Jimmy Blaise centered his attention particularly upon one of the French planes. It had been the first to rally to the scene and was giving good account of itself.
Its aviator appeared to bear a charmed life. Shells from the German Archies, which had immediately gone into action, failed to reach him. He spiraled and sank, sank and spiraled with an elusive dexterity that was dizzying to watch. At times his plane would lurch wildly, dropping a little, as though shell-pierced and about to fall. Instantly it would right itself and soar upward, cleverly maneuvering so as always to attain a position in the air where itsgunner could pour a mercilessly effective fire upon the Boche planes.
One of them went down to destruction as a result of the wonderman's marvelous exhibition of skill and daring. A plane of the French fleet also met disaster. Seeing one of their number down, the Frenchies rallied to the onslaught with a zeal that soon put another Boche plane out of business. By this time Allied Archies were sending their shells against the invaders with a demoralizing aim that crippled a third enemy plane and sent the three remaining Boche flyers soaring out of danger and back to their own lines.
In the trenches the Sammies were cheering with wild enthusiasm as they watched the spirited conflict in the air. Here was a spectacle beside which even baseball paled into insignificance as a purely "sports" proposition. They were only sorry that it lasted so short a time.
"Great work," yelled one of the seasoned men who stood beside Jimmy. "That one guy was a sure-enough peach of a birdman."
"You bet," agreed Jimmy fervently.
The clever work of the daring aviator had brought to his mind the "Flying Terror of France." He imagined that only a man like Voissard would be capable of giving such a wonderful exhibition of flying as he had just witnessed. Where was Cousin Emile now, he wondered, and would he ever see Voissardagain? Perhaps he would not live long enough to learn the important information concerning the "tiger man" which Voissard had mentioned in his letter to Jimmy.
Until now Jimmy had not once thought of the "tiger man" since the march to the front had begun. The events of that memorial hike had driven the past quite out of his mind. Standing there in the trench his gray eyes grew retrospective as his mind harked back to the time he and his bunkies had boarded theColumbia. He had not realized until then how really remarkable had been his adventures since he left the United States. Living them from day to day they had not seemed so very unusual.
The greatest adventure of all yet lay ahead of him. He had still to know what it meant to be actually under fire and take part in a real, bang-up fight. His natural impatience of delay made him wish that it would come soon. Perhaps this latest attempt of the Boches to send observation planes over the American trenches meant that the enemy was getting impatient, too. He hoped so.
He had come to the trenches to fight and he felt it would be a bitter disappointment should his first tour in the trenches end without at least one opportunity to fire a shot for Uncle Sam.
Eating an early supper, the order "stand to" came just at dusk and was passed along from traverse to traverse. With it two veteran sentries in each traverse took up their positions on the fire step to keep ward over No Man's Land.
Until relieved by other sentries, one of the two in each traverse would stand, immovable on the fire step, watching over the parapet for any signs of activity on the part of the enemy. The other man would sit at his feet ready to inform the platoon officer of whatever reports his companion might make in regard to what he saw going on across the narrow stretch of land that divided the two armies.
It was an especially trying post for the observation man. Not for an instant did he dare remove his eyes from the portion of land in front of him. Whether he spoke to make a report or to answer a question put to him byhis companion, he was obliged to speak in guarded tones and without turning his head. His motto had to be "Eyes Front."
In the trench, ranged along the fire step, with bayonets fixed, Uncle Sam's young defenders sat ready for duty at the slightest word of command.
Now strictly on the alert, the Khaki Boys dared not speak above a whisper and only when necessary, as, for instance, in passing an order along the lane. Rigid discipline had to be observed in this respect, lest some loudly-uttered word should be heard by a Boche detail out on listening post duty.
In the daytime No Man's Land is never a land of living men. Often it occupies a space hardly larger than a good-sized garden. It is a desolate stretch of ground, indeed. One sees only masses of barbed wire and yawning shell holes, sometimes containing all that remains of what once were fighting men. Perhaps a few ragged stumps dot it here and there, or a pile of debris that originally formed part of a farmhouse, long since leveled to the earth by the barking dogs of war, the big guns.
At night, however, it undergoes a swift transformation. Under cover of the darkness it soon swarms with living men. They crawl stealthily about on their details. Perhaps they are risking their lives on listening duty. Again they may be out to mend broken-downwire. After a battle they steal out to bring in their dead and wounded.
Night expeditions across No Man's Land are of equal importance to both sides. Each sends out its eyes to keep tab on the movements of the other and find out, if possible, his opponent's strength and plans.
Many a silent battle is fought there in the dark when two enemy details chance to meet. Never a shot is fired. Steel meets steel and the victor goes on his way, leaving behind the lifeless form of his antagonist. Out there, kill quickly and mercilessly is the watchword. The ethics of No Man's Land permit of no quarter.
The quiet continuing all evening, toward ten o'clock the new men and a part of their seasoned comrades were allowed to seek the dug-outs for a little sleep.
At three o'clock in the morning the sleepers were routed out with the order "stand to." Though the Khaki Boys could not know it, a patrol had returned half an hour before with the information that they had surprised a Boche wiring party, who were busily engaged in cutting lanes in their own wires, and had killed two of them. This looked decidedly suspicious, to say the least. The patrol was of the belief that an attack on the American trench would soon begin, followed by a raiding party of Boches.
Shortly after the Khaki Boys had taken uptheir positions on the fire-step, the German guns began a furious bombardment of the American trench, forcing the men to shelter themselves behind the parados. The parados, in this particular trench, were composed of squares of sandbags built up at intervals for a distance of about three feet behind the parapet, leaving a lane in the trench just wide enough for passage back and forth behind them. These parados did much to avert casualties caused from bits of bursting high-explosive shells.
The American batteries lost no time in opening up on the Germans, returning their fire with equal fury. For a while the din was terrific. Shells screamed overhead, causing a pandemonium of racket. Bursting, their fire made No Man's Land almost as light as day. In the trench many Sammies were dropping, wounded or killed by pieces of exploding shell. The Khaki Boys were receiving their baptism of fire in earnest.
