"I've got fine news here for you guys!" Jimmy Blaise bolted into the midst of his bunkies, who were grouped together in their own corner of barracks waiting for supper call to blow. In his hand was an open letter which he waved triumphantly at them.
"From Voissard," he jubilantly informed them. "He's coming down to see us on Saturday, along with the Twinkle Twins. Glad it's a half-holiday. We'll have more chance to show 'em around. Wait a minute and I'll read it to you."
Surrounded by an interested audience, Jimmy spread open the letter and read:
"'Dear Sergeant Blaise:"'With much pleasure I write to inform you that my cousins and myself expect to pay you and your friends the visit on Saturday afternoon. I have something of importance to impartto you regarding the matter we discussed in Paris. With best wishes I remain,"'Sincerely,"'Emile Voissard.'"
"'Dear Sergeant Blaise:
"'With much pleasure I write to inform you that my cousins and myself expect to pay you and your friends the visit on Saturday afternoon. I have something of importance to impartto you regarding the matter we discussed in Paris. With best wishes I remain,
"'Sincerely,"'Emile Voissard.'"
"Three whoops for Cousin Emile!" caroled Bob. "We certainly are the original white-haired boys. Think of a visit from the 'Flying Terror of France'! This place won't hold us, we'll be so puffed up with pride and vanity!"
"He's not a bit particular about his company," grinned Roger. "The humble non-com and the president of France are all one to Cousin Emile. That's the way it looks."
"That's the way itis," emphasized Jimmy. "Voissard has earned the right to do as he pleases. He knows it and that explains everything. Anyway, he has business to talk over with Blazes. Ahem!"
"See him puff out his chest." Bob wagged a derisive head at Jimmy. "He throws that old bluff, 'I'm not so much,' but he means, 'I'm it!'"
"Spotted at last," was Jimmy's grinning admission. "I knew you'd get wise to me some day."
"We hated to tell you," teased Schnitzel, joining in the banter. "Now you know it, don't feel too bad about it."
"My heart's bruised but not broken," retaliated Jimmy. "I can stand a few more suchshocks and still keep on going. What's the matter with you, Iggy? Haven't you a gentle little knock to hand me? Now's the time. I'm in a real good humor."
"Never I hand you him that knock," responded Ignace with deep solemnity.
"He keeps 'em for Bobby, don't you Iggins?"
"Ye-a." Ignace snickered at Bob's accusation. "I like make the fon to you, 'cause always you make the fon to me."
Supper call broke in upon this good-humored exchange of raillery. Loyal to the death the five Brothers rarely took one another seriously. Even solemn Ignace had learned the art of "joshing" which is second nature to the American youth.
Several days had passed since the Khaki Boys had made the eventful trip to Paris which had ended in an attempt on their lives by an unknown foe. They had reported the affair to headquarters the next morning. Jimmy Blaise had said nothing, however, to anyone, of his own private suspicion concerning the "tiger man." It was merely a vague supposition on his part, and he was quite willing to "let sleeping tigers lie."
Inquiry in camp among men who had been there longer than themselves revealed to the Khaki Boys the knowledge that occasionally similar night attacks had been made upon soldiersgoing or coming from the village. In one instance a Sammy had been wounded in the leg and had lain groaning by the roadside until picked up by a party of his comrades returning to camp from the village.
This rather put a crimp in Jimmy's theory that his old enemy had trailed him from Paris. He decided inwardly that he was an idiot to allow such "crazy" ideas brain room and promptly banished them from his mind.
It was on Thursday that Jimmy received the letter from Voissard announcing his intention of visiting the Khaki Boys' camp on Saturday. The visit was destined not to be paid, however, for on Friday morning the detachment of the 509th Infantry, to which the five Brothers belonged, received the longed-for order to move on.
The selected men of the 509th Infantry were to accompany part of another American regiment, longer in training than themselves, on this new move toward the front. None knew whether the order meant a brief interval of rest in a village near the fighting lines or if their journey would lead them straight to the trenches. The men of the 509th were hopeful that this last would be their lot. They were intensely eager to "get a whack" at the Boches. As Bob soulfully remarked: "There aren't any cold feet in the little old 509th."
There was only one drawback to the fiveBrothers' satisfaction. How were they to send quick word to Voissard and the Twinkle Twins of this new turn in their affairs?
In desperation Jimmy finally sought Major Steadman, his commanding officer, and laid the matter before him. Fortunately for all concerned the major chanced to be well acquainted with the aviator. Not only did he show evident interest in Jimmy's story of how he and his bunkies happened to be acquainted with Cousin Emile. He very kindly volunteered to take the responsibility on himself of sending the aviator a personal dispatch. Thus it was arranged, but five Sammies were deeply disappointed over the sudden collapse of the "Flying Terror's" proposed visit.
Friday afternoon saw the selected detachments marching to the station to entrain, looking not unlike a herd of overloaded young camels. Hiking about Camp Marvin under "full pack" was easy compared to the amount of equipment with which the Khaki Boys were now loaded down. Each Sammy fairly bristled with the paraphernalia of war.
Everything needful for trench life was attached to some part of his person. All the worldly goods bestowed upon him by the Army, he now carried with him, together with as many of his own personal possessions as he could make room for and bear the weight of. Undoubtedly few of these last treasured giftswould go with him to the trenches. They would have to be reluctantly cast aside or given away, leaving him with only the absolutely necessary articles and equipment provided by the Government.
Burdened as they were, it was a thrilling moment for the Khaki Boys when late on Friday afternoon the bugles called them to Assembly in front of barracks. All day they had been impatiently waiting for the order. Every young face glowed with patriotic fire as they obeyed the call, "Fall in," and were marched, company after company to the station, there to entrain for the front.
All along the way they were cheered by the inhabitants of the village who had come out to catch a farewell view of the gallant Sammies and send them into the fight with warm-hearted expressions of their good will. Many a French mother breathed a prayer and made the sign of the cross as she saw these sturdy youngsters taking the same stretch of the Glory Road over which had passed a beloved son or sons of her own, never to return.
Arrived at the station our Khaki Boys were marshaled with the rest into the waiting "48 Men, Eight horses," which had been used to convey so many Allied soldiers to the fighting district. Entering these cheerless and highly uncomfortable box-cars, they were leaving behind them the comparative ease and safety theyhad enjoyed since landing in France. From now on the Glory Road would mean a succession of trials and hardships, with death always lurking in the foreground.
Every mile the train ran meant a nearer approach to the goal for which they had so long striven. At last they were on the way to strike their first definite blow in the big war.
