There was a gratified exclamation from Colonel Pavet, and a new light came into his eyes. The magic name of France had abolished for the moment all distinctions of rank. The officer reached out his hand and took Frank's in a hearty grasp.
"Then you are fighting for two countries," he ejaculated.
"Yes," laughed Frank. "I'm luckier than most of the fellows."
"In what part of the country was your mother born?" asked the colonel with interest.
"In Auvergne," Frank replied.
"In Auvergne," repeated the officer, with vivacity. "Why I come from that part of the country myself. What was your mother's family name?"
"De Latour," said Frank.
"There is another coincidence," cried the colonel. "I know the family well. Their estate was only a few miles south of ours. Her father was an old comrade in arms and served in the same regiment with me when we were stationed in Algiers.
"Many's the time we've ridden and messed and fought together against the Bedouins. He's dead now," he continued, a slight shade crossing his face. "How proud he would have been were he alive to know that his grandson was fighting for France.
"Let me see," he went on. "I've been a long time away from Auvergne but it seems to me that when I was last there, I heard some talk of trouble in settling his estate—some lawsuit or other, that tied the property up. Do you know anything about it?"
"Yes," replied Frank. "My mother has been worrying over it for some time past. She was just about to sail for France to see about it when the war broke out."
He rapidly sketched the details of the legal trouble with which his mother had made him familiar. The officer listened attentively and with marked sympathy.
"It is too bad," said Colonel Pavet. "I will see what I can do. I have a good many friends in Auvergne and there are many, too, who honor the name and memory of De Latour and would do all in their power to help his daughter.
"And when I tell them that their daughter's son is fighting on our soil they will redouble their efforts. Count on me, my boy. This terrible war may delay matters but I will not forget."
The too parted then, leaving Frank with his heart beating faster at the thought of what might come from this most unexpected meeting.
Now he would have something to write home to his mother that would thrill her heart. That very night the letter should be written, the letter that was so eagerly awaited, always, in that lonely house at Camport, but that this time would receive even a more joyous welcome than usual.
What a strange twist of fate it would prove if this trip to France, undertaken in a spirit of pure patriotism, should reap a double reward in lifting the burden that had weighed upon his mother's heart for years!
One day a sham battle had been planned that embraced a front several miles in length and Frank's company was detailed to take up a position in a wood at the extreme left of the line.
The boys welcomed the assignment, for it was to carry them into a section of the country that had up to now been unfamiliar to them, and it afforded a diversion from the ordinary drill of the training camp.
They set off in high spirits after a hearty breakfast, and after a hike of four miles reached the bit of woodland where they were supposed to await the attack of the enemy.
"Gee!" exclaimed Frank, as he filled his lungs with the balsam of the woods, "this is great. It's enough just to be alive on a glorious morning like this."
"It's a little bit of Eden," declared Bart, as he looked about him. "Listen to those birds singing. If it weren't for the boom of cannon off there you wouldn't know there was such a thing as war in the world."
"Yes," chimed in Tom, "but there was a snake in Eden, and there's another one in the world now, that's got to be scotched before the world can rest in peace."
"Well, these woods have escaped so far," said Billy, as he looked around at the noble elms and birches.
"Yes," assented Bart, "and I guess they're safe. The German tide has come a good way into France, but I have a hunch that it's about spent its force."
"If the Huns get here they'll have to come over our dead bodies," said Tom.
It was some time before, in the plan for the sham battle, the enemy was expected to approach this copse of woods, and, with sentries posted, to detect and give warning of an approach, the rest of the men had been permitted to break ranks and do as they pleased. Some had thrown themselves on the ground in all sorts of sprawling attitudes, others were smoking and chatting together, while still others wandered to the edge of the woods and gazed over the broad plateau that stretched for more than a mile to the left of the woods. The sky was cloudless and the sun was shining brightly.
The monotonous boom of the distant guns, sounding like the roar of waves upon a beach, kept up unceasingly, but the boys had got so used to it that they scarcely noticed it.
But suddenly, among these bass notes came another sound, or series of sounds, sharp, shrill, metallic, which they had already learned to identify as the popping of anti-aircraft guns.