It was a battle in which the Sammies themselves took small part, save to crouch in the trench, shielding themselves as best they could from that devastating rain of fire. The noise was too great for them to make themselves heard in passing an order, save by cupping hands to mouth and yelling as loudly as they could.
For an hour each side continued to bombard the other's trenches. All along the parapet ofthe American trench yawning gaps began to appear. As fast as one was made, men set to work upon it to repair the damage before dawn should appear and expose the Sammies to the rifle and machine-gun fire of the Boches.
The Khaki Boys turned to with a will. Some filled sandbags with mud, others rebuilt the shattered parados and stopped the gaps in the parapet. Toiling with desperate energy, they could only hope that the American guns were doing much heavier damage to the Fritzies' fire trench. They had faith that their own artillery could register more telling hits than that of the enemy.
Considering the number of shells that the Germans were sending over, many of them had been aimed in the direction of the flare from the American batteries. These passed right over the trenches. The American guns continuing to keep up a constant thundering, it looked as though the Boches had not succeeded in wiping out any of these batteries.
The gray light of dawn showed first glimpse of the enemy trenches. It was a sight that cheered the Sammies immensely. Gap after gap yawned in the parapet of their fire trench, through which could be seen plainly the forms of German soldiers, hurrying back and forth or toiling desperately to re-establish a protecting wall between themselves and the Sammies.
If the Boches had intended to raid it seemedevident that they had given it up as a bad job and devoted themselves strictly to the business of playing safe.
With daylight their guns suddenly became silent. The American batteries went on hammering at them, however, for some time after the Boche artillery had ceased firing.
The dilapidation of the Boche fire trench gave the Sammies the opportunity for which they had been waiting. They now began to pour a hot rifle and machine-gun fire at the enemy, inflicting heavy casualties. The German batteries immediately got busy with smoke shells and soon hung a curtain of heavy smoke in front of their lines, which completely obstructed a view of their trenches.
Through the smoke the Sammies continued to harass the foe, until the order came to cease firing. Though the Americans had suffered a good many casualties, the Germans had clicked a far greater number. Their proposed raid had ended in a sound drubbing for them. When night again fell they would have the pleasure of mending the wires they had been in such a hurry to cut, provided they did not make a second attempt to raid within the next few hours.
Of late these night raids had become a new feature in the war. Beginning with a heavy bombardment, the attacking troops would dash over the top, take the enemy trenches, makethorough search of them, capturing as many prisoners and machine guns as possible. Instead of occupying the trenches taken, these would be destroyed by fire or dynamite, the victors returning to their own lines.
It was such a raid as this that the Germans had been on the point of making. Thanks to the efficient work of the American batteries, they had not been able to carry it out.
When it was all over and comparative quiet had again settled down on both sides, Jimmy Blaise was amazed to find himself not only alive but unhurt. Through those terrible hours he had seen comrades dropping on both sides of him, yet, somehow, he had come through that raging hail of shot and shell unscathed. He marveled that, while it had been going on, he had worked like a tiger at helping rebuild the shattered defenses without a thought that he might be living his last moments of life.
After firing a final shot and getting down from the fire step, he stared about in a half-dazed fashion. To and fro through the fire trench stretcher-bearers moved continually, bearing the shell-shattered soldiers away through the communication trenches to first-aid posts. Many a bloody form lifted gently to the stretchers was beyond human aid.
Jimmy's first coherent thoughts centered on his own men. He must find out what had happened to them. Pulling himself together hebegan an investigation. He soon discovered that he had lost four of them for good and all. Several others had been seriously wounded. Like himself a few had come out of the fray untouched. For a time he busied himself in doing what he could for the wounded, until relieved by the first-aid men.
The aroma of coffee in the air brought him to a dim realization that it was breakfast time. He was not hungry. Who could be after seeing those broken, bloody shapes being lifted to the stretchers? He felt as though he would not be able to eat for a week afterward.
"Thank God, Blazes, you're not one of 'em!"
A friendly hand clutched his arm.
At the sound of the familiar but rather unsteady tones and the touch of a hand Jimmy whirled to find Bob beside him. The latter's face was grimy, a little stream of blood trickled down one cheek from a shallow gash high up toward his left eye.
"Bob!" Jimmy grabbed his bunkie and fairly hugged him. "You're hurt!" he exclaimed.
"Just a scratch. I can hardly feel it. A Fritzie bullet shinned past me and broke the skin. I just used my first-aid dressing on a fellow in my squad."
"Let me fix you up."
Jimmy hurriedly reached for his first-aid packet, took from it his last bit of antisepticgauze and applied it to the bleeding gash, careful not to touch it with his fingers. As Bob had declared, it was hardly more than a scratch.
"I'd plaster it up," he said, as he staunched the bleeding, "but you'd better hike down to first-aid post and have it looked after there. You mustn't run chances of infection."
"I started for first-aid when I bumped into you. You're a welcome sight, believe me, Blazes!" Bob spoke with an intensity of affection. "I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw you standing there. Not a scratch on you, you good old scout! How any of us managed to live through that fracas beats me. Under fire, at last! Well, I guess so!"
"Maybe I'm not just as glad to see you!" Jimmy's gray eyes shone. His brief flash of joy changing to anxiety he asked: "Bob, have you seen any of the fellows? We've got to find out——"
"Rodge is all right," Bob quickly responded. "I saw him right after things quieted down. He's looking up Schnitz and Iggy now. As soon as I get this Boche memento plastered up I'm to meet him at the dugout we were in yesterday. He'll have found out about the boys by then."
"Go to it and get plastered, then. I'm going after Rodge. Look out while you're in the communication trench. If you hear awhishing sound, duck for cover. The Boches are likely to send over shrapnel, 'cause they know the stretcher men are using that communication trench now."
"Duck's the word. See you at the dugout."