"This is certainly some ride," grumbled Corporal Bob Dalton to Sergeant Jimmy Blaise. "I've had enough of old Eight Horses and goodness knows how many men to last me for a while. There are supposedly forty-eight Sammies in this band-box. I should say there were nearer ten thousand. I'd have sure croaked standing up, if you hadn't been along to take the curse off."
"I'm glad we got in the same car, shoe-box I mean."
Sergeant Jimmy's voice sounded decidedly weary. Luckily for himself and Bob, they had been assigned to the same car, Bob being corporal of a squad in Jimmy's platoon. Roger, Schnitzel and Ignace were scattered somewhere through the train, though neither Bob nor Jimmy knew which car their bunkies were in.
"Well, it'll soon be over." Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief. "We've been two days andtwo nights on the road. It's now five o'clock, we ought to be out of this dump soon. I never believed I could sleep standing up, but I know it now."
"Here, too. I hope we get a night's rest stretched out before we hit the trenches," was Bob's wistful reply.
"Oh, we won't go straight to the trenches in this train. We'll probably be in rest billets several days before we're called to take our turn."
"Wonder how the fellows like it," mused Bob. "I'll bet Iggy's slept most of the way. Nothing fazes him when he wants to sleep. He could pound his ear standing on his head."
Both Khaki Boys snickered a little as they imagined Ignace turned upside down and sleeping peacefully, nevertheless.
"It seems a long while since we left Sterling, doesn't it?"
Jimmy broke the silence that had fallen upon both, succeeding Bob's humorous remark concerning his Polish Brother.
"It certainly does. I had a funny standing-up nightmare about old Sterling last night." Bob grinned reminiscently. "I'd braced my back against the wall of this box and was taking forty winks. I'd been thinking about that Bixton affair and old Schnitz, and I dreamed that good old Major Stearns was a Boche spy, and that he was trying to finish me with a bayonet. He'd just given me an awful punch in thechest and I was yelling: 'What's eating you, you rough neck!'
"The sound of my own voice woke me up, and I found that a man next to me had hauled off and binged me one in his sleep. It was a joke, and we both laughed after we got wise to ourselves. Wonder you didn't hear me yowl."
"I've heard so many different kinds of yowls since I landed in this jug that I'm used to 'em. Well, it's a great life if you don't weaken."
Jimmy yawned and, reaching for his water bottle, took a long drink.
"Hope we stop somewhere soon," he observed. "I've emptied this bottle, and I'm still thirsty."
Shortly afterward his wish for a speedy detrainment was granted. A series of jolts, which caused the imprisoned Sammies to behave like nine-pins, except that they had not sufficient space to topple over, and the famous "Eight Horses" came at last to a full stop.
Freed at last, the Khaki Boys gladly hustled from the ungracious box-cars to the platform of a village station, dotted as usual with the friendly French folk, whom the Khaki Boys had noticed were always in evidence wherever they went.
The two detachments of Uncle Sam's boys had hardly left the train, however, before they discovered that for once they were not the center of attraction. Waiting on the platform toenter the train they had just left was a company of slightly wounded French soldiers returning from active service on the firing line.
Though these men were still able to walk, they presented a pitiful sight. With arms or heads bound up in blood-stained bandages, their faces wan and racked by pain, they brought home to the full the grim horror of the trenches. Yet nearly every face wore an attempt at a smile. Bandaged heads made gay attempts at nodding to the villagers who were worshiping at their shrine in true French fashion.
One man whose arms were both bound up, blood trickling from his face, bent painfully down to speak to a little boy who was shouting lustily, "Vive la France," and waving a little French flag at the wrecked heroes.
Watching the little scene in fascinated horror, it occurred briefly to Jimmy that for fighters these men were a curious-looking lot. Accustomed to the olive drab uniform and the usually clean-shaven face of the Sammy, these whiskeredpoiluswith their red trousers and long blue coats pinned back from the front seemed strangely unlike soldiers. Their bandaged heads and arms, and scratched, bleeding faces told quite a different story, however. They had known what it was to be under fire. They had done their bit for France.
Ardent as was the admiration shown for these wounded soldiers, the Khaki Boys werenot slighted. As they formed into platoons and marched away from the station, they were wildly applauded by the gathered throng, part of which followed along after them.
As they tramped along through the narrow streets to headquarters, their progress was accompanied by a new sound—a steady, heavy rumble that went on ceaselessly. They had now come within the thunder of the big guns. Off to the east of the village the fight against an unworthy foe was raging. With every heavy detonation, war was taking its toll of lives.
Under his breath, Jimmy found himself repeating:
"At the front brave men are falling,Now's your time to do and dare!"
He wondered if the man who, far back in peaceful America, had composed the words of the "Glory Road" song could possibly realize the meaning of his own song.
A march of a little over a mile through the village, and the long lines of soldier boys had reached headquarters. Here began the work of assigning them to temporary quarters. With night approaching it was necessary to put the men in lodgings with all possible despatch.
"Lodgings" for fighting men nearing the front consist of anything from the odd, not over-clean French farmhouses to stables andbarns. The best horses naturally fall to the officers; with the enlisted men it is a case of Hobson's choice.
Just as the first stars of evening began to appear in the clear, wintry sky, Jimmy Blaise marched his command into a stable. Ten minutes later he had begged the back cover of a note-book from Corporal Bob Dalton, and printed on it in large black letters:
AT HOMESERGEANT BLAISEANDTHIRTY-TWO MEN
Sergeant Jimmy Blazes was "at home" to all comers.
It was after eight o'clock that night when Jimmy's detachment finished a supper of the inevitable bully beef and biscuit, washed down with coffee furnished them by the kindly French woman to whom the stable belonged, and whose farmhouse was situated only a short distance from it.
Worn out by two-days' sojourn in the narrow confines of "Eight Horses," both Bob and Jimmy were only too glad to resign themselves to the doubtful comfort of the straw-strewn stable floor.
It proved to be a restless night for all concerned. "Sergeant Blaise and Thirty-Two Men" had their first unpleasant experience with the "cooties," a baleful gray vermin that has been the perpetual bane of the soldier in France since the beginning of the war.
Later, when trench life had taught the Khaki Boys to accustom themselves to "most any oldthing," the ever-present "cootie" became insignificant when compared to other trials they were called upon to endure. That first night, however, was one of such itching horror as they were not likely to forget in a hurry.
In spite of this new trial they managed to snatch a little sleep, though Jimmy stoutly declared his intention of rolling up in his poncho and sleeping outdoors thereafter.