"That sounds as though they had sighted one of the Hun aeroplanes," commented Frank.
"More likely it's part of the practice," remarked Tom, carelessly.
"Look at those shrapnel puffs over there," cried Bart, pointing toward the sky.
High up in the air, following one another in quick succession, were light, bluish streaks, that after reaching an enormous height, suddenly burst in a cloud of white.
"They're certainly firing at something," remarked Billy, "but for the life of me I don't see what it is."
"I do," cried Bart. "Look! just at the edge of that fleecy cloud. It's so white you can hardly tell it from the cloud itself."
They strained their eyes in the direction where Bart was pointing. High up in the air, miles, it seemed, was a long, silver streak, shaped like an immense cigar. At that height it seemed almost to hang in the atmosphere, so gliding and imperceptible was its motion. And yet the boys knew that it was really shooting along with the speed of an express train.
"A Zeppelin!" they shouted, in chorus.
"A super-Zeppelin, or I miss my guess," observed Frank. "Look at the size of it."
"Oh, if the guns could only reach it!" exclaimed Bob.
"No such luck," groaned Billy, "it's too far up. See! the shrapnel puffs are half a mile below it."
"It's on its way back to the German lines," remarked Frank, "and I guess there's nothing to stop its getting there."
"Been on a baby killing trip to Paris, I suppose," said Tom, bitterly.
"More likely London, judging from the direction," estimated Billy.
They watched the monster as it sailed swiftly on, until it was lost to sight.
"I'd have given a year of my life to have seen that thing brought down," said Bart. "Can't you see the crew of it gloating over the women and children they've killed, and boasting about it when they get back to their lines?"
"Well, you know the Indians used to scalp women and children just as eagerly as they did men," remarked Billy, "and those Boches can give the Indians cards and spades and beat them out."
They were about to go back to the grove, with one last regretful look at the sky, when an exclamation from Frank brought them to a sudden halt.
"There's another one," he cried, pointing to the distant horizon. Even as he spoke a second Zeppelin came plainly into view, following in the wake of the first, but with greatly diminished speed.
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Bart, "there must be a fleet of them!"
"That one hasn't got off scot free, either," said Frank, his keen eye noting the apparent distress of the giant airship, as it moved uncertainly and unevenly, like a ship laboring in a storm. "By Jove, fellows, I believe it's coming down! Quick! get under the cover of these trees!"
Lower and lower, like a bird with a broken wing, the Zeppelin came toward the earth, while the boys watched it in breathless excitement.
Whether the Zeppelin could go no further, and sank despite itself, or whether its commander, looking at that broad plateau, and seeing no sign of life upon it, had decided to make a landing, quickly repair his injured machinery, and then rise again to seek refuge behind his own lines, the boys could not tell. But whatever the reason, not many minutes had passed before it became apparent that the airship was coming down, inevitably, right in front of them.
The word had been passed quickly all through the woods, and the whole company was on the alert.
"Ready for action, men," commanded the lieutenant.
With rifles in hand, and all their senses keenly on the alert, the soldiers waited for the coming of their prey.
With a perceptible jar the airship struck the ground, and at the same instant her crew swarmed out and dropped over the sides.
"Charge!" shouted the American lieutenant, and out from the woods the army boys went with a rush.
The astounded Germans were taken so utterly by surprise that they stood for a moment as though paralyzed. Then their commander barked out a sharp order, and two of the men leaped on board and made for the engines.
Crack! went the lieutenant's revolver, and as the bullet whistled past the ears of the foremost man both Germans came to a stop.
"Forward, men, and surround them, but don't shoot unless you have to," was the next order, and an instant later the German crew were ringed about with rifles whose ominous muzzles threatened to mow them down at the first false move.
The German officer had started to draw a pistol, but seeing the uselessness of this, he shoved it back into its holster and shrugged his shoulders. He was trapped. The game was up. He raised his hands in signal of surrender.
Another command from the lieutenant, and the crew were disarmed. A certain number of the men were detailed to guard them, and others were placed in charge of the airship.
