CHAPTER XA NOVEL DISARMAMENT
“No, I can’t do it. I’m no Hun.”
That sentiment, which flashed revulsively through Phil’s brain, probably saved the lives of those six boches, but it also must be held responsible for certain subsequent misfortunes and hardships that rendered Sergeant Speed’s army experiences worthy of a many-chaptered record. Meanwhile there was nothing in the boy’s manner or actions that indicated what was going on in his mind. None of them knew how narrowly they escaped execution at the hands of a “firing squad of one.”
Phil’s next order to his captives was such a mongrel admixture of English, poor French and worse German that he has asked that it be not recorded against him. But it was thoroughly understood, being in several short sentences intended to carry something of an explanation of his purpose, and was obeyed.
One of the men with hands over their heads was directed to step forward and remove his “roch und beinkleider.” This he did expeditiously, having a great respect for the khaki boy’s gun, and presently appeared in the veryamusing combination of—beginning at the feet, surveying upward—a pair of coarse heavy shoes, a suit of union underwear and a steel helmet.
It had occurred to Phil several times since the dropping of the bomb from the aeroplane that he could best serve his own interests in the present predicament by sending forth the call agreed upon for reassembling the members of his squad, except for one grave possibility. The sounding of such a call might be taken by his six prisoners as indicating panic on his part and serve as a signal for a desperate move by them. He decided, therefore, to make certain that they were stripped of all firearms, before issuing any such summons.
So he continued the de-uniforming program already begun, and soon six much humiliated boches stood before him in “union-suit uniforms,” the “complexion” of which indicated that the laundry business was not thriving among the minions of the war lords of central Europe.
Then Phil ordered his prisoners to move a considerable distance away from the litter of uniforms strewn over the ground. When he was satisfied as to their position and arrangement, he issued a few more orders with his ingenious, but hardly idiomatic adaptation offirst-year school German, which were obeyed with, as much respect as if delivered by a Heidelberg graduate with military authority.
The prisoners, who no longer were required to keep their hands over their heads, were standing near the apparently lifeless form of Corporal Tim; and Phil now, with the aid of expressive motions of his hands and nodding of his head, communicated to them that he desired an examination made of his friend to determine if he were yet alive. The officer in charge, a fellow of surprisingly large girth for a soldier, and another boche of ungainly physique complied with apparent alacrity, and after a seemingly diligent inspection straightened up with looks of sadness on their faces that would have been comical indeed if it had not been for the seriousness of the situation. With voluble expressions of condolence and deprecating shrugs of their shoulders, they gave the young American soldier to understand that they regretted profoundly that his companion lying on the ground was dead.
“You’re a pretty pair of liars,” Phil said to them with a “happy scowl.” He made no effort, however, to express himself in German, for his utterance was intended more as an outburst of feeling than a communication. “That boy is alive, or I don’t know anything aboutthe early stiffening of a corpse. When you lifted that body up it hung as limp and limber as a wet rag.”
Whether any of the six captives understood what Sergeant Phil said could not be determined from the expression, or lack of expression, on their faces. However, that question mattered little to Phil now. He must do something quickly to secure his prisoners against escape and also to effect freedom for himself, in order that he might render much needed first aid to his unconscious friend.
In his early school days, Phil had been the envy of all his boy friends because of one achievement that every boy longs to attain. He could pucker his tongue against his teeth and expel a gust of breath through the straitened avenue thus formed in such manner as to vie in shrillness a miniature fire alarm siren. He was not much good at whistling a tune, but he surely could wake the echoes with a piercing air blast through his teeth, and this he proceeded now to do.
It was his agreed signal to the other members of his squad to assemble and it surely startled the six boches, as was evident from the fact that their faces no longer were expressionless. There was no doubt in the boy’s mind now that their minds had been secretly busyover something that they did not wish communicated to him and that his shrill signal was not in the least pleasing to them.
However, although Phil never had all the facts and circumstances before him to aid him in determining the truth, he is of the opinion now that his call was the one thing needed by his prisoners to bring about the very result for which they longed most deeply. But the startled look on their faces indicated that they did not know it.
Phil waited a minute for an answer from other members of his squad, but received none. Then he was about to repeat the call, when something occurred that rendered another shrill whistle through his teeth virtually impossible.
Suddenly a heavy weight landed on him from behind. A pair of powerful arms were thrown about his neck, and he was borne to the ground by the impetus of the onset.