Obliged to depend upon the rations previously issued them for breakfast the next morning, Jimmy rebelled and made a quick hike up to the farmhouse, returning with the glowing information that "Madame" was quite willing to furnish breakfast to such as desired to partake of her hospitality. Her charges for the same were low, and the majority of the men were very willing to pay them. In consequence, Sergeant Blaise's little flock feasted on bacon, eggs, white bread, and preserves.
Breakfast finished, a hasty going over of equipment ensued, and Jimmy marched his men to a not far distant field for inspection, where they had been ordered to report and parade. Here they found the rest of their own detachment. Inspection over, the entire unit put in the morning in drill, with three ten-minute intermissions for rest, during which the newly arrived Sammies had a chance to compare notes.
The first of these intermissions saw the fiveBrothers engaged in a zealous hunt for one another. Together, Bob and Jimmy made speedy effort to locate their bunkies, managing to pick them up just as the command came to "Fall in."
"Meet us here, next break," called Bob over his shoulder, as he ran back to his squad.
At the next order of "Fall Out," the five made prompt rush for the spot which Bob had designated.
"Well!" exclaimed Roger, as they grouped themselves eagerly together. "Where did you fellows get off at?"
"In a stable," was Jimmy's disgusted answer. "It's not far from here. Our 'at home' sign's out."
"Come and see us. You'll love the place. I hate to think of leaving it," grimaced Bob.
"I'm in the same boat. I mean the same sweet kind of a billet," grinned Roger. "A nice hard floor, straw, lots of 'cooties,' and all the comforts of a cow barn. Schnitz lives in a house that nobody else but Sammies wanted. The folks moved away before the French Revolution came off and took the furniture along."
"Nothing left but dust and rats," supplemented Schnitzel. "We haven't found any live stock yet. That's something to brag of."
"Iggy is the lucky guy. He's in a real house with real people, real eats, and real beds to sleep in. He and his squad grabbed a cinch."
"I don't like," objected Ignace mournfully. "My Brother sleep in stable, so would I there be."
"Can the sob stuff, Iggy," railed Bob, though his black eyes were very kind. "Never mind about us. Be glad you landed soft."
"I am no the pig," asserted Ignace with lofty dignity.
"Sure you aren't. If you were you couldn't camp in that nice billet. You'd land in a pig sty, and that would be worse than a cow barn."
Bob winked drolly at Roger.
"Where'll we meet after drill?" broke in Jimmy. "We'll have to decide right off the bat. Our time's almost up."
"Right here," suggested Schnitzel. "We'll probably break ranks and be dismissed here on account of being scattered all over the village."
"I wonder if we are going to have regular mess kitchens set up. Don't believe we will, though. I guess it's cook-wagons for ours or buy our own grub if we want variety. I have an idea we're going to move on soon."
"I hope so," Bob said fervently. "These Frenchies are very decent about not soaking a fellow for his grub. They'd give it to you if you'd let 'em. Even so, pay-day's a long way off, and Bobby's no millionaire. I like to pay as I go. These people can't afford to treat after all they've been through. A franc in itself isn't much, but when it's a franc here, andtwo francs there, it counts up like the mischief."
"Wait till I hear from home and we'll have money to burn," declared generous Jimmy. "I had the nerve to ask Dad for five hundred. I'll bet I get it, too."
"Keep the change," laughed Roger. "Your money's no good with us. We spends our own and goes broke. Blime if we gets so low as to sponge off a pal!"
Roger imitated to perfection the tone of a Tommy. The Khaki Boys had, by this time, come to know and like many of England's sturdy, fighting Tommies.
Command to again "Fall In" broke up the brief reunion. Drill ending at noon, the Sammies were given the rest of the day for their own until Retreat, which was scheduled to take place on the impromptu parade ground at the usual hour.
Left to themselves, the five Brothers gathered briefly together after dismissal. Agreeing to meet again at the same place half an hour later, they set off for their billets to put away their rifles.
Meeting again promptly at the appointed time, they started out to find some place where they might obtain a substantial dinner. This was rather hard to find, as almost every house in the village had its quota of transient Sammies to care for. By dint of inquiry they finallylocated a quaint little inn, and entered it to find it overflowing with men of their own detachment who had also been seeking a place to eat real food, regardless of expense.
After standing about waiting for a time, they at last managed to grab a table, and were presently served with a savory meal, cooked in true French fashion.
Dinner over, they left the inn and wandered about the village with its quaint gray stone houses and winding streets. Close examination of it showed that it had not escaped the enemy's spite. Here and there the ruins of a house or a deep furrow in the ground showed the effects of Boche gun or bomb work.
The inhabitants were a simple, friendly lot who treated them to smiling looks and bobbing little bows of admiration and respect. The heart of France beats warmly for Uncle Sam's Boys. Her people look upon them as the savior of the Allied cause, come in the hour of need.
Deciding to put off writing letters to the home folks until the next day, the five Khaki Boys spent their entire afternoon in wandering aimlessly about, seeing something of interest, no matter in which direction they walked.
One sight in particular filled them with righteous wrath. Traversing one of the smaller streets, they encountered an apple-cheeked French woman and a boy of about ten years. To their united horror they instantly noticedthat the child's arms had been lopped off just below the elbow.
"Great Heavens! Look at that!" muttered Bob, as the two drew nearer. "Speak to her, Blaise. Ask her if that's Boche butchery."
"Bon jour, Madame." Jimmy's hand went to his helmet.
Since coming to the village, the Khaki Boys had been ordered to replace their campaign hats with the bullet-proof helmets, which the soldier must wear constantly as he approaches nearer to the firing lines.
"Is this your son?" he inquired in French. His gray eyes were dark with mingled horror and sympathy, as he indicated the pitiful little figure. "How did this happen to him?"
"Butnon,Monsieur," the woman replied. "He is a Belgian.Les Allemands, this they do. Father and mother, both they kill. This poor child—Voila, you see for yourself! He was brought to me thus. Now I have taken him for my own. Three sons I once had. All died at Ypres and for France."
In the face of this tragic recital, the five Khaki Boys stood silent. Instantly every helmet was doffed to this grand figure of womanhood. There were no signs of tears in her bright black eyes as she spoke, only a fleeting expression of intense suffering, which merged instantly into a look of intense pride, as she mentioned the loss of her sons.
"Ask her, Blazes, if she'll allow us to make the poor kiddie a present," ordered Roger, a trifle unsteadily.
The woman flushed, then smiled, showing two rows of strong, white teeth.
"It is not necessary, Monsieur," she returned. "Still, ifles Americainsof the great heart please—I am very poor."