The boys were wild with delight at the rich prize that had fallen so unexpectedly into their hands.
"We've had two great days, boys!" exclaimed Frank, "if we never have any others. The day we saw the submarine potted, and the day we nabbed the Zeppelin."
"Glory, hallelujah!" crowed Bart. "And to think we've got it in such good shape. The Allies have been crazy for a long time to find out just what new wrinkles the Germans have got in the way of machinery and other features in their latest Zeppelins. Maybe the engineers won't come running when they learn of this!"
"And maybe there won't be joy in Paris and London and Washington!" jubilated Tom.
"And perhaps the Huns won't gnash their teeth and tear their hair!" chuckled Billy. "Oh, boy, we sure had luck when they sent us out here this morning."
"That German officer is a hard loser," remarked Frank. "See that scowl on his face. A thundercloud has nothing on him. He's sore through and through."
The boys would have liked nothing better than to have had a chance to explore the Zeppelin and see the many interesting and novel features embodied in it, but their hopes in this direction were doomed to be disappointed. The lieutenant was inflexible in his resolve to have absolutely nothing on the captured airship disturbed until the government experts arrived to inspect it, and sorely against their wills the boys were forced to content themselves with an exterior view of the wonderful fabric.
The German officer, being utterly without means of escape, had not been put under the custody to which his crew had been subjected. He stood stiffly by the side of the American lieutenant, awaiting the disposition that the latter might choose to make of him.
The American officer sought to question him, but found his prisoner, although able to speak English, inclined to reply only in monosyllables. The courteous persistence of the American, however, had its effect, and the German became more communicative, but he balked at telling where he had been, or what his raid had accomplished. After answering a number of questions of lesser importance, the German himself became the questioner.
"To what enemy have I surrendered?" he queried.
"To a regiment of the United States Army," replied the lieutenant.
A bewildered look came into the prisoner's eyes.
"You mean British Army," he suggested, by way of correction.
"I said United States," said the lieutenant, briefly.
The puzzled look deepened.
"Impossible!" he exclaimed. "There is no United States Army in France."
Despite himself, the American officer could hardly suppress a smile.
"Just listen to him!" exclaimed Frank, who was within hearing distance.
"Didn't I tell you the Germans would believe anything their generals told them?" replied Bart.
"My, but this is rich!" chortled Tom.
"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't heard it," chuckled Billy, in a tone too subdued for the lieutenant to notice.
"I assure you," said the lieutenant, "that there is an army of the United States in France, despite your unbelief. Why should it seem so strange?"
"But you couldn't possibly have gotten over here," persisted the prisoner.
"Why not?" asked the American.
"Because our U-boats would have stopped you," was the reply.
"No use," murmured Frank to Bart. "Nobody home."
"Padded cell number nine hundred and ninety-nine," whispered Billy.
It was of no use to argue against such credulity, and the lieutenant gave it up.
The prisoners were marched back to camp, where the news of their coming had preceded them. It created a great sensation, and was the main topic of conversation for many days thereafter.
"It's been a red letter day," remarked Bart that night, as he prepared to climb into his bunk.
"You bet it has," agreed Frank. "We bagged a Zeppelin!"
Two days after these momentous events, a stir of expectation ran through the camp. Evidently some important move was in prospect. What it was, the rank and file did not know, but rumors and conjectures ran riot.
"There's something big coming, boys," said Frank, one night after supper.
"That's plain enough," agreed Bart. "But I'd give a lot to know just what it is."
"The corporal gave me a private tip," replied Frank. "He didn't go very far into it, but from what he hinted I have a hunch that none of us will go to bed to-night."
"What?" they cried, in chorus.
"That's what," returned Frank. "But of course it may be a false alarm. Wilson himself wasn't any too sure."
An hour later the bugle blew, but this call was not for "lights out." It was the command to "fall in."
Sudden as it was, the high state of discipline the men had reached was shown by the fact that there was no confusion. As precisely as veteran soldiers they fell into line by companies and platoons and waited for the order "Forward, march!"