With a wave of his hand, Bob hurried away. Jimmy watched him for a second, then started up the trench toward the dugout he and his bunkies had been using since their arrival in the trenches.
All the way he encountered stretcher men, busy with their ghastly work. Three times he stopped to aid them in lifting a wounded Sammy to a stretcher. By the time he reached the dugout he was feeling sick at the stomach. It was the sickness of fear, however. With every bleeding form he had seen, his heart had been in his throat lest in it he recognize Iggy or Schnitz.
Finally reaching the dugout, he was about to enter when he spied Roger coming down the trench toward him. Behind Roger were two disheveled, grim-faced men, whom he nevertheless recognized. Despite the restriction against using a handkerchief to staunch bleeding, one of them was holding that forbidden bit of linen to his cheek.
Uttering a shout, Jimmy ran toward them. "Oh, you fellows!" was his heartfelt cry of relief. "It takes more than a Boche thunderstorm to put the five Brothers out of business!"
The joy of that meeting, even under such grim circumstances, can be better imagined than described. To all it seemed unbelievable that they should have been spared to fraternize once more. The tears raced frankly down Ignace's smoke-blackened face as he crooned over Jimmy in Polish. He could find no English in which to express his utter happiness at seeing his best beloved Brother safe and sound. By common consent the quartet sought a dugout for a few minutes' talk. They were wild to compare notes.
"Take that handkerchief from your face," Jimmy commanded of Schnitzel. "Where's your first-aid packet?"
"Gone. Used it on one of my men. It didn't do him much good. He went West in my arms. This beauty spot on my cheek is nothing much."
Schnitzel's joy at seeing his friends vanished from his face, leaving it doubly somber.
"I've only one whole man in my squad," he said. "Curse the Boches!"
"Amen!" agreed Roger savagely. "They lost me two good men. They certainly soaked it to the fire trench."
"We went 'em one better," exulted Schnitzel. "Their artillery isn't in it with ours. It's a wonder they didn't slam their own fire trench. Some of those shells were aimed by Boche tailors, I guess. They certainly went wild. But, oh, Boy! What our batteries did to their trench was beautiful! Wish we'd gone over the top. We could have taken their first trench easy as wink."
"That's what I thought," put in Roger. "I expected every minute to get the order to go after 'em."
"We're too green yet, I suppose, for that," was Jimmy's opinion. "This stretch in the trenches is really our practice turn. Next time in, maybe, we'll get a chance to leg it across No Man's Land."
"That's what the Boches had up their sleeve," declared Schnitzel. "They've been on pins to find out our strength and all that. They haven't got much of a line on the Sammies yet. They'll know more about us when we get through with 'em, those that are left alive."
"So think I. By my squad have I the one man see get the head shoot off. Now will I soon the five Boche kill. So is it to pay thehead this poor man. This remember I when go over top. I will it do, I no get the croak firs'," vowed Ignace vengefully.
"A Polish vendetta." Schnitzel smiled faintly. "A five to one proposition like that suits me, though. I'll rid the earth of as many Fritzies as I can. If ever I get one where I want him, the Kamerad business won't go down with me. They say the dogs whine like anything for mercy in a bayonet charge. Cold steel gives 'em the Willies."
Having won safely through their first trial by fire, the Khaki Boys were full of rancor against the enemy. The horrible slaughter of their comrades had given Hate fresh impetus.
Bob presently returned, his face neatly plastered. Another joyful reunion took place between himself, Ignace and Schnitzel.
"Go and get your face fixed, Schnitz," he advised when the first effusion of greeting was over. "The first-aid fellows have their own hands full, but they'll do you up quick if you can get hold of one."
"I'm going to feed first," replied Schnitzel. "I didn't know I was hungry until I saw you guys. Seeing you all to the good brought back my appetite."
"I'm hungry, too. It's a queer game, isn't it? How a fellow can see his comrades go West by the shell road and then feel like eating is a puzzle to me," mused Roger.
"We're beginning to get used to the trenches," was Schnitzel's grim opinion. "A few more scraps like this and nothing will faze us. If we expect to be any good as fighters we've got to eat, no matter what happens."
A little later the five bunkies found breakfast very palatable, even after the horrors they had recently witnessed. The trench now fairly clear of wounded and dead men, the survivors sat along the fire step and hungrily devoured their stew and hot coffee.
After breakfast, sleep became the order of things, except for those detailed to various trench labors, particularly that of completely restoring the parapet. Men engaged in this task were relieved from time to time by a fresh detail, thus enabling all to get a few hours' rest. Except for occasional Boche shrapnel shells aimed principally at the communication trenches, all remained serene.
A communication trench is not easy to hit, as it makes use of everything available for cover. It is cut through the ruins of barns or houses and seeks in every possible way to conceal itself from enemy observation. As it must run indirectly at right angles to the fire trench and thus toward the German, its zig-zag, tortuous windings are necessary to keep it from being enfiladed by the enemy guns. When it reaches a spot bare of bushes, ruins or similar protection, it makes a quick turn to the right,then to the left, to the left once more, forming a partial square, which prevents the preceding bit of trench from being enfiladed.
It is generally about five feet deep and the earth taken from it is piled up on each side, forming mounds. Stakes are driven into it to a height of about two feet above its open top on each side, and between these stakes expanded metal is stretched to keep the piled-up earth in place.
Along the dirt walls on each side are rows of telephone wires. These belong principally to the artillery batteries. Failing to get a direct whack at a communication trench, the Germans are fond of shelling "at it" nevertheless. In consequence, their shrapnel does much damage to the top and sides of it. After a bombardment it keeps both engineers and sappers (wiring men) busy putting it in order again. Often the wires become so tangled that the various artillery signalers have great difficulty in locating their own.
In going to an advanced first-aid dugout to have their slight wounds dressed, Schnitzel and Bob had traveled back a little way through one of these trenches. By daylight it was teeming with activity. They passed sappers, engineers and various worried-looking persons, all of whom were busy putting the place to rights after the attack of the morning.