"Cough up a dollar or two apiece, quick," ordered Bob, who had understood the reply. His recent complaint regarding far-off pay-day was now forgotten.
Each Sammy's hand went instantly to his money belt.
"This is your donation party, Rodge." Jimmy handed a two-dollar note to Roger. Ignace, Schnitzel and Bob handed him a like amount.
Adding his own offering, Roger tendered it to the woman, who thanked them with a pretty courtesy that quite won their hearts.
"Can such things be?" was Bob's savage question as they strolled on. "It's bad enough to read about 'em, but when you meet 'em face to face! Ugh! Lead me to the trenches, and do it quick!"
Jimmy's prediction that they were likely to move on soon was speedily verified. The very next morning at Assembly the men were ordered to report on the parade ground at noon under full pack. An hour's drill and they were dismissed in order to allow them to make final preparations before starting on their march to the front.
Though they had had hardly time to explore the little village or make the acquaintance of its inhabitants, the entire population turned out to see them off. French matrons and pretty young girls fluttered their handkerchiefs at the marching columns of Sammies, just as the American mothers, wives and sisters did when the trains pulled out of the home towns bearing Uncle Sam's Boys away to the training camps.
With the backbone of winter broken, the day was clear and fair. The sun shone brightlydown in inspiriting fashion. There was but one drawback—the ever-present mud. A recent spell of wet weather had made of the roads an unending succession of small pools of water, interspersed with little stretches of sticky, clinging mire, into which the soldiers' feet sank, ankle deep.
Long before the afternoon merged into sunset, the Khaki Boys had begun to feel the effects of that strenuous march. Their heavy, hob-nailed trench shoes, made heavier by constant contact with the mud, blistered their feet and caused them acute suffering. Yet they sang home songs, and joked with one another as they plodded along, unmindful of their discomfort. Not a man hung back or gave up. Neither did the fact trouble them that every step they took was bringing them nearer to the big guns, the booming of which was ever in their ears.
For each hour on the road they were allowed a ten-minutes' halt, in which to nurse their swollen feet, and rest their weary backs, aching from the heavy packs. Though the majority did not know of how long duration the hike would be, a few knew that their difficult march would end in a partially ruined village, just out of range of the German guns. There they would be billeted until the order came to take their first turn in the trenches.
It was after eight o'clock in the evening when a foot-sore, mud-spattered company of youngdefenders tramped wearily along the principal thoroughfare of the French hamlet. That thoroughfare was nothing more than a very muddy road. On each side of it stood the shattered remnants of what had once been the homes of the unfortunate inhabitants whose quaint little cottages had been demolished by the enemy's guns. Less than half the houses in the village still remained intact. So near to the firing lines, they had not been able to avert the dire misfortunes of war.
Continuing on through the village, they were finally halted in a large meadow on its outskirts. Here the work of erecting shelter or "pup" tents began, in which they would sleep that night. The cook wagons, too, immediately went into action, and the way-worn travelers were presently given the comfort of a hot supper before turning in for a night's sleep.
Rolled up in their ponchos, the Khaki Boys slept as soundly that night as though back in the home barracks they had so long ago left behind them. A hot breakfast the next morning and they were again in good trim for the eventful hike that would bring them to the firing line.
Save for an hour's limbering-up drill, the day was theirs to roam at will about their new environment. Not until the dusk of evening had settled down upon the landscape would they start again on the last lap of their journey.
Immediately after drill, the five Brothers got together and went on a roving tour about the partially wrecked village. By daylight they found it teeming with life. It seemed principally peopled, however, with old women and children, although they encountered a goodly number of French soldiers resting in billets from trench duty.
Here and there they saw small inns, largely patronized by the Frenchpoilus. Entering one of them out of curiosity, they were rather disappointed to discover that they could obtain little there in the way of refreshment other than brown bread, cheese and French wines, the latter in which none of them ever indulged.
"For a place that's been all shot to pieces by Boche Kultur, I must say it's a mighty prosy old burg," was Bob's opinion.
The quintet had repaired to their impromptu camp for dinner, and afterward started out again in the hope of finding something really exciting. They had been roaming about for over an hour since dinner, and had, thus far, met with no startling adventures.
Bob's remark arose from the fact that they had just passed a schoolhouse, through the opened windows of which came the high, shrill voices of children, placidly reciting their lessons.
"Funny, isn't it, that those kids can settle down to school with the noise of the guns goingon all the time?" mused Roger. "You'd think they'd be scared out of their baby wits."
"They're just like all the rest of these good sports of Frenchies. They've grown so used to it they don't blink an eyelash now," declared Schnitzel. "Wish I'd been born a Frenchman instead of a G. A. The A's all right, but not the G."
"Well, you got the G. out of your system when you enlisted," consoled Bob. "You've no kick coming."
"Thank goodness I did," was Schnitzel's fervent response. "I'd hate to feel that I had a single tie that bound me to these cursed, butchering Boches. If some of the Germans in the U. S. could really be made to believe what we've seen with our own eyes, it would give 'em a jolt."
"They don't want to believe," Bob cried out scornfully. "But wait awhile. If some German-American father whose son got in the draft and was sent over here gets word that his boy has been crucified or tortured by a delegation of Fatherland friends, he'll wake up in a hurry."
"Yes," nodded Schnitzel, "when the chickens begin to come home to roost, it's going to make some difference in the way these German fanatics at home feel about this war."
Greeted on every side by evidence of havoc and devastation wrought by the enemy, the talkof the strollers remained centered on the war. In the home camps and on shipboard they had discussed it but little, preferring to keep it in the background. Now they were so near to the great conflict it could no longer be ignored. It had become the one vital topic of conversation.
"Let's go into that wreck and see what it looks like inside," proposed Roger at last.
Proceeding in an opposite direction from their camp, they had walked the breadth of the village, and were well toward the open country. Standing by itself in a field, the broken stone walls of a shelled cottage had attracted Roger's attention.
"I'll go you," was Bob's ready response.
"I'm game," agreed Jimmy.
"So would I it to see," assented Ignace. "Yet think I there is no mooch by it, only the many stone and mooch roobish."
Circling the wrecked cottage for a place by which to enter it with the least effort, the explorers climbed over a heap of debris, which partially blocked a doorless aperture at the rear, and gained the interior.
Once inside they saw nothing more remarkable than ragged heaps of stone, splintered beams, and the broken remnants of household furniture. The only part of the floor still intact was the narrow strip on which they stood.
"Let's go. It's fierce." Jimmy spoke in hoarse, husky tones.