The order was not long in coming, and as quietly as ghosts, with no band to lead them, the regiment swung into step and started off.
"We're on our way to the front," whispered Frank to Bart, who marched on his right.
"Off to the trenches!" agreed Bart. "Well, I'm glad the waiting time is over. Now, we'll have a chance to show what kind of soldiers we are."
For three whole hours the march went on without a halt. The night was clear although there was no moon. As the ground was dry and springy the going was good.
During that last hour the signs had multiplied that they were approaching the scene of battle. They passed by bits of woodland where every leaf and twig had been stripped from the trees by shell fire, leaving only the scarred and ghastly trunks.
They went through villages, or what had once been villages, but were now only heaps of crumbling stone with, here and there, a shaky wall left standing.
They had to watch their footing more and more to avoid falling into craters where the ground had been torn up by shells. There was no beauty in that part of fertile France that had once been like a "garden of the Lord."
War had breathed upon it, blighting and blasting every living thing, except the dauntless spirit of the people who were fighting and would fight to the last gasp in defense of liberty and civilization.
At last they reached a line of sentinels by whom they were greeted, not with challenges, but with exclamations of delight and welcome.
A little further on they came to a great gash in the earth that stretched in either direction like a huge black, zigzag blot.
They had reached the trenches!
But they did not stop there. Onward they went again, past another line of trenches.
"Gee! we must be going to the first line of trenches!" whispered Bart.
"That's what!" answered Frank.
Just this side of one of the lines of trenches the regiment halted at the word of the commander. Then it stood at attention and presented arms while from out the trenches came an endless line of men who had held that trench for France and now were yielding their place to the ardent young soldiers of the sister republic across the sea.
There was a strong impulse to cheer on both sides, but that might have betrayed to the enemy the change that was taking place in that sector of the line, and this for strategic reasons, it was desirable to avoid.
Soon the last of the war-worn veterans was lost in the darkness. Then, with infinite caution the boys of the old Thirty-seventh marched into the trenches, guided only by lanterns that waved low before them like so many fireflies.
So perfectly the movement had been planned, so carefully had been mapped out in advance the exact location that each unit of the command was to occupy, that, within an hour after the substitution had been made, the entire regiment was placed, and, apart from those detailed for duty, was sound asleep!
Curiosity ran riot when the army boys woke in their unfamiliar surroundings. At last they had reached the trenches, that magic word that they had heard again and again in the daily discussions of the last three years, and they studied every detail of their new surroundings with the keenest interest and zest.
Here they were to live, here some of them, beyond a question, were to die. The thought was sobering, and on that first day there was little of the gaiety and jest that had marked their life in the camps behind.
"Well, Bart, old scout, we're in for it now," said Frank, after breakfast, as he placed his hand on his friend's shoulder.
"In for fair," responded Bart.
"We're up against the real thing," added Billy. "We had a little taste of trench life down in Mexico, but most of the life was in the open. This is a different proposition."
Just then a shell came screaming overhead and the boys involuntarily ducked.
"That seems to prove it," said Tom.
"Bad shooting though," remarked Frank, coolly. "Fritz ought to have the range better by this time."
"There isn't very much of that sort of thing going on just now," remarked Corporal Wilson, who came along just then. "This is what they call a 'quiet sector.' The boys are just put here to be broken in and get used to the sight and sound of the shells. This is a deaf and dumb asylum compared to what you'll get later on."
"Job's comforter," murmured Bart. "To hear the corporal talk you'd think this was a rest cure."
In the hours of liberty allowed them the army boys explored the trenches for a long distance in either direction, and what they saw tended to upset a good many of the notions they had formed.
In a vague way they had figured the trench to be not much else than a gigantic ditch. They found it to be an underground city.
There was a bewildering labyrinth of passages branching off in every direction. There were spacious rooms, fitted up in homely comfort, some with pictures on the walls and rugs upon the floors.
There were shower baths and laundries, rude in construction but efficient in operation. The sleeping quarters of the men consisted chiefly of bunks, rising in tiers, though in some cases, cots were used.
