108CHAPTER XIII“JUST LIKE HIM!”
Jerry and Ned both confessed, afterward, that the sinking feeling, which seemed to carry their hearts away down into their muddy shoes, was greater at the knowledge that Bob was missing than it had been when they set out in the darkness to raid the Germans across the desolate stretch of No Man’s Land.
It was all so unexpected. He had gone through the baptism of fire with them—he had helped capture the Huns—and had been, seemingly, all right on the return trip. And then, on the very threshold of his own army home, so to speak, he had disappeared.
“Did any one see him fall or hear of his being hit?” asked the lieutenant, as he prepared to lead out a searching party. Ned and Jerry, of course, and by rights, would be members of it.
“No, he was right near me, Sir, and he said particularly, when I asked him, that he was only scratched,” declared Jerry. “I made sure Ned was the worst hurt.”109
“How much are you hurt?” asked the captain, turning to Jerry’s chum.
“Oh, it’s only a scratch, Sir,” was the quick answer. “I can’t feel it now.”
Ned did not speak the exact truth, but he did not want to be kept back from the search.
“Very well,” said the captain. “You may go, but don’t go too far. Much as we would like to find Baker we must not take too many chances and endanger this whole post. Be as quick as you can.”
With their hearts torn between a desire for vengeance and apprehension, Ned and Jerry went out with the others. The riot started by the raid had quieted down, and it was possible for the searchers to advance above their own trenches without drawing the German fire.
First the sentries who had been on duty near the gap in the American wire were questioned. They had seen the party depart and come back, but they had not noticed any member of it fall as though wounded, and they were positive no Germans had been able to get near enough to capture Private Baker.
“But what can have happened to him?” asked the lieutenant.
“He may have been wounded internally, and didn’t speak of it, Sir,” suggested Ned, whose own wound was troubling him woefully. “Then he110may have become so weak that he fell in the trench somewhere without a sound.”
“That is possible. We must make a careful search.”
This was done with pocket flashlights, for any general illumination would have, perhaps, drawn a German attack. But no sign of Bob was revealed. It was most mysterious, how he could disappear so suddenly and completely. Of course, in the general confusion, much more than this might have happened and not been noticed. But unless he had gone back after speaking to Jerry, he must either have fallen well within the American lines or have been captured there. And the last did not seem possible.
“Well,” said the lieutenant, “we’ll have to go over in No Man’s Land and take a chance there. He must have gone back after something, and been potted. I’ll have to go back and report and––”
He paused to listen. The tramp of approaching feet could be heard along the trench. Every man stood at attention, for it was possible that the enemy had slipped in between sentries and were going to pay a return visit.
But a moment later the murmur of voices was heard—voices that were unmistakably American. Some one asked:
“Is your squad stationed here?”111
“About here, yes, Sir,” was the answer, coming out of the darkness.
“It’s Chunky!” cried Jerry.
“That’s Bob!” added Ned, joyously.
And a moment later there came into the dim light of the flashlights the stout chum himself, escorted by three soldiers. He seemed to be all right, and he carried something that was not a grenade, in one hand.
“Where have you been, Chunky?” demanded Jerry. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Yes,” added the lieutenant, “will you please explain why you did not report back with the rest of us?”
Bob seemed a trifle surprised at the rather stern order, but he smiled and answered:
“Why, I thought, as long as we got back all right, I was relieved from duty, so I went to get something to eat.”
“Something to eat!” exclaimed the lieutenant.
“Something to eat,” calmly repeated Bob. “You see it was this way. I was terribly hungry––”
“Nothing unusual,” murmured Jerry, but the stout lad, paying no attention to the interruption, went on:
“So when I got back with the rest, after we captured the Huns, I smelled something cooking112farther up in our trenches. I knew some of the fellows on duty there, and I felt sure they’d give me something to eat. It was liberty links they were cooking, sir, and––”
“Liberty links!” interrupted the lieutenant. “What are those?”
“They used to be called Frankfurters,” explained Bob with a grin; “but since the war that’s too German. So I went to get some liberty links, and I got ’em!” he added with a sigh of satisfaction.
“Well! Well!” exclaimed the lieutenant. And then, as he thought of what Bob and the others had gone through with that night, he had not the heart to add more.
“I only meant to run up in a hurry to where they were cooking ’em,” explained Bob, “and come back with some for my bunkies. But I got to talking and eating––”
“Mostly eating,” murmured Jerry.
“And then I forgot to come back,” finished Bob.
