CHAPTER XXVITHE ADVANCE CONTINUES
A runner found Major Drew and delivered an order to dig in.
Meanwhile, darkness had blotted out all but the trees, and between the bark of the “heavies” (heavy artillery), the marines caught the deep-throated roll of thunder. A soldier who has had two months of open work or outdoor warfare, in which artillery had played the leading role, has to be very tired to ignore an order to dig in a scant kilometer back of the first line, the worst spot on the field.
The marines dug in.
When nature’s storm broke the troops meekly rolled up in their ponchos, dropped to the ground and asleep. The closing misery of that day came in the shape of rain. But it did not keep the tired marines awake.
Before dawn next morning, the troops were up, standing by, awaiting the barrage. The last tanks that had found shelter in the woods the preceding day had trundled away before dawn. Nothing was now left to divert the attention of the men from gnawing stomachs. The men tightened their belts again and tried to concentrate on the work to come.
At four-thirty o’clock in the morning there was an explosion. It never wavered. It lasted for hours without interruption. The earth shook up and down and sideways. The very foundation of the Teutonic dynasties must have trembled. It shook the leaves off the trees.
Forgotten were parched throats and empty stomachs. The troops fairly revelled in the cannonading, for they felt that they would soon have a hand in the fight.
Two hours later, the guns still thundering, the marines started up the road on which the Frenchman had flagged Hal the night before. A hundred yards beyond where he had encountered the marines lay a dead German. Near him was a machine gun placed to command that road.
This road was a replica of other roads. If anything, the congestion was worse than it had been the day before.
Huge trees, uprooted by giant shells, required detours while the engineers worked like beavers to clear away the massive tops. Reserve tanks and artillery lined either side of the road. Ambulances now mixed with the various wagons of war.
Weaving in and out through the traffic came the walking wounded; Germans bearing improvised stretchers and batches of from ten to twenty prisoners. The air was peopled with aeroplanes. The sharp chatter of machine guns occasionally rose above the rumble of the artillery.
In their first encounter of any moment with the Boche the marines learned many things. They learned that the German infantry had a horror of hand-to-hand fighting, and would run or surrender rather than try such combat. They learned that the sole protection of the Boche artillery lay in the effectiveness of front-line machine guns and its own accuracy. They came to believe the backbone of the German infantry was its artillery. Such a situation in any army, they knew, must have a demoralizing effect. The infantry should be the backbone of the artillery.
Meantime the American battalion to which Hal and Chester were attached took up a position at the edge of the woods and awaited orders. After the first excitement had passed, the attention of the troops fell back to their empty stomachs. They counted again the hours since their last meal. They totalled forty-two. For that many years, it seemed, they had been without food, sleep and water rations, and had worked as men had never worked before.
Then the miracle happened. A big truck drew up by the roadside and began to dump boxes—boxes of canned beef, tomatoes, prunes and bread. Fifteen minutes later there were a thousand happy marines in that section, ravenously gulping down a real “feed” and quenching their thirst.
But war considers no man’s pleasure. In the midst of the feast came the rattle and clatter of machine guns, temporarily acting as aerial defense.
Came sweeping down from the sky four aeroplanes, directly over where Hal and Chester stood conversing.
“The Iron Cross!” cried Sergeant Bowers.
Under the command of their officers, the men grabbed their rifles.
“Hold on!” cried one, as the men were about to fire at the nearest machine. “It’s a Frenchman.”
It was true, but it became apparent a moment later that there still would be need for weapons, for in the wake of the French craft followed three German machines.
Points in aerial battle at close range come and go too quickly for recognition almost.
The clever Frenchman was outwitting the Boche pilot. The four planes whirled directly over the heads of the marines, a hundred feet from the ground, the Frenchman a few yards ahead and lowest. They cleared the tops of the trees and circled over a field ahead. The Boches poured lead upon the handicapped Frenchman, who desperately turned the nose of his craft upward. The Germans must have been looking for such a move. They elevated and closed in on him.
A fierce battle of machine guns; a plane dropped nose foremost. Straight down it came, then—within twenty feet of the ground—the French pilot, with superb daring, jerked his machine to a level keel and sailed off, clipping the heads off the grain.
The German machines hovered over the spot where it seemed the French pilot must meet disaster, and the marines opened fire on them with their rifles. Each time the Germans approached closer, they were driven off, for it was certain that an American bullet sooner or later must find a vital spot.
The German machines turned and made off.
Now came orders for the marines to dig in. Soon every man had a hole. Later in the day these holes were abandoned and the marines marched to positions nearer the front line.
Hal’s detachment came to a crossroad and turned to the right. From there the lad could see the broad expanse of country beyond. It was all fields of waving grain, streams of men, of horses and artillery.
They cut across an enormous field of wheat. On their right lay a French plane, apparently none the worse for its adventure. To the left lay a big German plane. Beside it were the bodies of two men—the pilot and the gunner.
“Here they come!” shouted Sergeant Bowers suddenly.
Hal looked ahead and saw a column of men—Germans—marching toward the Americans four abreast.
Apparently there was no end to that column. At least twenty officers were at the head of it. They appeared to be the happiest men in sight, and well they might be, for for them the days of war were over. They were prisoners.
The marines moved forward again.
They passed a line of batteries, famous French “75’s,” pounding, pounding. Over the country ahead, Hal counted five hangars, or what had been aeroplane hangars. Now they were grotesquely twisted steel skeletons, deserted by the enemy. The troops passed through a small village, into another wheat field, formed for attack, and halted.
They occupied a knoll. On the slope below was a line of queer looking dots. In the hollow proper were three “75” batteries. Up to the left were still more batteries. Hal searched the landscape with his eyes carefully. Ahead he saw his target.
It was on the farthest hill. The last rays of the sun outlined it clearly. It was the long line of tanks, which the Huns had brought into the fight as substitutes, their artillery having been captured. When Hal first sighted them they were spitting fire from their one-pounders and they were moving.
Half an hour later, under the fire from Americans and French, they were in ruins, and through glasses Hal and Chester saw the German infantry retiring past them. The French and American batteries rested.
“Now,” said Hal to Chester, “if you ask me, here is where we should continue our advance.”
Chester shrugged.
“It seems that Marshal Foch has not decided yet that the time for an offensive is ripe,” he replied. “At the same time, I am not convinced that we should attack right now. The two divisions of marines are somewhat scattered, as you know, and are not in position to give each other the necessary support. Then, too, we must be greatly outnumbered.”
“What difference does that make?” Hal wanted to know. “They’re running now, aren’t they? What’s the matter with pushing them a little faster?”
Chester smiled.
“I’m going to recommend you as General Pershing’s successor,” he said.
“Is that so?” demanded Hal. “Let me tell you that it wasn’t so long ago I heard you advance ideas that you believed were better than any that had occurred to the general staff.”
Chester grinned.
“I guess we’ll both make a couple of good generals some day,” he said. “But all joking aside, do you know just where we are now?”
“Well, about,” said Hal. “This is Belleau Woods. Beyond there,” and the lad pointed directly ahead, “is what is known as Chateau Thierry. A city has sprung up around the old chateau, but I don’t know whether the Germans have left anything of it. It was rather a famous spot in its day.”
And it was to become still more famous, though neither lad knew it then.