Bob, in particular, was so much impressed bywhat he had seen that, before going to sleep after breakfast, he wrote down a detailed description of the communication trench as it appeared to him. Proudly exhibiting it to Roger, he met with a severe shock.
"You'd better tear that up quick," was Roger's stern advice. "You mustn't carry it around with you. Suppose you got the order to go over the top. You'd go and maybe get killed. Then some Boche might get hold of that paper. It's information, you know."
"Oh, I'd tear it up if I knew I was going over," asserted Bob.
"You might forget to do it. Better be on the safe side and can it."
Grumbling a little, Bob reduced the fateful paper to bits.
"I guess I won't gather much data in this dump," was his regretful opinion. "If I write it in billet and try to send it home to Mrs. Blaise, the censor'll probably can it. I'll have to keep it all in my head. If a shell takes my head off, it'll be a great loss to the literary world and a greater one to Bobby."
"When the war's over and you get back to the U. S. you can scribble all you want to and no one will stop you," consoled Jimmy. "Won't that be nice?"
"Yes, when it is and when I do is something to gamble on," jeered Bob. "Another such shindig as this morning and Bobby may betaking a little trip West. I'm going to sleep and forget this pesky old ditch for a while."
Awakened toward the middle of the afternoon to relieve men who had been on duty, the five Brothers were kept busy by various tasks which they were called upon to perform. Quiet still prevailing, evening drew on with no signs of immediate hostilities on the part of the foe. All day they had prudently kept the smoke curtain across their lines in order to conceal their activities from the Americans.
Shortly before dark Jimmy Blaise was set aquiver with excitement when he received information that he had been chosen to make one of a scouting party who were to go out on a scouting expedition into No Man's Land.
The party was to start out at ten o'clock and creep across to the German lines in order to discover whether the Boches had repaired their wire entanglements or had still left lanes in them, preparatory to making a raid that night. They were also instructed to keep their eyes and ears open for anything else that might fall to their lot to see or hear.
Realizing that this scouting duty might be his last, Jimmy sought out his bunkies for a farewell word. Though it was still light, the order "stand to" had gone forth and half of the occupants of the front-line trench ranged along the fire step with bayonets fixed andready. The other half were still resting in the dugouts.
"I'm going out as a scout," he informed Bob, who was nearest to him.
"You don't say! Take me along!"
"Wish I could. I don't know who all is in the gang. Lieutenant Redmond's in command," Jimmy replied. "I've got to beat it and see the fellows before dark. Now will be my only chance to get a word with 'em. We're to start out at ten. See you again in a few minutes."
So saying, Jimmy went on down the trench to where Ignace, Roger and Schnitzel were usually stationed. He was not sure whether they were on duty or in a dugout. He soon came upon them. They were seated on the fire step not very far apart.
Jimmy's news brought a shadow of deep gloom to Ignace's solemn face.
"I no like," he said sadly. "I would by you go the care you to take. You no come back, I hope shail hit me then pretty quick."
"Cheer up, Iggins. I'll come back. Now shake hands. Not good-bye. Just for luck. I'll see you again to-night all right."
Ignace looked his deep distress as he mournfully shook his Brother's hand. He would not have minded going out on such a hazardous enterprise, but he hated to see Jimmy go.
Roger accepted the news very quietly. Therewas a wistful look in his blue eyes, however, as his hand met Jimmy's.
"Do be careful, Blazes," he urged. "Don't jump headfirst into something without looking before you jump. You're too blamed venturesome for your own good, you know."
"I'll be a regular slippery sleuth," Jimmy promised as he left Roger to go on to Schnitzel. "Schnitz," he began, "I'm going out on a scouting party. I——"
"So am I," was the amazing response.
"Under Lieutenant Redmond?" was Jimmy's excited query.
"Yep."
"Good work!" Jimmy brightened visibly. "Then we're in the same detail. It certainly suits Blazes."
"That's fine," glowed Schnitzel. "I was going to wait till a little later and tell you fellows. I intended to ask leave to have a word with you and Bob before I went."
Together the two walked to where Roger and Ignace were stationed. Pausing only to shake hands again with both, Jimmy went on to his station, leaving Schnitzel with his other two bunkies.
Shortly afterward Schnitzel came to bid Bob farewell. The latter did not look as cheerful as usual. Jimmy had already informed him that Schnitzel was also to be one of the party. Two bunkies going on a danger hike into NoMan's Land made Bob feel rather downcast. He kept his feelings to himself, however.
The same yearning light that had darkened Roger's blue eyes leaped into Bob's black ones as he shook hands with Schnitz and wished him a safe return. He could not help thinking that it would be a miracle if either Schnitz or Jimmy Blazes got back from the detail alive.
At exactly ten o'clock a cautious little party of nine men went through an embrasure in their own fire trench and set stealthy feet upon No Man's Land. Besides Lieutenant Redmond and the two non-coms, Jimmy and Schnitzel, there were three veteran infantrymen and three from the 509th Regiment. Lieutenant Redmond was also of the veteran contingent.
Safely on the ground, they passed through a lane purposely cut for exit in their own barbed wire. For a few feet they walked along, the officer in the center. The sending up of a German star shell caused the whole party to drop like a flash and hug the ground.
These star shells are used at night by both sides for the purpose of illuminating No Man's Land. They are fired from a tube somewhat resembling a pistol. When fired, they hang in the air for about twenty seconds, giving forth aradiant, silvery light, highly betraying to a scouting party.
Each member of the scouting party was armed with a bayonet and knife. Lieutenant Redmond was the only one of them to carry a pistol. Should they encounter a German patrol or scouting party they would be obliged to engage in hand-to-hand combat with its members. Battles such as they might have to engage in had to be fought out in the dark with noiseless weapons. The crack of a rifle or a pistol would immediately draw down upon the scouts the machine-gun fire from both sides, with the result that neither Boches nor Sammies would escape.