There was an apparently endless series of communicating trenches with the listening posts in advance of the main line. There were telephone wires and electric lights.
"The moles have got nothing on us," remarked Tom, as he noted the vast extent of these subterranean passages.
"It's like the catacombs of Rome," put in Billy. "The only difference is that those contain dead men while we're very much alive."
"Knock wood," counseled Bart. "We wouldn't be very long if the Boches had their way."
Along the side of the main trench, facing the enemy was a narrow platform on which the men stood who were on watch. A series of cunningly contrived loopholes enabled them to look over at the enemy trenches without themselves being seen.
Sand bags were piled on the top of the trench in numbers sufficient to stop the flight of a bullet or even the impact of a shell.
A series of steps led up to the top and the boys reflected as they looked at them that before long their feet would be planted there when the order should be given to go "over the top" and charge across the intervening space to meet the enemy.
The silent men standing on watch, gripping their muskets, their eyes peering through the loopholes, seemed like so many statues.
Each had his gas mask ready to clap on at an instant's notice, for when that deadly poison should be wafted over the trench, one second of time might mean all the difference between life and death.
Before the day was over Frank and his comrades had replaced this line of sentinels. They peered curiously across to the German trench from which they were separated by not more than two hundred yards.
There was absolutely nothing to be seen except the line of sand bags that they knew marked the positions of the enemy. Nothing broke the monotonous expanse of shell-torn earth.
They had an uncanny feeling as though they were the only living creatures left in the world.
"It looks as though all the Germans had gone back to Berlin," remarked Frank in an undertone.
"Does it?" said the corporal grimly. "Give me your hat."
He took the hat that Frank extended and lifted it above the parapet on the point of a bayonet.
Zip! came a bullet, missing the helmet by a hair and thudding into one of the sand bags.
"Take it all back," said Frank as he resumed his hat. "They're on the job!"
A week passed by with only two casualties on the American side, for the sector was indeed a quiet one. But certain signs of a projected movement on the part of the enemy had made the American officers uneasy, and one day Corporal Wilson called Frank apart.
"Sheldon," he said, "Captain Baker has ordered me to take a squad of men on the first dark or foggy night for patrol duty in No Man's Land. I want you, Raymond, Bradford and Waldon to go with me."
"Good," said Frank, promptly. "We'll be ready."
He sought out his comrades and eagerly imparted the information. They received it with delight.
"Bully!" cried Bart.
"Best news I've heard since Hector was a pup!" chortled Billy.
"Here's hoping we'll slip one over on Fritz!" chuckled Tom, gleefully.
It was a misty, muddy night upon which the reconnoitering party, including Frank, Bart, Billy and Tom, was sent out under Corporal Wilson, with orders to get as close as possible to the enemy's line and learn all they could regarding their positions.
This included information in regard to the general direction of the enemy trenches, the extent and strength of his barbed wire entanglements and, if possible, the approximate force with which the trenches were manned.
Of course, this order involved taking pretty long chances, but the picked men sent out did not give much thought to that side of the question. By now it was all, not only a part of the day's work to them, but the excitement of such an expedition was, in truth, something of a relief from the growing monotony of trench life.
They left their own trenches with the least possible sound and crept cautiously forward toward the enemy defences. The night was heavy and starless, an excellent one for their project.
The soft earth deadened their footsteps and they slipped forward like a company of ghosts, hardly a sound breaking the stillness save the distant roar of the heavy guns that caused the ground to quiver and tremble under their feet.
The mist enveloping them began to grow denser minute by minute and before they had gone more than a hundred yards it was with the greatest difficulty that they kept from becoming separated.
It was an uncanny experience for the young, almost untried soldiers, and the Camport boys were excited, and each eager to prove himself worthy of having been chosen for the work.
Suddenly Frank thought he heard a subdued sound on his right and instinctively stopped a moment to locate it more definitely.
In that second his comrades, who apparently had heard nothing, were swallowed up in the thickening fog. Frank's impulse was to hasten after them but he had hardly taken a step forward when he was again halted by a repetition of the noise he had heard before.