“We told him he’d better report, Sir,” said one of the escorting party. “He was with our bunch all right, and when he told us he’d been out with the night raiders and had slipped off before reporting back, we told him he’d better report. So we showed him the way, as the trenches are sort of mixed up around here.”113
“Very well,” said the lieutenant, trying not to smile. “You may go back to your posts. Everything is explained.”
And so Bob was restored to his company again, and in view of the successful raid no reprimand was given him. The capture of the German prisoners proved important, as information was obtained that proved of the greatest value afterward.
Ned’s wound turned out to be only a flesh one, but it was painful enough, and kept him in the hospital a week. He would have fretted over thus being kept away while Bob and Jerry were fighting, but, as a matter of fact, his two chums received a rest period at this time, and so were out of the trenches the same time that Ned was.
But the war was far from won, and every man possible was needed on the firing line, so that, in due season, the three chums found themselves back again. And under no very pleasant circumstances.
For it rained and rained, and then rained some more, though Jerry insisted that where they got the water from was a mystery.
It was a most desolate period, when the trenches were knee-deep in mud and when casualties mounted by reason of unusual activity on the part of the Huns. But the three friends and their comrades stuck grimly to the work. There were local attacks, and counter-attacks, and night raids, in114all of which Ned, Bob and Jerry did their share.
Then, one day, they were given a surprise. Some new recruits were brought up to the front-line trenches, to be initiated, and among them was Noddy Nixon.
“I’ve come to show you fellows how to get a Hun!” he boasted in his usual style. “Give me a chance, and I’ll show you how to fight, though I’d rather be in an aeroplane.”
“Truth to tell, I guess he’d rather be back home, but he doesn’t dare go,” declared Jerry.
Not very much to their delight, the Motor Boys learned that Noddy was to be quartered near them, and he was on duty in the trenches in the post adjoining theirs.
There came a period of fierce attacks on the part of the Huns, when they laid down such an artillery barrage that for three days it was impossible for any relief to come to the men in the trenches, and they had to live on what food they had when the firing began. They did not actually starve, but there was not any too much to eat, and there was a lack of hot things, which were much needed as it rained almost constantly.
By hard work Ned, Bob and Jerry had managed to get together some wood which they kept dry in a niche in the trench, lined with pieces of tin. The wood they used to make a little fire to warm their coffee.115
Coming in from several hours of duty one rainy evening, the three chums were anticipating having something hot to drink made over their little fire of cached wood.
But when Bob, who by virtue of his appetite considered himself the cook, went to get the fuel, it was not there.
“Boys, the wood is gone!” he cried.
“Who took it?” demanded Jerry.
Ned inspected the place. He picked up a piece of damp paper, and in the light of his flash torch read the scrawled writing which said:
“Borrowed your wood. Give it back to you some day.
“Noddy Nixon.”
For a moment there was silence, and then Jerry burst out with:
“Well, if that isn’t just like him—the dirty sneak!”
116CHAPTER XIVA DESPERATE CHANCE
Disappointment rendered the three chums incapable of action for the moment. They just stood and looked at the place where their little store of wood had been hidden. Now it was gone, and with it the hope of a hot supper from that particular source.
“What are we going to do?” asked Bob blankly.
“We ought to go down to the post where that sneak is and get the wood back,” declared Ned. “And tell his chums what sort of fellow they have bunking with ’em!”
“No, don’t do that,” advised Jerry, who had cooled down after his first passionate outburst. “That will make trouble. Noddy would only laugh at us, and some of the others might. It isn’t the first time wood has been taken.”
“I was just hungry for something hot,” sighed Bob, as he thought of the cold rations.
“So was I,” added Ned. “Isn’t there anything we can do?” he went on.117
Jerry looked about. Here and there about the dugout their comrades were eating as best they could, no one, it appeared, having anything hot. It was at a critical period during the fighting, and the commissary and transportation departments were suffering from a temporary breakdown. Still the men had enough to eat, such as it was.
“Well, we might as well have grub now—even if it is cold,” said Jerry, after considering matters. “No telling when we’ll have to stand off a Hun raid or go into one ourselves, and then we won’t have time to eat.”
“That’s so!” agreed Bob, more cheerfully. “It would be fierce if we didn’t have anything to chew on at all. But when I catch that Noddy Nixon—well, he’d better watch his step, that’s all.”
“He’s a coward, and lazy!” declared Ned. “Else he’d rustle his own wood. I had hard work to get that bunch. There was a German sniper who had a pretty fine bead on the place where I saw the sticks, but I went down the trench a way, and began firing at him from there.”
“Did you hit him?” asked Bob eagerly.