Following the ascent into the air of the star shell that had flattened the scouts to the ground, they separated, Lieutenant Redmond and two infantrymen crawling away together, the others in pairs. The point in their own sector from which they had made exit was nearest to the German fire trench.
Jimmy found himself creeping slowly along over the rough, uneven ground in company with one of the veteran Americans. On they went, side by side, scarcely breathing. Frequently they had to flatten themselves to the ground on account of star shells. Numerous shell holes also afforded them considerable cover. They had to be specially careful, however, of these same holes. To drop suddenly into one ofthem, unawares, they were likely to make enough noise to attract the attention of some sharp-eared enemy scout or perhaps a Boche sentry.
Little by little the two wormed their way across No Man's Land until at length they reached the Boche wire entanglements. Here the two separated, to travel in opposite directions along the wire, feeling every inch of it to determine if it were open at any point. The patrol had been divided so that each man had a certain section of enemy wire to account for.
His first feeling of nervousness vanished, Jimmy was beginning rather to enjoy his nocturnal adventure. Strongly imbued with the spirit of daring, this hazardous expedition appealed to him immensely. His right hand grasping his bayonet, his left lightly investigated the wire as he moved slowly along.
Instantly afterward his heart almost skipped a beat. His alert ears had caught the sound of voices, speaking in the guttural Boche tongue. He knew that these voices proceeded from the enemy fire trench. He wished he could understand German.
Pausing briefly to listen, he again started on. Grasping the wire, his hand moved gingerly along it. He stifled a little gasp as the groping hand suddenly dropped into space. Quick investigation revealed to him that he had discovered the very thing he had been sent outto learn. He had come upon a clean severing of the wires for a distance of about two feet.
Jimmy also discovered something else in the same moment. He landed squarely upon a form lying flat on the ground. Involuntarily a whispered "Great Guns!" issued from his lips.
"Blazes!"
Jimmy's incautious utterance alone saved him from bayoneting his own bunkie, Franz Schnitzel. Had Schnitzel not recognized him and whispered his name, Jimmy's bayonet would have done its deadly work.
In the darkness the two clung to each other without speaking. Each was trembling at the narrowly averted tragedy. As they lay there, the sound of voices from the trench could be plainly heard.
A quick pressure of his arm by Schnitzel informed Jimmy that Schnitz, at least, could understand what was being voiced by the near-by enemy. Still holding to Jimmy's arm, Schnitzel began to edge along. Obediently Jimmy followed him in the direction from which the German-American had come when the two bunkies had fallen over each other. A few feet and Jimmy understood. They were descending into a shell hole directly below the barbed-wire entanglement.
Hardly had they reached it when a star shell went up and hung directly over the spot theyhad just left. The shell crater was deep enough, however, to convince them that they could not have been seen from the enemy's fire trench.
For half an hour they lay there, scarcely making a movement, while Schnitzel listened to the talk that went on in the trench. One of the voices heard almost continually had a harsh, authoritative ring. It gave Jimmy the impression that it must undoubtedly belong to a German officer. He wished he could understand what the Boche was saying.
At last Jimmy felt Schnitzel's hand press over his body until it reached his head. An instant and Schnitzel's lips against his left ear breathed:
"Back to our lines quickly!"
Immediately the German-American began wriggling along, Jimmy following.
Presently they were out of the shell hole and had turned themselves toward their own lines. Although the scouting party had started out together, the men had been ordered to return singly or in couples to the American lines, using their own discretion as to the length of time they remained out.
Now began the ticklish task of crawling safely back to their own trenches. The nearer they came to the center of No Man's Land the greater grew their danger. Jimmy knew that Schnitzel's desire to reach the Americantrenches quickly meant that he had learned something of decided importance.
Coming to a shell hole a little over halfway across the danger land, Schnitzel pulled him into it. One side of this crater projected over, forming a little cave underneath it. Into this, as far back as he could go, Schnitzel piloted Jimmy.
"Listen," he breathed. "I've got to tell you this in case anything should happen to me before we get back. The Boches are going to try another raid at four o'clock. They're going to open fire at two o'clock. One of their crack Prussian regiments has just come into the fire trench. No matter what our guns do, they're coming over, several waves of them. They're going to use extra batteries of their biggest guns to smash our defenses. They're after prisoners to torture. I heard 'em brag what they're going to do to the dogs of Americans. Now I'm going to get out of here and beat it for our lines. Wait what you think to be ten minutes, and then follow me. One of us surely will get back with the word. Good-bye, Blazes. If I don't see you again I'd like you to remember what I say now: 'You're the whitest guy I ever knew and I love you!'"
"You're the bravest old sport I ever knew, and I'm all there with the reciprocity stuff," Jimmy whispered tensely.
The two bunkies gripped each other's handshard in the darkness. Then Schnitzel began to crawl away and out of the crater.
Directly he had gone, Jimmy crouched in the little cave, his ears straining to catch any sound that might proclaim disaster to his bunkie. Save for the occasional hiss of an ascending star shell, he could distinguish not even the faintest noise of a suspicious nature.
Waiting until he judged the ten minutes to have expired, he began his own perilous exit from the shell crater. He knew that the cave itself lay toward the German trenches. Crawling out of it he must continue straight ahead. The open side of the crater was toward the American lines. He could only hope that Schnitzel had also remembered this.
Climbing out of the hole, he decided upon a brave but reckless course of action. Getting to his feet he started for his own trenches, running lightly on his tiptoes. He knew that he was likely to crash headlong into a shell crater, or that a star shell might suddenly outline his upright running form with its silvery light. Still, he took a desperate chance on his fleetness of foot to reach his goal. Not for nothing had he won the hundred-yard dash at prep. school.
Luck was surely with him that night. He reached the American barbed wires without a single mishap, was challenged by a sentry, and passed on safely into the fire trench.
The first man encountered in the dugout, where he had been ordered to report on return, was Lieutenant Redmond, who had just returned, his uniform covered with mud and a gash across one cheek.