He dared not call out to his comrades as he knew that such a cry would betray them all in case they were near the enemy trenches. His next thought was to return to his own lines, but the sound he had heard, surprisingly like the low-pitched gutturals of a German voice, made him unwilling to go back without investigating the matter further. Besides, here was the beginning of an adventure after his own heart, and he thought with a quickening pulse of the satisfaction that would be his if he could, unaided, gather valuable information and take it back to his commanding officer.
This reflection decided him and slowly and with infinite caution he stole in the direction from which the sounds seemed to come.
He had not gone far when his first impression was verified. Through the mist he heard distinctly the subdued sound of voices. Creeping on still farther as quietly and stealthily as a jungle animal, he could finally catch the articulation in the voices, and he knew the language spoken was German.
"I must be mighty near their entanglements by this time," he thought excitedly. "If I can only get through them I ought to be able to hear something. Here goes for a try at it anyway."
He dropped to hands and knees, regardless of the sticky mud, and wormed his way along, one hand outstretched feeling for the wire that he knew must be close. Sure enough he had not gone ten feet when his hand came in contact with the wire. He dropped flat on the ground and carefully drew his wire cutters from his belt. Cautiously he nipped a section out of the lowest strand and crawled beneath. He knew that he would soon come to a second line, and when he reached it he cut it in the same way he had the first, and then cut a third and a fourth.
"That's probably the last fence," he thought, nor was he mistaken.
He was now close to the enemy's trench and could hear the subdued murmur of voices. Above these came every now and then a sharp word of command and the click of gun mechanisms being inspected together with other sounds indicating a state of bustle and preparation.
To Frank lying prone on the miry ground, these sounds conveyed a very definite and significant message.
"They're up to something sure as shooting!" he thought. "I'll bet they're preparing for an attack on our trenches! They're all as busy as bees!"
He lay quiet a minute longer until the sounds of preparation increased to such an extent that he felt sure the Germans would soon be on the move.
"About time for me to hunt cover," he thought with a grin that even his perilous position could not repress. "The sooner I get out of this and warn our men the better it will be."
With this thought in mind he turned cautiously about and had started back when suddenly he saw something that made his heart lose a beat.
All over the wire entanglements that lay across his path of escape long sparks were leaping and hissing with a subdued crackling sound like the snapping of a wood fire. The Germans had electricified their wires in the hope of entrapping any scouting party of Americans who might chance to penetrate them!
Now indeed Frank found himself in a terrible predicament. He knew that in the maze of wires he could hardly hope to find the place where he had entered, and he was sure that with the heavy current in the wires it would be certain death to touch them with his clippers. On the other hand he knew that the current would be shut off only a minute or so before the Boches left their trenches to attack. He would hardly have time to cut his way out before being discovered and shot.
However his only chance seemed to be to lie still and await developments. This he did, resolving to make a dash the second the current was cut off.
As he lay there his ears caught the sound of measured footsteps approaching him.
"It's a sentry!" flashed through his mind. His hand flew to the bayonet at his side and he prepared to strike quick and hard.
But then another thought came to him. There must be a way through the entanglements that the Germans used. If he could capture the sentry he might be able to make him act as a guide.
It was a chance—and a desperate chance. Would the sentry prove to be alert and resourceful? Would his love of the Fatherland, or at least his training that the individual must be always subservient to the government, cause him to give the alarm at the expense of his personal safety? Or would he be slow to think and act, and would the very training, having undermined his self-reliance, make him yield to the quick intelligence and the poise that freedom had given to the American?
Noiselessly he shifted his hand to his revolver and drew it forth. He knew that it would be fatal to risk a shot, but he grasped the barrel of the weapon and as the heavy footsteps came abreast of him leaped to his feet and brought the butt down with stunning force on the head of the dim stolid figure that loomed through the mist.
The man dropped without a cry but Frank listened anxiously to judge if the sound of his fall had reached the trenches. Apparently it had not, and satisfied of this the young American turned his attention to the inert figure at his feet.