“No, I didn’t expect to. But I drew his attention to that particular spot. He thought a sharpshooter was there, and he laid his plans to get him. That took his attention off the pile of wood, and I sneaked out and got it. Now Noddy Nixon has it!”118
“I hope he burns his tongue on the hot soup or coffee or whatever he heats with it,” was the most charitable thing Jerry said. And the others echoed this. Their nerves were on edge from the constant fighting and danger they were in, and they were in no mood to be trifled with. And at such times trifles that otherwise would be laughed at assumed large proportions.
However, there was no help for it. The three chums, as did their comrades in the trenches, ate their supper cold, and then, cleaning themselves as best they could from the wet, sticky mud, they prepared to get what sleep they might until it was their turn to go on duty again.
The dugout was as comfortable as any of its kind, but it was not like home, of course, and its accommodations were far short of even the worst camps the Motor Boys had put up at during their many journeys. Still there was not a word of complaint. It was war—war for freedom—and discomforts were laughed at.
“Name of a name, how it rains! as our friends the French say,” exclaimed Jerry, as he came into the dugout prepared to turn in, for he had been sent on a message by an officer after supper.
“Hard?” asked Ned, who, like Bob, was in a sort of bunk.
“Hard? I should say so. Look; my tin hat is dented from the drops!” and Jerry took it off and119pretended to point out indentations made by the rain drops. He shook his slicker, and a spray of moisture flew about.
“Here! Quit that!” called a tall, lanky soldier from the bunk across from Jerry. “If you want to give a moving picture of a Newfoundland dog go outside! I’m just getting dry.”
“Beg your pardon, old man!” exclaimed Jerry. “I didn’t realize how wet I was.”
He took off some of his garments, hanging them where they might possibly get partly dry by morning, and then turned in. Whether he and his chums would get a peaceful night’s sleep or not, depended on the Huns across No Man’s Land. If an attack was started it meant that the soldiers in the dugouts, as well as those on guard in the trenches, would have to jump into the fight. With this end in view, every one on turning in for the night had his weapons ready, and few did more than make an apology for undressing. That was left until they went on rest billet. Guns, grenades and gas masks were in readiness for instant use.
But the night passed undisturbed.
“Oh, for some hot coffee!” exclaimed Bob, as he tumbled out the next morning in answer to the call to duty.
“Dry up!” ordered Jerry. “You ought to be glad to get it cold!”120
“Well, I’ll try to be,” assented Bob. “Where’s Ned?”
“Said he was going to see if he could get a bit of wood for a fire. But if he finds any, which isn’t likely, it’ll be as wet as a sponge after this rain. Suffering hand grenades! will it ever let up?” cried Jerry, for it was still pouring.
Simple preparations were going on for breakfast. There was no sign yet of any of the carriers with big kettles of hot coffee or soup, and it was evident that the commissary had not yet been reorganized since the last breakdown.
Afterward the boys learned that the reason for the failure of their supplies to arrive was due to the fact that their sector was temporarily cut off by an attempted flanking movement on the part of the Germans. The Americans were in greater danger than they knew, but, at the time, all they thought of was the lack of hot rations.
“Ned ought to come back,” remarked Jerry, as he and Bob prepared to eat. “He’ll be reported late, and this isn’t any time for that. I guess––”
But Jerry did not finish, for just then came a tremendous explosion, so close that for a moment he and Bob thought a Hun shell had been dropped in the dugout near which they were sitting under an improvised shelter.
Instantly the trench was a scene of feverish activity. Everyone expected a raid, and breakfast121was hastily set aside, while the soldiers caught up their guns.
“It’s all right,” an officer called. “Fritz just took a pot shot at one of our trucks out on the road.”
“Did he get it, Sir?” asked Jerry.
“I should say so! Look here!”
A curve in the road passed close by this line of trenches. It was a road used to take supplies to another part of the American battleline, and vehicles passed along it only at night, as it was within range of some of the German guns, though fairly well camouflaged. But this auto truck, returning in the early hours of the morning after having delivered a load of ammunition, had been caught by a shell. Afterward it was learned that the truck had broken down on the return trip and that the driver had been delayed in repairing it, so that he had to pass the danger point in daylight.
Whether or not the German battery was on the lookout for just such a chance as this, or whether it was a mere fortuitous opportunity of which advantage was taken, could not be learned. But a shell containing high explosive, though, fortunately for the driver, not a large one, landed near the automobile and shattered it.
