattered, so jealous of restraint
or control from the British Government, was seen to be a federation
of English-speaking peoples more strongly bound by links of
sentiment and kinship in time of peril than any Imperialist of the old
school could have forged by autocratic power. They were free
peoples enlisting for service, as they believed also, in the cause of
civilisation and in the chivalrous defence of peace-loving peoples
wantonly attacked by a brutal enemy.
Looking back now with disgust of war and all its filthiness and
death in our inmost souls, after years of disillusion with the results of
that war, with a more complicated knowledge of its causes back in
history; with a legacy of debt; unsettled problems; with new causes
of hate, revenge, conflict; with justice no longer all on one side, nor
injustice, one must still acknowledge the splendour of that spiritual
comradeship which made all classes offer themselves for service and
sacrifice to the uttermost, which was death. Not in England, nor in
France, nor later in the United States, was there any love of this war
for war’s sake. It did not appeal to the imagination of youth as a
great adventure. Here and there its call might have come as a
liberation from dull existence, or as an escape from private tragedy,
or as a primitive blood lust. In very rare cases it appealed to old
fighting instincts as a better thing than peace. To most it was
hateful. Our young men loved life and loathed the thought of death.
They did not want to kill or be killed. They disliked military discipline,
dirt, lice, the thought of shell-fire, the foreboding of wounds,
blindness, mutilation, and horror. They were the heirs of a civilisation
in which there had been a high standard of decency, refinement,
comfort, and individual liberty. Each young man when he went to the
recruiting office knew in his heart that he was saying good-bye,
perhaps for ever, to the things and folk he loved, to all familiar
decent things, to the joy of life itself. Yet in millions they went, tide
after tide ... and the women hid their tears and their agony as best
they could, and found out work to do. In great houses and little
homes there was the same spirit. Out of the foulest slums as well as
out of fine houses came the heroic soul of a people proud of its
history, impelled unconsciously by old loyalties which had been
stunted but never killed by social injustice.
That was the passion of England and her sister peoples when war
began. Difficult to imagine, impossible to feel again—now!... So
much has happened since.
And in those days the French people loved the English and their
kinsfolk, so that when the first British troops appeared they went
mad with joy, as I saw, kissing them, with streaming tears, dancing
round them, flinging flowers to them, giving them fruit, as those
boys, clean-shaven, bronzed, smart, laughing, singing, “It’s a long,
long way to Tipperary,” went forward to be killed, wounded,
maimed, blinded, broken, as most of them were before the end
came, and some very soon. Vivent les Anglais!... Have the French
people forgotten, or have we?
I was in Paris, after wild adventures, with two comrades on a day
in September when it seemed that the city was doomed. It was
already deserted. At mid-day, between the Place de la Concorde and
the Etoile, we saw only one man, and that a policeman on a bicycle.
It was no longer the seat of Government. Vast numbers had fled. We
had seen them storming the trains. All others sat indoors, with their
shutters closed, waiting for the tramp of German soldiers down the
streets. The German guns were as close as Chantilly. Only a miracle
could save Paris, as we knew, having seen the retreat of a French
Army through Amiens, and the stragglers of the British Army after
the Retreat from Mons, and the advance of the enemy as far as
Beauvais, and a hundred signs of impending tragedy. The sun was
glittering on the golden eagles above one of the bridges. The
palaces, domes, spires of Paris were clear-cut under a cloudless sky.
All the beauty of the city, all its meaning to the world in knowledge
and art and history, invaded our hearts. If Paris were taken and
France beaten, civilisation itself would be defeated and life would be
worthless, and God mocked. It could not happen like that. A miracle
must happen first. For God’s sake!
The miracle happened—the miracle of the Marne. The German
tide was turned at last. By the blunder of the German Staff, by the
audacity of Foch, by Galliéni with his army in taxi-cabs, by the
desperate valour of French soldiers, fighting, dying, maddened by
thirst, with untended wounds, with rage in their hearts, agonising,
but without surrender in their souls because the life of France was in
their guard that day. They won a victory which smashed back the
German Army and destroyed their plan.