Presently the man stirred and then in a dazed fashion started to struggle to his feet. Quick as lightning the cold muzzle of Frank's revolver was pressed against the German's neck speaking a language that all men understand. The soldier stood quite still and Frank felt that the man, unstrung by the unexpected attack, would not risk death by giving an alarm.
He was at a loss to convey a command to the German to show him the way out through the barbed wire. He knew little of the German language. But it occurred to him that possibly the German could speak English.
"Show me the way out of this," he commanded, speaking very slowly. "Do you understand?"
"Yah, yah," mumbled the German. "I vill show you, only don't shoot. Dis way. Follow me."
"I'll follow you and mighty close too," Frank assured him. "One false move and you'll never make another."
The German made no reply but crawled sullenly through the mud, Frank following with the muzzle of the gun pressing the man's leg.
Soon the German paused at what appeared to be a sort of gate but would have seemed like any part of the fence to one not acquainted with it. After a moment's fumbling the gate swung open and captor and captive crawled through. In the same way they got through the other lines of wire. Frank was once more in the open and the proud possessor of a prisoner besides.
"Forward march!" commanded the young American. "We will now visit those pigs of Yankees you fellows are so fond of talking about. I know they will be glad to see you."
The big German only hunched his shoulders and went on doggedly. In a little while they were near the American trenches and after answering the sentry's challenge they clambered down.
Frank was met with a wild rush by Bart, Billy and Tom, who had been almost crazy with anxiety because of his failure to return.
"Where have you been, Frank?" shouted Bart, "and where did you get the Boche?"
"I'll tell you when I get back, fellows," promised Frank. "Take care of this Hun. I've got to report right away. I think the Huns are going to attack."
He hurried away and made his report.
"You've done well, very well," declared Captain Baker. "And if the enemy attacks, as you think likely, they will find us ready for them. You may return to your company."
Frank saluted and hastened back. Orders were issued, and soon every man was at his post, strung up to the highest pitch of excitement and expectancy. They strained their eyes through the baffling fog but for a while could see or hear nothing.
Then suddenly a white shaft of light stabbed through the fog and piercing the damp folds revealed row after row of helmeted figures moving toward them with a deliberation and menacing weight that might well have struck terror to hearts less stout than theirs!
Crouched, tense, ready for the word, the American lads faced the foe. A thrill of impatience ran through them as the enemy came nearer.
Were they to wait there, until that grey wave overwhelmed them, pouring into the trenches like a surging flood?
The strain of waiting was becoming almost unbearable.
The captain shouted a command, and up they scrambled like hounds freed from the leash. But just as their leader reached the top he fell headlong, stricken by a bullet.
For a moment the men waited, uncertain, hardly knowing what to do. Frank sensed the hesitation and like lightning he acted.
It was no time to consider rank with that grey mass surging on. Above the noise his voice rang out like a trumpet.
"Come on, boys!" he shouted. "Over the top and at them!"
At the same instant he leaped forward and his comrades followed. On they rushed like an avalanche let loose. They were at Yankee fighting pitch.
All the pent-up rage that had been gathering for months leaped to the fore. The fire that had stirred their ancestors at Bunker Hill and Gettysburg burst into flame.
Wounds? They scorned them. Death? They laughed at it!
On they went like so many vikings. Faster, faster, rushing, pouring onward—until with tremendous force they fell like a thunderbolt upon the advancing ranks.
Into that grey mass they forced their way, shooting, thrusting, stabbing. And when their guns were empty, or they could not use their bayonets, they grasped the weapons and swung them about their heads like flails.
There was a red mist before their eyes and red patches on their tunics. Some of them fell but the others kept on stabbing, hacking, hewing their way into the solid mass until that mass, veteran, as it was, wavered and broke before the wild, irresistible charge.
Slowly at first, then more swiftly, the enemy retreated, pursued to the very edge of their trenches by the American boys, who, having tasted blood, were not to be denied.
They would have gone further but this was not in the plan of their commanders, for the enemy's guns had got the range and a murderous fire was being laid down.
The enemy had had a trouncing that he would not soon forget. The recall sounded, and the American boys turned back, reluctantly, gathering up their wounded comrades as they came.