Sight of that ruthless wrecking of a home made him think of his own beautiful, far-away home, where his beloved "folks" dwelt in safety, immune from shot and shell.
"I guess we know why we're here, when we look at this," he continued tensely. "If I had a thousand lives I'd give 'em all to save the home folks from such a thing ever happening to 'em."
"Right-o!" emphasized Bob.
Silence hung over the group for an instant, then, by mutual consent, they turned and left behind them the frightful demonstration of "Kultur."
"Look who's here! He's mine. I saw him first!"
Emerging from the ruin a step in advance of his comrades, Bob suddenly raised his voice in a shout, and set off on the run across the field behind the cottage.
Echoing his yell, his bunkies tore after, laughing as they went. Bob's prize was nothing more than a solemn white goat, meandering aimlessly about the brown field in search of a green bit on which to graze.
"You old fake! I thought you'd lamped something wonderful! Nothing but an old Billy goat. Hello, Bill! How's tricks?"
Jimmy now jocularly addressed his goatship.
"M-a-a-a!" bleated Bill politely.
"Don't call him Bill," objected Bob. "Havesome respect for his delicate feelings. You can see for yourself it won't go down with him. He's a werry fine animule, and I'm going to adopt him and call him Gaston. He's a French goat, hence theFrançaishandle."
"You'd better let him alone," warned Roger. "He must belong to somebody around here. You know what'll happen to you if you pinch him."
"Pinch him nothing. I'm no goat-robber," was Bob's indignant retort. "I'm going to do the square thing by Gaston. See that house down the road? Well, I'm going to tie him up and lead him to it. Bobby has a nice piece of string in his pocket. I'll bet the folks down there know his history. If he's a orfin, then Bobby will be his foster-papa and train Gaston to charge on you fellows if you ever get too fresh. Won't you, Gaston?"
Gaston, it appeared, was already about to get busy. His first surprise at the invasion having vanished, he lowered his head and dashed at his admirers with an energy that sent them scattering.
"He's got the true war spirit," yelled Bob. "Now watch me tame him!"
Bob agilely circled the belligerent Gaston. The goat had stopped after making the charge to reflect upon his next course of action. Pouncing upon the surprised animal, Bob grasped it by the horns. To his delight, itmeekly stood still, whereupon he relaxed one hand from a horn and promptly fished a piece of tough string from his trousers' pocket. An instant later, Gaston was being led, an acquiescent captive, from the field by his beaming master. Prudence, however, warned Bob's bunkies to walk in Gaston's rear.
Duly arriving at the house Bob had pointed out, he consigned his new pet to Roger's care, and went boldly up to the door in quest of information.
Watching him, his comrades saw him ushered inside the house by a pretty young French girl.
Ten minutes later he emerged, grinning like a Cheshire cat. At his heels trooped two or three children, the girl and an old man, all of whom made bobbing little bows toLes Americains.
"He's mine!" called out Bob jubilantly. "I bought him for two plunks. He's an old-timer, and not very popular with the family. He's going to billet here, though, while I'm in the trenches. I'm going to pay for his keep and be a father to him when I'm not on duty. If I get plugged the first whack, then somebody else can have my goat. But as long as Bobby's in good health, Gaston's going to have a friend. Believe me!"
Though the shadow of the trenches hung over them, Bob's latest acquisition put his bunkies in a decidedly lightsome mood. After bidding a pleasant good-bye to Gaston's keepers, and giving the redoubtable Gaston himself a fairly wide berth, the five Brothers wandered on through the village. It was not yet three o'clock, and they were not due back to camp until four o'clock.
Dusk would see them under full pack again, and ready to take the road to the firing line. The advance guard, composed of military police, were to start at least two hours ahead of the main detachment. They would not march in a body, but would straggle along by ones and twos, lest some lurking enemy along the road might learn from their numbers that a new army was soon to be on its way to the front-line trenches.
"We'd best turn back to camp," Schnitzelat last suggested. "It's twenty after three, and we must be almost a mile from headquarters. I want to fix up my pack before we start."
The exploring party had left their heavy packs and equipment in charge of a comrade. They carried on their stroll only their haversacks containing their supper and breakfast ration, two thick sandwiches apiece.
Until dugout shelters were reached the next morning, they would have no more hot food. Nothing that required cooking would be given them on this last march except hot coffee. Now, so close to the German lines, the cook wagons would be temporarily closed. Bits of food or sparks dropped in the road might also serve to inform the enemy that Uncle Sam's Boys were nearing the front.
About to retrace their steps, the five Khaki Boys were suddenly brought to a sudden standstill by a loud cry from Ignace.
"Look you!" he exclaimed, pointing upward. "So is it the fight by the air!"
Instantly turning their eyes skyward, the group saw high above them an aeroplane cutting wild circles in the air. Around it little puffs of white smoke were continually bursting. As each puff burst, a peculiar "plopping" could be heard, though dully.
The plane itself was up too high for the watchers to tell much about it. Besides, they were not familiar enough with the various typesof aeroplanes used by the Allies and the Huns to be able to distinguish to which side it belonged.
"It must be a French or an English plane, and the Boches are peppering it with anti-aircraft shells," surmised Bob, ever ready to theorize on whatever chanced to meet his gaze.
"You're wrong, old man. It's a Boche plane, and the Allied guns are after it."
Schnitzel's correction was uttered with a quiet positiveness that brought instant questions of, "How do you know?" "Who put you wise?" "What makes you so sure of that?"
"Oh, I've been finding out all I could about anti-aircraft guns, batteries, shells and all that," Schnitzel answered. "I worked in a gun plant, you know, before I enlisted. I've told you that. Machine guns were its specialty, but I learned a lot about other kinds of guns, too. I put in a request for Artillery when I enlisted, but I landed in Infantry instead. I was pretty sore about it at first, but I soon got over it.
"Just the same," he went on, "I've still a hankering after the big guns. I've been asking questions right and left ever since we came over. Back in England at the rest camp I met a Tommy who'd been in artillery since the war began. He'd done his bit, and lost an eye, so he was back to Blighty for good. He told me a lot of interesting stuff about guns. He saidthe Allied anti-aircraft shells showed white smoke when they exploded, and the Boche anti-shells showed black. So there you are. If what he said was so, and I'm sure it was, that's an Allied battery shelling a Boche plane."
Listening to Schnitzel's explanation, the eyes of the quintet, nevertheless, remained fixed on the swooping, circling black speck overhead. Not for a moment did the concealed Allied battery cease its attack on the enemy plane.