"Has Corporal Schnitzel returned, sir?" was Jimmy's anxious question.
"No. You are the first man back besides myself and one of the men who went with me. My other man, Drayton, was killed. We had a fight with two Boches. We killed both, but I lost a good man."
The lieutenant's voice was choked with anger. Drayton had been the best man in his platoon.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm glad you did up the Boches and got back safe. I haven't time to tell you the details of what happened to Schnitzel and me. The Boches are going to attack at two o'clock and come over at four. A crack Prussian regiment is now in their trenches and——"
"Come with me to headquarters!"
With this explosive command the lieutenant dashed out of the dugout, Jimmy at his heels. As he followed the officer's hurrying feet through the trench, Jimmy's mind was not on the coming attack but on Schnitzel. Had their good-bye in the little cave been a final farewell? Had No Man's Land really "got" Schnitz?
It seemed to Jimmy Blaise that he must have stayed a very long time in No Man's Land. In reality he had been away from his own lines hardly more than two hours. It had been only a little after midnight when he returned with the important communications intrusted to him by the still absent Franz Schnitzel.
The information Schnitzel had gleaned set headquarters in an orderly flurry of industrious preparation to beat Fritz at his own game. The wires of the communication trenches hummed continually with messages to the American batteries behind the lines. By one o'clock every man of the front-line trench units was "standing to" on the fire step ready to give the Boches a warm reception.
In darkness and in discreet silence the work of preparation went on. Every possible precaution was taken to spring upon the Fritziesthe surprise they trustingly expected to launch at the Sammies.
With the exception of Schnitzel the remainder of the scouting party had all returned by a little before one o'clock. They reported the finding of lanes cut in the enemy's wire entanglements, but that was all. Stellar honors had fallen to Schnitzel, whose knowledge of the German language had enabled him to obtain such valuable information. Schnitzel, however, did not appear to claim them. His mantle had partially dropped upon Jimmy's shoulders.
Jimmy had been roundly commended at headquarters for his work that night. Ordering him to be brief, the commanding officer had requested him to give an account of his scouting in No Man's Land. In telling his story, Jimmy gave Schnitzel full credit, explaining that he had been merely the German-American's messenger.
He left headquarters with a heavy heart. The fact that Schnitz had not reported there proved him to be still absent. Jimmy was fairly sure that the American batteries would open fire before long, thus stealing a march upon the enemy. The Boches would then get busy. What if Schnitzel were lying wounded upon No Man's Land? He would then be under the fire of both sides. And he had been the one to warn his own side of the purposed bombardment! It was too horrible to contemplate!
Back in his own place in the fire trench, Schnitzel's fate continued to haunt the heart-sick sergeant. Perhaps Schnitz was already dead. Perhaps he had gone down in hand-to-hand conflict directly after he and Jimmy had parted. Again, he might now be a prisoner. That would be even worse than death. As a German-American the Boches would wreak a ghastly vengeance upon Schnitzel.
Shuddering, Jimmy felt that he would prefer his bunkie to be dead rather than the prisoner of such inhuman fiends.
If only he could talk to someone. Bob was not far away. He might just as well be a thousand miles off. In that dark hour of waiting not a word more could be even whispered that was not actually necessary. Jimmy did not know that the rest of the scouting party had returned. He judged it to be at least one o'clock. The German bombardment was to begin at two. He wondered how soon the American batteries would open up.
At precisely half-past one the intense quiet of the night was shattered by the terrific roar of American batteries concentrated on the Boche trenches. A blinding red glare lighted up the sky at the rear of the Sammies' trenches. Over their heads shells screamed their devastating way across No Man's Land. Above the terrible din came the sighing moan of shells from the big guns. The American batterieswere at it in earnest. With one accord the Sammies leaped to the fire step and peered over the top of the parapet. It was too glorious a display of fireworks to miss. The Fritzies were getting a real "strafing" and the Khaki Boys proposed to see all that there was to be seen.
Undoubtedly the Fritzies were amazed to discover that their trap had been neatly sprung on them. Very soon, however, their own guns began to send over shells, causing the fire-step audience to get down into the trenches again. Boche shells began to hit the American fire trench, shattering portions of its parapet and dealing out death to the men behind it. The fight was on in earnest.
One shell landed just behind a parados, killing five men and causing the dirt to spout upward like a fountain. Another ripped away a section of parapet, wiping out half a dozen brave fellows.
Yet for every one shell the enemy sent over, the Sammy batteries had five with which to meet it. So heavy and concentrated was the fire of the American guns that it seemed as though the German front-line trench must soon be utterly demolished by it.
In the glaring light made by exploding shells, enemy forms could be plainly seen through the gaps rent in their parapet.
American machine guns, trained on these gaps, sent forth a raking fire of bullets. Thoughthe Sammies were having a hard enough time of it, the Boches were faring far worse.
For two hours the bombardment continued unceasingly on both sides. Toward daylight the German batteries put up a heavy barrage fire, which indicated that they intended to come over despite the frightful casualties they must have clicked.
The night had seen many Sammies fall to rise no more, and in the American fire trench the stretcher-bearers were constantly traveling up and down, bearing away the wounded.
The dead had to lie in the trench. Not until later would the rushed first-aid men have time to take them away.
Still the fire step was lined with intrepid Khaki Boys, who proposed to sell their lives dearly when at close grip with their hated antagonists.
Just at daybreak the German barrage fire suddenly lifted. Down the American line the order was passed to be ready. It was a never-to-be-forgotten moment for the Khaki Boys when they heard the man at the periscope shout:
"The Boches are coming over!"
Mounted on the fire step, rifles ready, the Khaki Boys saw wave upon wave of grayish-green-clad figures leaving their trenches to charge across No Man's Land, shooting from the hip as they trotted doggedly forward,driven like cattle by their officers. A German officer never leads his men.
Before they had traversed a dozen yards of No Man's Land an advanced American battery opened fire on that moving gray mass. Other American batteries began to speak and Sammy machine guns and rifles mowed them down with a merciless hail of bullets.