This was the detonation which had so startled Jerry and Bob, and now, with others, they looked over the top of the trench at the ruins of the122truck. It was blown apart, and the wooden body and wheels were scattered about while the engine was a mere mass of twisted and fused metal.
“Look! They didn’t get the driver!” cried Bob, for as he spoke the man in charge of the truck picked himself up from a clump of bushes where he had been tossed, and limped toward the American line. He had escaped death by a miracle.
Then something else attracted the attention of Bob, Jerry, and the others. It was the sight of Ned Slade creeping along toward a pile of splintered wood—all that was left of the demolished truck.
“Who’s that? What is he doing?” cried the officer in charge of that part of the trench. “Does he hope to rescue the driver? Can’t he see that the man is safe and is coming in? Who is he?”
“Private Slade, Sir,” replied Jerry.
“But what is he doing? That’s a foolhardy piece of business, trying to reach that truck. It’s under the fire of the German trench, as well as within range of their battery. What is he trying to do?”
123CHAPTER XVTHE SNIPER
All stood looking from the trench at the actions of Ned Slade.
“Look!” cried Bob, pointing to his chum. “He’s picking up pieces of wood!”
“Has he gone crazy?” murmured the officer, peering through his glasses at Private Slade. “Does he think he can salvage anything from the wreck?”
Just what Ned was thinking of was not evident. He moved here and there amid the ruins of the ammunition automobile, picking up bits of wood until his arms could hold no more. It was raining heavily, and when Ned stepped into a puddle the mud and water could be seen to splash.
And then, when Ned could carry no more and turned to come back to his own trench, the Germans, in theirs, suddenly awoke to the chance they had been missing. There were sharp reports, and something besides rain drops splashed into the pools of water all about Ned.124
“They’re firing at him! He’ll be killed!” cried Bob.
“It seems very likely!” said the officer grimly. “Who gave him permission to go out like that, and why did he do it?”
No one answered. No one knew what to say.
And now Ned, aware of his own danger, began to run toward the trench. He came on, stooping over to offer less of a target to the Germans, and he zig-zagged as he leaped forward. But through it all, through the hail of lead, he did not drop the pieces of the demolished truck he had picked up.
The firing from the German lines became hotter, and a machine gun began to splutter.
“It’s all up with him now!” said the officer, with something like a groan. “I’ll order our guns to shell the Hun trench, but it will be too late!”
He jumped down off the firing step, where he and the others, including Jerry and Bob, were standing, and started for the nearest telephone that connected with a battery.
Just then Ned was seen to stagger.
“He’s hit!” some one cried.
But if he was the lad who had taken such a desperate chance did not stop. He dropped a piece of wood, but still he ran on, stooping over, and darting from side to side.
And at last he reached the trench where Bob, Jerry, and his other comrades awaited him. The125rain had made the top of the trench slippery, and Ned, striking this while going at full speed, fairly slid down into the ditch, the wood dropping from his arms all about.
“There you are!” he cried, as he recovered himself. “Enough wood for two fires! Now we can have something hot for breakfast! Bob, start the coffee boiling! I’m like you—hungry!”
For a moment the others stood staring at him, and then the officer came back.
“Did they get him?” he cried. “If they did they’ll pay for it. We’ll wipe out the Hun trench in another minute!”
Then he saw Ned, standing, surrounded by the splintered, wooden parts of the ammunition truck.
“Oh, you’re here,” said the officer, mechanically, as Ned saluted. “Well, what in the name of General Pershing did you want to do that for?”
“I wanted some wood to make a fire for breakfast, Sir,” answered Ned simply. “Some one took our supply last night, and when I saw the truck blown to pieces and noticed that the driver was safe, I thought it a good chance to get some fairly dry fuel. So I took it. Better pick it up though, or it won’t be dry long,” he added to Jerry, and the latter, with Bob’s help, obeyed. Ned had done his share.
The officer stared at Ned as though the young soldier were a new sort of fighter, and then, with126a shake of his head, turned away. It was past belief or understanding.
As the three chums moved back to where they had set up an improvised stove, where they could build a fire with the truck pieces Ned had brought in, the ground shook with the thunder of the American guns that soon enforced silence in the German trenches. It was revenge for having fired on Ned.
Technically Ned had been guilty of a breach of the regulations, but though his venture into the open had resulted in a whole battery being sent into action, nothing further was said, officially, of his conduct. Perhaps his bravery was admired by the officer who saw it.
At any rate Ned, Bob and Jerry had a warm breakfast, which they shared with some of their chums, and then the day’s duty began. It was performed in the rain, that seemed never-ceasing. The bottom of the trench was a ditch of mud, in spite of the duck boards laid down.