Though their necks began to ache and their eyes to smart, they could not draw their fascinated gaze from that gyrating black dot. Even as they watched, it seemed to grow a trifle larger.
"It's coming down!" yelled Jimmy. "They got it! Hurray! I'll bet this plane was trying to get a line on what was doing down here."
"It's dropping, sure as a gun!" shouted Bob. "Some drop! Oh, glory, I wish it would flop right here!"
"It's coming down, down, down, all right!" sang out Roger. "We won't see it though. It'll probably land miles from here, on the other side of those hills. That aviator didn't have much show as an observer."
In what seemed to them an incredibly short time, the doomed plane had sped earthward, and out of sight behind the distant hills east of them.
"So is it, some Boche get kill pretty quick.He never more do nothin'," commented Ignace with grim satisfaction.
"Not so you can notice it," airily agreed Bob. "If he wasn't croaked by the anti, he'd hit the ground with a bump that would finish him. Well, show's over. We've seen a Boche plane shelled and a Hun aviator downed, now let's be on our way. If we never live to see another Fritzie birdman's wings clipped, we've seen one, anyhow."
"We're going to live to see a whole lot more welcome sights like that," asserted Jimmy sturdily.
"Glad to hear it," grinned Bob. "Only the saints croak young. We have a pretty fair show to keep on going, according to that."
Signally inspirited at witnessing the defeat of an enemy the five bunkies set off for headquarters talking cheerily as they walked. There they found their comrades had already begun to assemble, preparatory to the night march, which would begin as soon as sheltering twilight descended. Group after group of soldiers, who had been resting during the afternoon, or roaming about the village, now reported, and stood awaiting the order to "Fall in."
As time went on, conversation gradually died out among the men. Earlier exchange of good-humored badinage ceased, and comparative silence replaced it, broken only by an occasional low murmur of voices.
With the first signs of twilight the tension began to tighten. A curious hush pervaded the two detachments, as the heavily burdened Sammies stood about and watched the dusk grow and deepen. Strangely enough, no distant rumble of artillery broke the spell. Though the voices of the guns had boomed all day, now they were silent. It was an hour which those who survived the struggle they were about to enter would long remember.
At last it came; the clarion notes of the bugle, blowing the order "Fall in." With calm, resolute faces each Khaki Boy found his place in the long double line.
The order was passed along: "Right dress—right dress!" A shuffling of feet, a straightening of lines, and the Khaki Boys were ready for the next command.
"Front!"
Every pair of boyish eyes looked unswervingly ahead.
"Report!"
Corporal after corporal accounted for his squad. There were no laggers or deserters in that heroic band. The time had come, and the Khaki Boys were ready.
"Squads right—March!"
By rows of fours the soldier boys turned, then in the growing darkness they swung off, rifles on their shoulders, stepping alertly, and with the rhythm that long training had giventhem. On every face shone the quiet determination to do well. Every man was imbued with the resolve to give good account of himself. The Khaki Boys were out to "do and dare" for the honor of Uncle Sam and his Allies.
Shortly before midnight, the columns of marching Khaki Boys reached a village that lay practically in ruins. Passing through one neglected street after another, the company leading was halted just at the turning of a street by an English major, astride a mettlesome horse.
"Who is in command of this company?" came the sharp query.
"Captain Reynolds, sir."
Saluting, a steel-helmeted officer stepped forward.
"Very good. See that every man in your command adjusts his gas mask at alert. All cigarettes must be thrown away."
A moment and both orders had been carried out.
"Forward march by platoons, fifty feet apart," was the next order. "You will be in range of shrapnel directly you leave here."
Obeying instantly, the first company passed on in the designated order. Turning the corner, it started down a road that led straight to the front. It was followed by a second and so on, each company being briefly halted by the English major to receive similar instructions.
In silence, broken only by the thud of tramping feet, the two detachments of Khaki Boys hiked steadily toward the trenches. All realized that at any moment the German guns might tune up. If the two detachments reached the front-line trenches without "clicking" any casualties, they would be lucky, indeed.
Perhaps for the time being they bore charmed lives. More probably, however, the foe was not aware of their advent into the trenches. At any rate, not even a shrapnel shell was hurled at them by the German artillery.
Amid a hush so deep that each soldier could hear the beating of his own heart, the Khaki Boys finally entered the zig-zagging communication trench, through which they must pass to reach the front-line trench where they were to receive their first initiation into the hazards of war.
Now they were no longer marching in fours. In single file, six paces apart, they plodded mutely along, their tired feet sinking deep into the mud. In the trenches mud is seldom absent. It scarcely ever dries up sufficiently to make walking easy.
An hour from the time of entering the trenches, the Khaki Boys had reached the front line of their sector, and had taken up their positions. Sadly in need of a little rest, the majority of the men seated themselves on the fire step. In the darkness a long line of American soldiers filed past them, on the way to another communication trench that would lead them away from the firing and back to billets behind the lines. These were the men whom the Khaki Boys had come to relieve.
In the front-line trench, however, a goodly number of veteran Americans still remained to receive the new men and initiate them into the mysteries of trench warfare.
Trying to catch satisfactory glimpses of the shadowy figures which flitted past him in a long succession, Jimmy Blaise speculated as to how long they had been on duty. He was amazed at the number still alive and apparently unscathed. Remembering that, thus far, all night the guns had been silent, he decided that this was the reason why so many Sammies were left to return briefly to billets. He wondered if as many more were still left in the trench.
His thoughts turning to his bunkies, he wondered what they thought of it all. A corporal in his platoon, he knew that Bob, at least, was not far away. In the dense darkness, however, there was a small chance of locating him.
He wondered, too, what time it was. It hadbeen almost midnight when the marching men had been halted in the ruined village by the English major. It must be after two now. Perhaps the Germans would attack just before dawn. He had heard that with both sides this was a favorite hour for attack. At that hour, a man's faculties were the least alert. He was less likely to give good account of himself.
Although he was anything but at home in his new environment, Jimmy was relieved in that he felt not in the least afraid. He had always hoped that it would be thus. Yet he had never been quite sure of himself on that point. He had always known that he should never be afraid in the cowardly sense of the word. Still, he had often pondered as to whether he would "have all his nerve with him" when the eventful front-line hour arrived.
He was rather surprised to find himself as "nervy" as ever. He almost wished that something would happen to break the deadly monotony around him. Most of all he wished for daylight to come, so that he might take stock of his surroundings and perhaps "bump into" his bunkies.