The British Army had a small share in that victory of the Marne.
Its weight did not count for much, but its artillery harassed the
German retreat with deadly execution, and in fighting down from
Mons it had helped to spoil the German time-table and to bar the
way to Paris for just that little time which enabled France to stand on
its line of battle and repair the dreadful blunders of its first defence.
Have the French forgotten that? It happened ten years ago!
Trench Warfare
The Germans were forced to dig in. It was the beginning of trench
warfare. Then the line hardly altered for four years more, in spite of
endless battles and unceasing death.
The British Regulars—that “contemptible little army” as the Kaiser
called it before its rifle fire mowed down his men—were spent and
done after the first and second Battles of Ypres, where they barred
the way to Calais with a thin line standing among their dead. The
Territorials—volunteers before the war—arrived, as steady as old
soldiers. It was due to them that the Regulars had been able to get
to France, leaving them for home defence. Then the new armies
came into the field—“the Kitchener boys”—the First Hundred
Thousand. They were those young men who had stormed the
recruiting offices at the first call: from the Universities, public
schools, city offices, village shops, and fields. They had been
together in the ranks, learning each other’s language, bullied by
sergeant-majors, broken in by discipline, taught to forget the
decencies of civilisation as they had known it in their homes, the
little comforts of their former state, individual liberty. Already they
had left their old civilian life far behind. Yet they came out to France
and Flanders like schoolboys in keenness and enthusiasm. They
wanted to get into the “real thing” after all that gruelling training.
They got into it quickly enough, up beyond Ypres at Hooge and St.
Julien, or further south at “Plug Street” and Hill 60. They sat in
water-logged trenches, with bits of dead bodies in the mud about
them, under frightful shell-fire twenty times greater than the answer
of their own guns because they were weak in artillery and short of
shells. (The workers at home had not got into their stride in pouring
out the engines of destruction.) They had no dug-outs worth the
name. Only the Germans knew how to build them then, as they
knew most else of war, as masters of technique, overwhelmingly
superior in material, and in organisation. The British were in the low
ground everywhere, with the Germans on the high ground, so that
they could not march or move by daylight, or light a fire, or cross a
road, without being signalled to watchful eyes and shelled without
mercy. They were lousy in every seam of their shirts. There was no
chance of cleanliness unless they were far behind the lines. Young
gentlemen of England—and of Scotland, Ireland and Wales—found
themselves like cave men: eating, sleeping, living in filth and the
stench of corruption, under winged death searching for their bodies.
They saw their comrades blown to bits beside them; counted their
own chances, coldly, made it one in four, with luck. They were afraid
of fear. To lose control—that would be worst of all. To show funk
before the other men, to feel themselves ducking, shrinking,
weakening, under those cursed shrieking shells, to surrender will
power—that would be fatal. Some did, gibbering with shell-shock, or
shot as cowards; but few. The marvel was that youth could stand so
much, and still make jokes, laughing at the frightful irony between
their old life and this new one, between the old lessons learnt by
nice little gentlemen in nurseries, and this bloody business and
primaeval stuff of killing and being killed!
It was truly a world war. Italy had come in. British troops were
fighting in Africa and Asia. The Japanese Navy was in alliance with
the British Fleet. Both France and England brought over coloured
troops. Indian Princes poured out their wealth and offered their man
power. Sikhs and Pathans rode through French fields. Gurkhas cut
off the ears of German peasants after cutting their throats with
curved knives. Indian cavalry, dismounted, were sent into the wet
trenches of French Flanders and died of cold if they did not die of
wounds. Seneghalese negroes drove French lorries, were massacred
as infantry. Moroccans were billeted in French villages and Arab
chiefs rode through Dunkirk. Chinese coolies unloaded British shells
and cut down French forests for British trench props. And the
coloured races of the world were shown the picture of the white
races destroying each other for some reason which was never clear
to them....