Completely demoralized by the wholesale slaughter of their comrades many of the Boches threw down their guns and ran for the American trenches to give themselves up. They could never have lived to get back to their own trenches. They had started across to take prisoners. Now they were glad to become prisoners.
Thus ended the Boche raid which, thanks to Franz Schnitzel, had been so effectively checked. The raid having failed utterly, the German guns suddenly slackened their fire. Gradually the American batteries ceased. Soon quiet settled down upon that scene of carnage; a stillness that was almost uncanny after the terrible racket that had made night hideous.
Details of Sammies herded their prisoners together and marched them off through the American trenches. What might have been a dreadful defeat to Uncle Sam's Boys had turned into a glorious victory. And all because of one man, who, perhaps, was long since beyond knowledge of the great service he had rendered his country.
In the bright sunlight of early morning, No Man's Land was a sight to behold. It was fairly covered with grayish-green forms, rifles, tin cups and accoutrements belonging to Fritz. Here and there one of the grayish-green figures was seen to move feebly. The majority, however, lay motionless. Uncle Sam's rifles and machine guns had done their deadly work only too well.
As for the German front-line trench, it was practically ruined. That it was still inhabited was proven by bullets which whined across No Man's Land every time a Sammy chanced to expose his body ever so little. Sammy sharp-shooters were also on the job, returning the compliment with interest when the least sign of a Hun was visible.
Looking through the periscope at the wreck across the way, Jimmy Blaise again marveled that he was alive and unhurt. Compared to thebombardment of last night his first experience of being under fire seemed mild. He wondered that so many of his comrades were still left in the fire trench, practically uninjured.
The American fire trench itself was a sickening sight. It was sticky with mud and blood and littered with the shattered bodies of dead Sammies, each in itself a ghastly horror.
Here and there detached arms and legs added to the gruesome spectacle. Not far from where Jimmy stood at the periscope lay the head and trunk of a Khaki Boy cut fairly in two by an exploding shell.
As yet the stretcher-bearers were too busy to remove these dreadful evidences of the night of carnage through which Jimmy had somehow passed unscathed.
Since the cessation of firing on both sides he had been picking his way through the trench, seeking his bunkies. His search, thus far, fruitless, Jimmy had paused briefly to look through the periscope.
He was savagely glad at the slaughtered Boches it revealed, yet his real object in viewing bloody No Man's Land was to see if, among that gray-green assemblage of motionless, distorted shapes, he could catch a flash of olive drab uniform that had once held a living, breathing bunkie, Franz Schnitzel.
Unable to discover that which his straining eyes eagerly sought, he turned away from theperiscope and stumbled on down the trench, blinded by the swift blur of tears. Where was Schnitz, and would he presently come upon Iggy, Bob and Roger, or what had once been his three Brothers?
He had hoped to find Dalton easily, as their stations were so close together, but he had seen no trace of cheery old Bob. His spirits dropped to zero, Jimmy poked a disconsolate head into a dugout. It was filled with wan-faced, disheveled men, nearly all of whom had sustained minor injuries, which they were attending to themselves with the help of first-aid packets.
Uttering a loud cry, Jimmy suddenly bolted into the dugout and straight to a corner where a man was engaged in binding up the injured wrist of another.
"Oh, you two!" he choked.
Dropping down at the feet of the busy pair he buried his face in his hands, sobbing out of sheer nervous relief.
"My ver' bes' Brothar!"
His wounded wrist forgotten, Ignace Pulinski jerked away from Roger Barlow and plumped down beside Jimmy, hugging the latter with his well arm.
"Blazes!" was all Roger could say as he bent and laid a hand on Jimmy's shoulder.
"Gee, but I'm a big baby!" Jimmy raised his head and beamed at his bunkies with wet eyes. "I guess I'm all in. I've seen so manydead ones in the last few minutes that I could hardly believe my own eyes when I lamped you two.
"Let go of me, you old Polish bear!" This affectionately to Ignace, whose good arm still encircled his neck. "Up on your feet and get that wrist fixed. You've pulled the bandage almost off of it."
Getting to his own feet, Jimmy hauled Ignace to a standing position.
"Now stand still, Iggins, and let me do you up," he commanded. "Does it hurt you much?"
"No-a. Never I feel sooch hurt. It is the little one from the piece shail. It is the hurt here." Ignace's well hand touched the region of his heart. "Think I, mebbe so is Jimmy, Bob, Schnitz, daid. Now is my heart better. Still is the ache we don' see the nothin' Bob an' Schnitz. Roger have no get the scratch. For that am I the glad. Now see you are the all to him good. It is the great happiness."
"Rodge and I are a couple of lucky guys." Jimmy's tones vibrated with thankfulness. "I can't find Bob. I think he must have been wounded. His station was near mine. I've hunted all along there among——"
Jimmy paused. The horror of that search robbed him of words to continue.
"We were going to hunt for you as soon as I tied up Iggy's wrist. We've looked forSchnitz." Roger's voice was rather unsteady. "His station was near ours. I'm afraid he never came back——"
"He's missing." Jimmy shook his head sadly. "But he did his bit all right for the Army." Triumph rang in this tribute to his absent bunkie. "We met last night out there."
Lowering his voice, Jimmy recounted the events of the scouting party. His gray eyes glowed with pride as he told of Schnitzel's splendid achievement.
"And to think that he couldn't be the one to come back with the news he risked his life to get! It makes me sick," Jimmy ended with a groan.
"Splendid old Schnitz," eulogized Roger. "A real Brother from the word go. I thought as much of him as of you and Bob and Iggins, even if I hadn't known him as long."
"No one could help liking him. He was my idea of a thorough-going man. I know we've got to expect this horrible business of losing one another, but it comes hard. Tough luck!"
"Mebbe Schnitz no daid. Mebbe him prisonar," faltered Ignace. "So think I better be daid than go live by Boche."