The night wore on and nothing happened. With dawn came the order "stand down," and the two veteran sentries posted at each traverse along the line got down off the fire step. To them had fallen the task of standing there all night, heads above the top of the trench, eyesstraining into the darkness of "No Man's Land."
The passing of the word "stand down" was hardly more welcome to the tired sentries than to the newly arrived Sammies huddled along the fire step. It meant to the latter a certain relaxation from duty, and a chance to sleep until the order "stand to" saw them back in their places on the fire step, ready for whatever might come to them.
Attempting to rise from the fire step, Jimmy discovered that every bone in his body ached. Crouching in a cramped position on a muddy ledge was not conducive to great agility. Pulling himself together, Sergeant Jimmy went through a series of limbering-up exercises. Burdened by his equipment, which he had not been allowed to remove, he was not very nimble at first. Soon he felt his muscles growing more flexible under the persistent treatment he gave them.
Very promptly he saw to it that his men went through a similar set of movements, which did them all good. To his delight, he found Bob only a few men away from him. The latter's face looked rather wan, but his black eyes were bright and snapping as ever.
"Some night," cheerily greeted Bob, as Jimmy hurried over to him. "Nothing like a fire step for solid comfort—not. Thought the Fritzies might send over a hot shot or two fora welcome. Nothing doing in Dutchyland, though."
"Don't worry. We'll get ours soon enough. Maybe to-day. Still, we might be here quite a while before anything happened. The Boches aren't quite so ready as they used to be to keep hammering the Allies. They've learned a few lessons since this war began.
"Here comes our coffee!" exclaimed Bob. "I certainly am ready for it."
Glancing up the trench, he had spied two men coming down the line, bearing huge pots of the steaming beverage.
"The Tommies may have their tea for breakfast, but coffee for Blazes every time!"
With this emphatic comment, Jimmy proceeded to extract from his haversack the large metal cup belonging to his mess kit. Along with it he brought out the remaining sandwich of the two issued to him on the day previous. It was to be his breakfast.
Bob made room for him on the fire step, and the two settled themselves to await the coming of the coffee men.
Very soon they were hungrily munching their sandwiches, and enjoying the strong, black coffee, which was, indeed, welcome. It warmed them through and through, and put new life into their chilled bodies.
"I'd give a good deal to see the fellows," sighed Jimmy, as, his breakfast finished, hestood up and stretched himself. He was feeling decidedly better, and very wide awake. "Wonder if we dare go up or down the lines a little way."
"You're a sarge. You can travel around, I guess, with no come-back. I wouldn't want to risk it, though. This front-line business doesn't carry many privileges."
"Even so, we can't stick to the fire step all the time. We have to sleep in the dugouts, and when it's quiet we'll be allowed to hang around in them. It's at night that we'll have to do most of our work, I suppose."
"Yes, I presume so. After we get used to this trench system we'll know better how to manage our affairs," was Bob's sage opinion. "We'll have to ask these fellows who are here to help us all about what to do."
Breakfast over and quiet still continuing, the men were ordered to the dugouts for rest.
Earlier in the great war, the heroes of Ypres, Mons, the Marne, and of other memorable battles, found trench life almost unendurable. Since then trench conditions have changed for the better. To-day there are plenty of dugouts, trench platforms, and many other conveniences which help to make the men on trench duty vastly more comfortable than of old.
After seeing that his men were made as comfortable as possible, Jimmy accompanied Bob to one of the dugouts, and flung themselveswearily down on the narrow canvas cots provided for their rest. Just before entering the dugout, however, both had gone a little way up and down the line in search of their bunkies. Failing to find them, and sadly in need of rest, they had agreed to postpone the search until later.
How long they slept neither knew. Both were awakened by a thunderous roar that threatened to split their eardrums.
Instantly springing from their cots, they made a dash for the dugout's opening, along with the rest of the men it contained. All knew what had happened. The enemy had at last been heard from.
Among the first to gain the trench, Jimmy saw that a portion of the parapet on his right had been demolished. It had fallen into the trench completely blocking it. His heart stood still as he saw at the edge of that heap of tossed-up earth an olive-drab arm moving feebly.
Others besides himself had now reached the scene, among them a veteran lieutenant who ordered a pick and shovel detail to get busy at once.
"Back to dugouts!" was his sharp order to the Sammies who had run to the scene. "Don't expose yourselves unnecessarily."
Jimmy, however, was one of the digging detail. Seizing a shovel, he began to dig furiouslyinto the soft earth. It yielded easily. Careful lest he strike the body of the buried soldier with the shovel, he soon had enough of the smothering mud cleared away to expose the man's head and shoulders.
First sight of the victim's head, and Jimmy shuddered. The face under the helmet was caved in, an unrecognizable, bloody pulp.
"Poor fellow," Jimmy muttered. "He got it pretty quick." He wondered who the man was. Not one of his men. They had all been in the dugout when the crash came.
While he continued at digging the dead man out of his prison, the rest of the detail were busy clearing the trench of the piled-up earth that formed a blockade.
"It was a 'Minnie,'" one of the veteran diggers informed Jimmy.
"Minnie" means a high-power trench mortar shell, of German invention. It is used particularly by the Germans to demolish the Allied trenches. Its real name is "Minnenwerfer." It is especially deadly, as it makes no noise coming through the air. The English soldier is responsible for giving it the name "Minnie."
"Funny they don't follow it up with some more," Jimmy observed to the man, as the latter stolidly wielded a pick.
Hardly had he spoken when a hail of bullets set in from an enemy machine gun. The Boches had begun to turn their energies to the caved-inparapet. Occasionally a single bullet sped past the diggers, but none of them were hit.
By this time another detail, composed of green and seasoned men, were engaged in filling sandbags with earth and passing them on to still another group who were rebuilding the parapet.
Farther down, a second deafening roar announced that another "Minnie" had burst in the trench. Jimmy wondered how much damage it had done. Already stretcher-bearers had come up on the double quick, and were taking care of the shattered form which Jimmy had now released from the pinioning earth. They would bear it away through the communication trench to the rear. Presently it would be laid to rest in foreign soil, and an identification tag would go speeding across the ocean to tell its own gruesome story to the Sammy's dear ones back home. Though he had not lived to fire even one shot at the Germans, he had, nevertheless, done his bit. He had died for his country.
After a third "Minnie" had sped across No Man's Land and into the front-line trench, an advanced American battery opened up on the Boches and returned the compliment with a hot fire that soon put a temporary check on Fritzie's activities so far as the sending over of more Minnies went. German machine guns, however, continued to direct their fire upon the gaps in the trenches made by their mortars.
Four men had been killed and several wounded, as a result of the last two mortar shells.