“Too bad Professor Snodgrass isn’t here,” remarked Ned, as he pulled one foot up from the mud and looked at it with the remark that he wanted to make sure he still had the foot attached to his person.
“Too bad the professor isn’t here! Why?” asked Bob.
“Oh, he might find some new kind of bug in127this—soup!” and Ned stirred the thick mud in the bottom of the trench with the butt of his gun. “It might be more interesting than seeing how noises affect French crickets.”
“Crickets!” cried Jerry. “I feel sorry for any self-respecting cricket that would stay here to be affected. But, speaking of the professor, I wish we could see him again. It would be like hearing from home, and the letters are few and far between.”
“That’s right,” admitted Ned. They had had some missives from their people, and also the girls, Alice, Helen and Mollie, while Bob, in addition, had had a note from Helena Schaeffer, who said she was knitting for the Red Cross. But, of late, no mail had come in.
“I shouldn’t be surprised to see the professor walk in on us any day,” mused Jerry. “He’s likely to do it.”
“Then he’d better get a hustle on, or he may not find us here,” observed Ned.
“Why not?” Bob inquired.
“Well, there’s a rumor that we’re soon going to attack again,” answered Ned. “And when we go over the top we don’t come back to the old trenches. We make new ones. So the professor, if he doesn’t come soon, may find we have changed our address.”
“Going to make an attack!” Jerry spoke softly.128“Well, that’s the way to win the war. I hope it will stop raining, though. I hate to fight in the rain.”
But still the dreary drizzle kept up, and through it the soldiers plodded in the mud of the trench. It was nearly time for the three chums to be relieved when Ned, who had a post at the right of Jerry, suddenly gave a start, following a distant report.
“What is it?” asked his tall chum.
In answer Ned pointed to a spattery hole in the trench wall behind him.
“The German sniper again,” he said. “And I’m going to see if I can’t spot him. We’ve got to get him!”
Ned took off his tin helmet and put it on his bayonet. Then he slowly raised it above the top of the trench, at the spot where the bullet had come in. A moment later there was a vicious “ping!” and the helmet bore a deep indentation.
“Spotted!” cried Ned. “I see where he keeps himself! And now, fellows, if you’ll help, we’ll get Mr. Fritz Sharpshooter, and get him good! I’ve got his address now!”
129CHAPTER XVIOVER THE TOP
“We haven’t much time,” remarked Jerry, as he glanced at the watch on his wrist. “We’ll be relieved in five minutes.”
“That’s long enough,” returned Ned, with a grim laugh. “If this fellow who has tried to get me—or one of you—so often, runs true to form, he’s done his last shooting. I know where he keeps himself.”
“Where?” asked Bob.
Ned took his chums by the arms, and led them a little way down the trench where there was an improvised periscope. It was not being used by the officer in charge just then, and Ned peered through it.
He said nothing for a moment, and then called to Jerry:
“Take a look at that brush pile just inside the first line of German wire.”
“I see it,” remarked Jerry, after a look through the mirror arrangement.
“Well, that’s where Mr. Fritz is keeping himself,”130said his chum. “It’s just in line with the direction from which that last bullet came. I’ve been thinking for some time that he was hidden there, but I wasn’t sure until I saw the flash of his gun as he nearly hit me just now. But now I’ll get him!”
“That bush doesn’t seem big enough to shelter a man,” observed Bob, as he, too, took an observation.
“There’s a hole dug under it, and he’s hiding in that,” said Ned. “At first I thought the sharpshooter was popping at us from some height, and I believe he was, a week or so back. But now he has changed his tactics. He’s doing ground sniping, and that bit of bush hasn’t any roots.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jerry.
“I mean it’s a bit of camouflage. The sharpshooter moves it about with him, thinking we’ll believe it’s natural. He scoops a hole, gets in with only his head sticking out, and puts this bit of foliage in front of him as a screen. Now, Bob, you take your helmet, and when I tell you hold it up on your gun. Jerry, you come with me down the trench a way, and please don’t fire until after I do. If I miss, you get him, but I want first shot.
“I want Bob to draw his fire, if he can,” explained Ned. “I’ll be in reserve to shoot as soon as I see the flash. If I miss you take him. It’s131got to be nip and tuck, and we’ll have to make it a snap shot, for he’ll drop back into the hole after he fires.”
“Go to it!” advised the tall lad. “I’m with you.”
Quickly they made their preparations. While Ned and Jerry went a little way down the trench, Bob took off his helmet and put it on the end of his gun. He then awaited the signal from Ned.