By the end of the Battle of the Somme the first impulses of the
war had died down, the first emotions had been forgotten.
Disillusion, dreadful experience, bitterness, had turned the edge of
idealism. One cannot understand the mind of men ten years after
without going back to that period of disenchantment. The young
men who had hurried to the recruiting stations were on fire with
enthusiasm for France and Belgium, for the rescue of liberty and
civilisation, and for love of England. They became rather damped in
the training camps because of so much red-tape, eyewash, spit and
polish, and humiliation. They were handled, not like men filled with
heroic spirit, but often like swine. Sergeant-majors swore at them in
filthy language; old officers, too feeble for the front or sent back in
disgrace for their incompetence, set them to ridiculous, time-wasting
work. Reviews, inspections, parades, took the heart out of them.
They had not joined for this ... they were trained and staled by the
time they went to France, though their spirits rose at the thought of
getting into “the real thing” at last. They didn’t like it. They hated it
when its routine became familiar and horrible and deadly. They were
ready to stick it out to the death—they did so—but certain values
altered as their illusions were shattered. It was all very well—though
not at all pleasant—to die for civilisation or liberty, but it was another
thing to die for some old General they had never seen because he
ordered them to attack positions which were wrongly marked on his
maps, or because he was competing in “raids” with the General
commanding the line on his left, or because he believed in keeping
up the “fighting spirit” of his troops by ordering the capture of
German trenches which made another salient in his line and were
bound to be blotted out in mud and blood as soon as the German
guns received their signals. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.
Sweet to die for one’s country—in the first flash of enthusiasm—and
afterwards necessary anyhow, though distinctly unpleasant to have
both legs blown off, or both eyes blinded, or one’s entrails torn out.
But not in any way comforting to be sent over the top with a
battalion unsupported on the right or left, or with wrong orders, or
without a barrage to smash the enemy’s wire, or by some incredible
blunder which meant the massacre of a man’s best pals and a hole
in his stomach. Inevitable, perhaps. Yes, but unforgivable by its
victims when it became a habit.... Over and over again battalions
were wiped out because some one had blundered. It was the same
on the German front, the French front, every front. And its effect in
the minds of the fighting men was the same in all nations and on
both sides of the line. It made them rage against the Staff. It made
them feel that the front line men were being sacrificed, wasted and
murdered by pompous old gentlemen and elegant young men living
very comfortably behind the lines in pleasant châteaux of France, far
from shell fire, growing “flower borders” on their breasts. Men talked
like that, with increasing irony. They were unfair, often. It’s not easy
to be fair when one’s certain death is being ordered by influential
folk who do not share the risks.
For England’s sake! Yes, those young officers and men who went
through the battles of the Somme and many others, seeing no end
to the war, and the only chance of life in a lucky wound, endured
everything of fear and filth, because at the back of their minds and
hidden in their hearts was the remembrance of some home or plot
of earth, some old village with an old church, which meant to them
—England, or Scotland, or Wales. They “stuck it” all because in their
spirit, consciously or unconsciously, was the love of their country,
and in their blood the old urge of its pride. But as the war went on
even this, though it was never lost and flamed up again in the
darkest hours, was overcast by doubts and angers and ironies. They
were all so damned cheerful in little old England! They took the
losses of men as a matter of course. Business as usual and keep the
home fires burning! That was all very well, but those “charity
bazaars for the poor dear wounded,” all that jazz and dancing and
love-making, giving the boys a good time in their seven days’ leave,
earning wonderful wages in the munition works, making enormous
profits out of shipping and contracts, spending their money like
water, filling the theatres, keeping up the spirit of the nation, wasn’t
it too much of a good thing when viewed from the angle of a trench
with one’s pals’ dead bodies in No Man’s Land, and a blasted world
around one, and death screaming overhead?