"Here, too," agreed Jimmy bitterly. "I'd rather think him dead ten times over than at the mercy of those black-hearted fiends. We ought to treat the prisoners we took the sameway they've threatened to do to our men. But we won't. We're human and they're inhuman.
"We've got to get busy and find Bob," he reminded. "I'd be as much in the dumps about him as Schnitz, if it wasn't that I know that whatever has happened to him, he's not a prisoner of the Hun dogs. I'm going out now to look again for him. You fellows wait here for me. We'll soon have coffee and grub handed us. I'll take a hike up the trench and come back in time to eat with you. Afterward I'll go at it again unless I get a detail that'll keep me from it. Last night's fracas means hard work all day and lots of it."
Leaving his bunkies in the dugout, Jimmy retraced his steps through that ghastly lane of dead men. Every few paces he paused to stare darkly at a still form, the face of which was smashed beyond identification.
Frequently he stooped over such an one and examined the identification tag attached to the left wrist. He also kept a sharp look-out for a gold service ring which Bob had worn on the ring finger of his right hand. The four Brothers had service rings exactly alike, save for the initial engraved on each plate. These rings had been given them by the Blaises during that memorable Christmas furlough spent with Jimmy's parents.
This careful scrutiny of the dead, coupled with the constant passing to and fro ofstretcher-bearers, made his progress through the trench very slow. The groans of the wounded wrenched his heart. Often he stopped and held his water bottle to the lips of a pain-crazed Sammy, who moaned piteously for water. Again a stretcher-bearer would solicit his help in placing a wounded soldier gently upon a stretcher.
It was during one of these labors of mercy that Jimmy stumbled upon news of Bob. Assisting a couple of first-aid men to place the bleeding wreck of an infantryman upon a stretcher, one of them looked sharply over and said:
"I think we took a friend of yours back quite a while ago. A black-eyed, curly-haired chap. I saw him with you after the bombardment the other morning when we came up here to carry off the casualties. He was at the dugout afterward to get his face fixed up. The plaster was still on it when we took him back this morning."
"That's Bob! What happened to him?" Jimmy fairly shouted his question.
"Knocked out by a piece of shell. It grazed his scalp and put him to sleep. Nothing very serious. Come along with us and you can see him. We'll fix it for you," was the kindly offer.
"You're all to the mustard," Jimmy responded gratefully. "Will I go along? Well, you bet."
Trotting along behind the stretcher, Jimmy was soon in the communication trench. A short walk brought him to a first-aid dugout. It was full of cots, on which lay wounded soldiers, many of whom would soon be on the way to a hospital back of the lines.
"There's your man." Pointing to a cot, the good-natured stretcher-bearer immediately turned to attend to his work.
Jimmy, however, did not need direction. He had already spied Bob.
"Hello, Blazes," greeted a faint but cheerful voice, as Jimmy reached the cot. Very white, his head bandaged, Bob's grin was still in evidence.
Tears again rushed to Jimmy's eyes as he grabbed the hand Bob stretched out to him.
"I've been hunting you ever since the guns quit," he said brokenly. "Are you hurt any place besides your head?"
"Nope. A piece of shell barked my venerable cocoanut. The rainmaker had to put a few stitches in it. It's all right now. I'm going to dig out of here first chance I get. I'll be back in the nice safe fire trench before night. Just watch my speed. Maybe I'm not tickled to see you, you blazing Blazes! What about Roger, Iggy and Schnitz?"
Bob's voice rose in worried alarm.
"Roger is O. K. Iggy got his wrist gashed by a bit of shell. Schnitz——"
Jimmy gulped.
"Gone West?"
The question came almost in a whisper.
"Missing. Never came back from No Man's Land."
Rapidly Jimmy again related all he knew of Schnitzel. When he had finished, a heavy silence descended upon the two.
"Poor Schnitz!" Bob said at last. "Brave, wonderful Schnitz, I mean. He was all A. and no G. Well, Blazes, it's a great life, but it doesn't last long. We do our little bit of a bit and away we go, Westward bound. What we miss to-day we'll get to-morrow, maybe. The Glory Road is a pretty dangerous thoroughfare these days. Just the same, it's the only road any right-minded fellow can travel. I'm not sorry I took to it. Hope I last long enough to run a few Boches into the ditch."
"The 'ditch' is full of 'em this morning," was Jimmy's grim response. "Most of that crack Prussian regiment is taking a long sleep out there in No Man's Land. Their fire trench is all smashed in and the Dutchies don't dare show a head. Our fellows are potting 'em right along. You ought to see it."
"I'm going to."
Bob swung his legs over the side of the cot and stood up, swaying a little. "Hang the rainmakers," he grumbled. "Bobby was a sick Sammy, but he's improving werry fast.Come on, let's beat it out of here. I'm going back to the fire trench and enjoy myself. My pack is kicking around here somewhere. That shell did for my helmet. You'd better go on ahead. I'll follow soon. Goodness knows what happened to my rifle. I can get another easily enough."
Jimmy could not help smiling. Nothing short of utter disablement would keep restless Bob long in bed.
"You lie down and take it easy," he admonished. "I'm going back to tell the fellows you're still alive and kicking."
"Sure I'm alive," grinned Bob. "Kicking, of course I am. Who wouldn't be? Do you think a little biff on the bean is going to keep Bobby indoors? Nix. You go ahead and break the glad news to Iggins and Rodge. I'll rustle up my lost traps and kiss this place good-bye. They've got their hands full here. They'll never miss me."
Thus urged, Jimmy left the first-aid dugout and hurried back to the front-line trench to apprise his bunkies of the good news. Good old Bob had been spared to them. He thanked God for that. Yet his heart was heavy with sadness, as he thought of Franz Schnitzel.
He could not reconcile himself to believe that he would never see Schnitz again. Within him rose a curious conviction that their good-bye in the shell crater had not been a final farewell.He had a "hunch," as it were, that Schnitz and himself would meet again, and before long.