“Show your tin hat!”
Slowly, and simulating as much as possible a soldier raising his head above the top line of the trench, Bob elevated the helmet. Hardly had he done so when there came a sharp crack, and the helmet spun around on the point of the bayonet as a juggler spins a plate on the end of his walking stick.
“Right O!” cried Ned, and, almost in the same detonation as the firing of the German’s gun, Ned’s rifle spoke. The clump of bushes seemed to spout up into the air, blown by some underground explosion, and then a figure was seen to half leap from what must have been an excavation.
“You got him!” cried Jerry.
“Yes,” assented Ned, as he lowered his gun. “You won’t have to shoot, old man. Fritz won’t do any more pot-hunting.”132
So that was the end of one German sharpshooter.
The three chums were congratulated by their relief, which came soon after that, on ridding that part of this particular sector of a menace that had long been in evidence. More than one American had been killed or wounded either by this sharpshooter or by one who had adopted the same tactics, and Ned, Bob and Jerry had well earned the thanks of their comrades.
“Have you heard anything more about going over the top soon?” asked Jerry.
“Nothing definite,” replied Ned, who had started the rumor. “But don’t you feel a sort of tenseness all around—as though something were going to happen?”
“I do,” answered Bob. “I think it’s going to happen that I’m going to have some chow. I smell it coming!”
“You’re a heathen materialist!” declared Ned.
Bob proved a true prophet, for a few minutes later a relief squad came to the dugout with a traveling kitchen, or rather, some of the products of one in the shape of hot beef stew and coffee.
Following the ending of the career of the German sniper, the three Motor Boys, after several strenuous days in the trenches, went back again to a rest billet. There they recuperated, and really enjoyed themselves. There were letters from133home to cheer them, and also a communication from Professor Snodgrass.
The little scientist said he had tried in vain to get some trace of the two missing girls, and expressed the hope of seeing the boys soon, to get the benefit of any advice they could give him. He also stated that he was progressing well with his scientific work of noting the effect of terrific noises on insects. But, somehow or other, the Motor Boys did not take as much interest in the pursuit of the scientist as they had formerly.
“The war has changed everything,” declared Jerry.
“But, of course, we’ll help him find the girls if we can,” suggested Ned.
“Oh, of course,” agreed his tall chum.
Their stay in the rest camp was made pleasant by the ministrations of the Y. M. C. A. and the Knights of Columbus representatives. The chums and their comrades spent much time in the different huts, where they were entertained and could get hot chocolate, candy or chewing gum—rations not then issued by the army commissary.
“If it wasn’t for these organizations war would be a whole lot worse than it is,” declared Jerry, as they came from a Y. M. C. A. meeting and moving-picture show one evening.
“And don’t forget the Salvation Army!” chimed in Bob. “The fried holes those lassies turn out134are the best I ever ate—not excepting those mother used to make.”
“Yes, those doughnuts fill a big void, even if they have a hole in the middle,” agreed Ned.
But all good things—even Salvation Army doughnuts—come to an end some time, and so did the rest period of the three friends. Back to the trenches they went, to find out that what Ned had predicted was about to happen. An attack of considerable magnitude was in preparation, and it was to be as much of a surprise to the Germans as possible.
“It’s going to be over the top all right,” declared Jerry, when, one evening, they received their final instructions. The attack, preceded by a brief artillery preparation, was to take place at dawn, the “zero hour” selected.
It was believed, and was proved true as after events showed, that by considerably shortening the artillery fire, the Germans would be unprepared. They were used to the big guns bombarding them for a day or more at a stretch before the infantry came over. This was to be a change.
The night before the attack was a nervous one. Yet those not on duty managed to get some sleep. For many it would be their last.
Then came the general awakening, and the moving of the men along the trenches to the posts assigned to them. Each squad of men was in135charge of an officer, commissioned or noncommissioned, and in Jerry’s squad were Ned and Bob.
“Go over the top with a rush when you get the signal, which will be three whistles after the barrage has ceased,” were the instructions, and Ned, Bob, and Jerry, with their comrades, prepared to do this.
There was a period of tense waiting and then, with a suddenness that shook their nerves and bodies, as well as the whole earth about them, the big guns opened fire.
That the Germans were taken by surprise was evident by the failure to answer. For perhaps five minutes it seemed as though a thousand of the most terrific of thunder storms had been condensed into one.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the firing ceased. The “zero hour” had arrived.
Three shrill whistles, repeated from many points, sounded on the now silent but quivering air. Not a German gun had yet awakened.