Immediately the damage had been wrought to the trench parapet, willing hands set to work to rebuild the broken places to their original height. During the operation three more men lost their lives, shot down by the bullets from the Boche machine guns.
After this brief exchange of hostilities quietagain settled down, broken only by the occasional letting loose of a Boche shrapnel shell directed at some point behind the lines.
Their digging detail finished, Jimmy and Bob again repaired to the dugout and slept until noon. Both awoke at dinner time greatly refreshed by their brief sleep. A palatable stew and more hot coffee put them in excellent trim for whatever duty might fall to them later on.
Dinner over, they promptly made a fresh effort to find their bunkies. Roger, Schnitzel, and Ignace, who were fairly near together some distance down the line, had also started out on a hunt for Bob and Jimmy. Both search parties met about halfway respectively from their own stations. Bob and Jimmy had the good fortune to bump into their bunkies just as the latter were entering a dugout.
"Come on in and let's talk," urged Roger. "Goodness knows we may never have another chance."
"Did either of those last two mortars get any of your men?" was Bob's first question of Roger, as the five sought a corner of the dugout and sat down on the floor in a compact circle.
"No; but Schnitz lost two good boys and Iggy one. My men were in the dugout asleep when it happened."
"It was horrible." Schnitzel's dark face wore an expression of deepest gloom. "Ryanand Harvey, corking fellows, both had their heads blown almost off their shoulders. I'm all broken up over Ryan. He was one of the straightest guys I ever met. Gritty, too. He was dying to get a whack at the Boches. Now he's gone West, and never had a chance to kill off even one of the dirty brutes. He was an only son, too. His folks just worshipped him. I'm going to write to his mother. I promised long ago that I would if it came to the scratch. He gave me her address."
Schnitzel spoke with intense bitterness. Ryan had been the best man in his squad.
"Tough luck!"
Jimmy voiced his most emphatic expression of sympathy.
"When come him that one shail, so have I the dugout jus' leave," burst forth Ignace. "Then hear I som' the loud thoonder an' fall down in trench. So think I mebbe I daid for minute."
"Ha, ha!" jeered Bob. "How could you be dead and keep on thinking, you funny old top?"
"Mebbe I daid, you no laugh," responded Ignace with a tranquillity that showed he was quite used to Bob's raillery.
"You're right I wouldn't." Bob's merry face quickly sobered. "It's because you're not 'daid' that I'm laughing. It's a poor subject to josh about, though. Let's forget it."
"I'll never forget that fellow I dug out ofthe mud," declared Jimmy tensely. "He was the one croaked by the first 'Minnie.' I was in our dugout with Bob when it hit the trench. All the fellows in there rushed out to see. Lieutenant Jaynes shoved 'em back in a hurry, except a detail to dig and one to repair the parapet. I was detailed to dig and I went at it, too. Hauled the fellow from under all by myself. His face was all smashed in. Don't know yet who he was, except that he wasn't one of my men. One of the greenies, like us, I guess."
"It's a pretty savage business, but I'll bet our guns clicked some Boche casualties, too," asserted Roger.
"I thought we'd all get the order to 'stand to' after that third shell, but not yet. I suppose the Huns thought they'd send over a few 'Minnies' to scare us. Wonder when they'll make a real stab at us?"
"When they get good and ready," shrugged Schnitzel. "Maybe not while we're here. We may be the ones to start the ball rolling. One reason it's been so quiet, I guess, is because the Fritzies haven't any ammunition to waste. I've been told that the Allies are sending over twenty shells to their one these days."
"Some improvement." Jimmy expressed his deep satisfaction at this rumor. "When the war began it was twenty to one in favor of Bill Kaiser. Now the shoe seems to be on the other foot."
"I hope I live to see the day when it'll be fifty to nothing in favor of the Allies," was Roger's heartfelt declaration.
"It'll come, even if we don't live to see it," assured Schnitzel prophetically.
"So think I," nodded Ignace. "Byme by, thes' Boche have no the nothin'. Then get kill pretty quick. I would him myself that ver' bad Bill Kaiser kill."
"Why don't you ask for the detail?" was Bob's mischievous suggestion. "I'll lend you Gaston to help do the dirty work."
"Now again you mak' the fon to me," giggled Ignace. "I say only I would it to do. So is it."
"'So is it,'" repeated Bob. "I can just see our Iggins and dear Gaston hot-footing it to Bill's royal shebang to put him out of his misery. Gaston would be some fine little ally. You could turn him loose on the imperial guard while you went in the back door of the palace and did up William."
Bob's nonsense brought a smile even to Schnitzel's somber face. No one could be serious for long with Bob on the premises. His light-hearted ability to see the funny side of things when in the midst of shadow was always eminently cheering to his bunkies.
"I wish I had Gaston with me," Bob continued regretfully. "I'll bet he'd win a whole string of honor tin cans going Over the Top.He'd probably eat 'em afterward, though, unless Bobby was around to see that he didn't overload his heroic stomach. Just as soon as I get back to a rest billet, I'm going to take Gaston to the K. O. and offer his services. I'll bet they'll be gratefully accepted."
"Unless Gaston takes it into his head to charge on the K. O.," laughingly supplemented Roger.
"Oh, I'll speak to Gaston about that beforehand," airily assured Bob. "I'll put him wise to the difference between a K. O. and a bunch of insignificant non-coms."
"Don't forget to class yourself with that bunch," reminded Jimmy.
The five Brothers continued to talk in this light strain, well content to get away briefly from the grim shadow of war. Already they were unconsciously leaning toward the desire to keep strictly to the surface of things.
In the front-line trenches men soon realize that it is futile to worry over what may happen. They learn to live from hour to hour and make the most of whatever cheer lies at hand.
They gleefully plan for the future, refusing to reflect that a well-directed shell or bullet may send them speeding West immediately afterward. If it were not for this cheery ignoring of grim Death hovering ever near, arrant Fear would soon step in and claim toll on them. Dread of Death courts Fear indeed.
Toward supper time the Khaki Boys witnessed from the trench a spirited bout in the air between Boche and Allied aircraft. From somewhere back of the enemy trenches, half a dozen German aeroplanes suddenly rose against the evening sky and began a flight toward the American sector.
When hardly halfway over No Man's Land they were met by a fleet of French planes which had promptly risen to drive them back. Though they were some distance up the line from the portion of the front line trench occupied by the 509th Infantry men, the Sammies had a fairly good view of the fight. They could hear the constant pop-pop of the aircraft machine guns as the contestants swooped, dived and circled about one another.