Frank had been separated from his chums in the wild melee, and his first thought as he neared the home trench was for their safety. His relief was great when he found them, blackened, panting, their clothing riddled, but they themselves unharmed, except for a slight wound that Tom had received from a bullet that scarcely more than grazed his arm.
Now that the reaction was upon them, they felt unspeakably weary, for nerve and brawn had been taxed to the utmost. But in their eyes glowed the light of victory. They had met the veteran troops of the Kaiser and given them a taste of Yankee mettle.
It was their first battle and they had borne themselves like men.
Once more in the trenches and Tom's slight wound attended to, they peered curiously over the scene of battle. They shuddered as they looked, for there were still forms lying there that had not been there when the battle began. Who of their own number had gone? Who from that group of jolly, eager, vigorous young manhood with whom they had been living and training for weeks and months—those whom they had come to like and respect as they toiled and pleasured side by side in the camp and in the trenches?
And yet, not one of those who had come back alive from that awful field, where had been left some of their comrades, but would have gladly given his own life that selfishness, arrogance, and brutality should not conquer and rule in this world.
But they took comfort from the fact that despite their own losses, which had been numerous, the greater proportion of those still forms were German.
The enemy's gun fire was still sending a rain of death across the intervening space and the American guns were answering with equal vigor.
It seemed as though no living thing could endure on that infernal plain.
Suddenly Frank's keen eyes detected a movement on the part of one of the apparently lifeless bodies and he gave a sharp exclamation.
"Look there, Bart!" he said. "There's a man still alive. See how he's trying to get up on his elbow—and he's one of our men, too. That is, he's French—I can tell by his uniform," he added in great excitement, as the light from a bursting star shell threw a ghastly radiance over the field.
The next instant he was clambering up the side of the trench.
"Frank! Frank!" cried Bart desperately, clutching at him. "What are you doing? Where are you going? It's certain death out there!"
"I'm going, Bart," gritted Frank between his teeth as he tore away from his friend's grasp, and leaped over the top!
An instant more and he was on his hands and knees, making his way toward the stricken man who was about twenty yards distant.
Around him bullets rained. A pain shot through his shoulder as though he had been stabbed by a red hot knife, but he kept on doggedly, reached the wounded man and tried to lift him to his feet.
But the effort was futile for the man sank back with a groan. Like a flash Frank's muscular arms lifted him, threw him over his shoulder and staggering, tripping, stumbling, yet somehow keeping his feet, he reached the edge of the trench.
A dozen eager hands relieved him of his burden and then he himself tumbled in, to be caught by Bart and Billy.
What happened in the next half hour, Frank scarcely knew. The wound in his shoulder though not serious had bled freely, and his tremendous efforts had taxed his strength to the utmost.
His surprise was great when, having had his wound attended to, he was ushered into the presence of the man he had saved.
"Why, it is Colonel Pavet!" he gasped. Of course the French military man was equally amazed.
"It is fate!" he cried. "Fate, nothing less, my brave boy! How can I ever thank you!"
"You don't have to thank me," returned Frank modestly.
"But I shall," and the French colonel grasped the young soldier's hand tightly. He was still very weak and spoke with difficulty.
"I am glad it was you, Sir," remarked the army boy.
"It is fate, I tell you," murmured the colonel. "When I am well I shall tell you more. I have heard from Auvergne, and all about the De Latour estate, which is in the courts. You may have a fight to get your rights, but—I am your friend. I shall fight for you and your mother."
"Then you think my mother's chances are good?" questioned Frank eagerly.
"I am certain of it," was the colonel's low reply. Then he had to stop talking, by the doctor's orders.
And what was done in the near future to recover the estate, and how Frank and his chum did their further duty as American soldiers, will be told in the next volume, to be entitled: "Army Boys in the French Trenches; Or, Hand to Hand Fights with the Enemy."
When Frank came back to camp his friends hailed him as a veritable hero.
"You're the goods!" cried Billy.
"All wool and a yard wide!" came from Tom.
"And American to the backbone, don't forget that!" added Bart.