“Over the top!” came the cry, and the friends, with thousands of other brave lads, scrambled up the ladders from the trenches and started toward the German lines.
136CHAPTER XVII“FRIED HOLES”
Ned, Bob, and Jerry were stationed in a sector which was alternately defending the lines against the Germans and attacking them in that part of the country where the trend of the war eventually led up to the terrific battles of St. Mihiel and the Argonne Forest. But, up to this time, no one had guessed that the whole nature of the war would be so quickly changed with the advent of the Americans, nor was it suspected what terrible fighting would have to be undertaken by our boys; though, of course, they were ready for the worst.
So that the battle in which the Motor Boys and their comrades were now about to engage was merely what was termed a local engagement.
Nevertheless, it meant everything—life and death—to those engaged in it, though there was never a thought of death in the hearts of any of the brave men who went over the top as the big guns ceased thundering and the shrill whistles gave the signal.
“Come on, boys!” yelled Jerry, as he led Bob137and Ned forward, followed by the others in the particular squad of which Jerry had charge. “Come on!”
“Yi! Yi! Yip!” screamed a young giant from the South, as he leaped ahead of some of his chums to the side of Jerry. “Show the Fritzies how we fight!”
And together he and Jerry rushed on, followed by Ned and Bob—a quartette acting as one man.
It was the first really big battle in which the Cresville chums had taken part. They had been out on skirmish work and on night patrol, and they had come in conflict with parties of Germans, but no large bodies. They had even each been wounded slightly, but never before, in all their lives, had they had a part in such a hailstorm of death, such a turmoil of blood, mud, smoke, gas and flying bullets as now. On and over the rough shell-pitted ground they rushed toward the German trenches. On they rushed in the gray dawn of the morning, firing as they ran, hardly stopping to take aim, for they could see the gray, indefinite mass before them, and knew they were the German troops who had rushed out of their trenches to meet the onslaught.
At first the attack had been a surprise—a surprise so great that the Germans could not, at the beginning, reply even with adequate rifle fire, to say nothing of artillery and machine guns.138
But, in a moment, seemingly, all this was changed. Tongues and slivers of fire began to spit out from the gray ranks opposing the Americans. There was a snarl of the lighter artillery guns, the spiteful bark of the rifles and the wicked rat-a-tat-tat of the machine guns, which the Germans depended on, more than on anything else, to stop a rush of our infantry.
Half way across No Man’s Land rushed Ned, Bob, and Jerry, with their cheering, madly yelling comrades, and then the toll of death began. It was the fortune of war. Those that lived by rifles and bayonets must perish by them, and for the deaths that they exacted of the Huns their lives were exacted in return.
Jerry, who with grim-set face and blazing eyes rushed on at the side of the tall Southern giant, heard a dull thud. Then came a sort of gasping, choking cry that was audible even above the horrid din of battle. Jerry, in a glance, saw his big comrade crumple up in a heap, the whole front of his body torn away by a piece of shell. And for one terrible instant Jerry felt that he, himself, must fall there, too, so terrible was the sight. But he nerved himself to go on, and a backward glance showed that Bob had to leap over the dead body of the lad who but a moment before was yelling encouragement to others.
But it was war, and it had to be.139
On and on they rushed. Now they were at the first line of the German barbed wire. Some of it had been cut by the swift firing of shrapnel before the troops came from their trenches. But enough remained to be a hindrance, and quickly the men with cutters surged forward to open the way.
It was while the Americans were held up here that the Germans took fearful and heavy toll of them with their machine guns, which were now sputtering with terrific firing. Scores of brave men went down, some never to rise again. Others, only slightly wounded, staggered for a minute, paused behind some dead comrade’s body to adjust a bandage, and then went on.
Forward they rushed. Through the barbed wire now, trampling down the cruel strands, never heeding the bleeding wounds it tore in them, never heeding the storm of bullets, minding not the burst of shrapnel or high explosive.
On and on they went, yelling and shouting; maddened with righteous anger against a ruthless foe. Forward once more. Somehow, though how they did it they never knew, Ned, Bob, and Jerry stuck close to one another. Since the death of the Southerner the three chums were in line together, and stormed on. Their rifles were hot in their hands, but still they fired.
“The first-line trenches!” yelled Ned, as he pointed through the smoke.140
And there, indeed, they were. They had passed over No Man’s Land through a storm of death which held many back. They had mastered the barrier of the wire, and now were at the first line of the German defense. And so fierce and terrible had been the rush of the Americans the Germans had fallen back, so that, save for lifeless gray bodies, the trenches were unoccupied.
“Forward! Forward! Don’t stop! Go on!” yelled the officers.
A certain objective had been set, and the commanders were fearful lest the troops, thinking that to capture the first German trenches was enough, would stop there.
But they need not have been apprehensive. The boys of Uncle Sam were not of that sort. They wanted to come in closer contact with the Boches. And they did.
On over the first-line trenches they rushed, but now the fighting became hotter, for they were in the midst of machine-gun nests, placed there for just such a contingency. Death was on every side now—horrible death. A bullet clipped Jerry’s ear, but he only laughed—half madly and unconsciously, no doubt—and rushed on. A man was killed in front of him, and, falling forward, tripped the tall lad, so that, for one terrible instant Bob and Ned thought their chum had been killed. But Jerry sprang up again, and, seeing a141knot of Germans just ahead of him, tossed a hand grenade among them. As a wisp of fog shuts out a view, so the smoke of the grenade hid the group of Huns for a moment. And when a swirl of the air lifted the smoke curtain, a gray heap on the ground was all that remained. It was like some vision of the night, constantly changing.
On and on they rushed, shouting and shooting, yelling and being yelled at. They panted for breath, their tongues clove to their dry mouths, they suffered horribly for water, but there was only blood about them.
Forward they surged. So great was the first rush that they fairly were carried—it did not seem that they took themselves—beyond the last of that particular line of German trenches. Now they were actually on the open ground beyond—the space where the Huns had their reserves, and these were now quickly thrown into the battle.
Clip after clip of cartridges had been used by the boys, and they were drawing on their reserve supply now. But the battle was not going with the same rush. The Germans were holding even as a desperate eleven holds when it is on its own goal line and the opponents are madly striving to shove it over and out of the way, that a touchdown may be made.
Following the instructions they had received, the Americans began to look for what shelter they142could find—a hole in the ground, a heap of dirt, the body of some fallen man, a slain horse, a heap of rubbish, a dismantled machine gun, anything that, for a time, would fend off a bullet.
The first, or shock-wave, of troops had gotten as far as it was advisable to go, and they must wait a moment for reinforcements and for the artillery to come up. So it was that they threw themselves flat, to escape the storm of bullets that drove into their very faces.
There was no question, now, of surprising the enemy. He was fully awake to his danger, and had rushed all his available troops into the conflict. He had an unusually large number of machine guns, and on these he depended more than on artillery or rifle fire to break up the attack. And nothing more effectual could have been chosen. Only, the Americans were determined not to be stopped.
Hastily they began entrenching, digging shallow ditches in which to find shelter. It does not take much of a mound of earth to provide a shield against rifle or machine-gun bullets, and in ten minutes an advancing body of troops can provide themselves with temporary protection, while in half an hour they can almost be in trenches, though these are not as deep as the permanent ones.
While part of the advancing Americans still143maintained a fusillade from their rifles and from a few machine guns that had been rushed up, others used the intrenching tools. Then, when all were under temporary shelter, they began assaulting the Boches from their vantage places.
But now the Germans had begun to fight back with their artillery, only, fortunately for Ned, Bob, and Jerry, and their comrades, the range was not yet ascertained, so that the shots flew well over their heads. The shells landed back of the American trenches which had been abandoned when the order came to go over the top, and as this ground was temporarily vacant no great harm was done.
“There go our guns again!” cried Ned into Jerry’s ear, as he lay stretched out beside his tall chum.
“Yes. They’re trying to drive the Huns back so we can go on. We’ve got to get farther than this.”
The battle was now one of longer range, the first fierceness of the infantry having spent itself. Indeed, the men were practically out of ammunition, though a reserve stock was being rushed to them under the cover of the American guns.
A considerable space, corresponding to No Man’s Land, separated the two lines, and over the heads of the prostrate men flew the shells of their respective batteries. So, for the time being, except144for stray shooting of rifles and machine guns, the two confronting lines of infantry were comparatively safe.
It was during this lull that Bob, looking back from where he was sheltered by a little hill of earth and stones, uttered a cry.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jerry quickly. “Are you hit, Chunky?”
“Hit? No! But look there! Fried holes! See ’em!”
For an instant both Ned and Jerry thought that Bob had been seriously hurt, and was out of his head. But they looked to where he pointed and saw a man in the uniform of the Salvation Army coming across the ground over which the Americans had recently stormed. And the intrepid noncombatant carried on either arm a big basket of a type well known to our American fighters.
“Fried holes!” cried Bob. “Fried holes! Salvation Army doughnuts, fellows! I’m going to get some!”