CHAPTER XXI Once More the Offensive

WHIZZ! Plunk! Bang!

The men in each of the stone shelters gazed at their comrades not in surprise, not in question, but with returning horror at the bursting of the shell; some shuddering, others putting their hands over their faces. And into the midst of the bunch closest the watch came charging young Judson, his face livid, his eyes staring, his mouth limp and jabbering, as one driven insane. He caught the nearest man by the arm and flinging himself on his knees cowered behind Wilson’s legs.

“Another one,” remarked the corporal, “but this is plain shell-shock. Wait till we get the lieutenant here. Tomlinson, you tell him.”

This tall soldier, always erect, ready, precise, who now stood near the door, was more averse than any of the squad, excepting Jennings, to getting under cover. He barely stooped as he left his shelter and passed along to the other one. At its doorway he gave Herbert the message. Then he turned to go, but fell back limp into the lieutenant’s arms. Other hands stretched to assist; as they laid him on the floor only a glance was necessary to learn his fate.

“Men, another! They’re slowly and surely getting us. At this rate our friends won’t be here soon enough. And Judson out of it, too. There are only six of us left here; if they knew that down yonder they’d have us in ten minutes. Come, you fellows, we’ll call this hut the morgue and bring Jennings in here, too; the other must be the hospital. Hands and knees now and carefully!”

Death was solemn enough, but the horror on poor Judson’s face called from the others words of sympathy for the victim and of detestation of the enemy. It was all in the practice of war, of course, but such heart-touching incidents bring the natural hatred of foemen uppermost. Those of the little squad who now remained were none the less eager to hold out and fight.

Then came another shell, striking and exploding outside of the rocks again and had Wilson possessed nerves as sensitive as those of young Judson there would have been another case of shell-shock, for both men had been previously jarred and shaken. It is generally the continued and persistent menace of these horrible spreaders of death and destruction that drive men into a chronic fear that utterly overmasters their strength of will. As it was, splinters of stone and shell flew through the lookout opening and struck the watcher in the head, painfully, though not seriously wounding him. Back he came, crawling and bleeding, as poor Jennings would have said, “like a stuck pig.” Don bound Wilson’s head; then the leader said:

“Men, there is really no alternative for us. We cannot wait longer here. Something has happened to Gill, or he would stop that gun again. We must get out of here by the hilltop and then Wilson will stick up a white rag. Come on!”

The surviving five—Herbert, Don, the corporal, Kelly and Farnham—shook hands with Wilson; then creeping farther into the shadows, gained the dense growth above. At the brow of the hill Herbert again addressed his followers:

“We must make a choice here, boys. Are we to lie low, hide, hoping for the drive to reach us; are we to try to get through the German first line positions, as suggested before, or are we to stay on the job and take it out on those gunners? If you will all join me, let us go for the chaps who have played the Old Scratch with us for the last two hours.”

“I’m with you, Lieutenant,” Farnham said.

“Of course we are,” said Kelly.

The corporal smiled and nodded eagerly.

“Then, Lieutenant Richards, we are under your leadership,” Herbert said. “You know how you and Gill went about it. Go to it, old sport!”

And go they did, sneaking through the thickets like boys playing Indian or hunters stalking game, Don leading the way, and they came out at the exact spot that he and Gill had reached, but there was no sign of the mountaineer.

The German field piece was in the same place as before and an artillery squad of seven or eight new men had been working the gun. Having noted the white flag, a bit of poor Tomlinson’s shirt, on a stick they had stopped shooting while Hun officers investigated the inside of the recent stronghold of the Yank squad. But the Hun artillery men were not idle. They had received orders of a more exacting character than the shooting up of a small squad of Americans; now they were to shoot at the American Army and to join in the effort to stem its advance. So each man was engrossed with his duties: the cleaning of the piece, the oiling of mechanisms, the storing of shells for immediate and rapid use when the occasion demanded.

“Now then, men,” said Don, “we’ll select a moment when all of them seem particularly busy and at the word let them have it; then charge. Herb, you take the fellow at the extreme left; I’ll take the next man; Farnham, you take the third in the line; Kelly the fourth. Corporal, that big guy with the specs is yours. And hit ’em, boys; fire at command! Now then, are you ready?”

What followed was a complete surprise to all concerned, Americans and Germans alike. The little bunch of avenging Yanks had planned to spring something, most unexpected, upon their foes and the Huns themselves figured upon doing their duty. Was this for them a fateful spot, or was the gun an unlucky piece, as such things are often said to be? One squad had been nearly wiped out here working the gun and now——

The big shell, fired from a French or an American large caliber gun, may have been aimed with precision from information given by an Allied airplane high in air, or it may have sent its terrible messenger partly at random, hoping that it might land somewhere even near a Hun position. And as Don said afterward, the missile must have had good luck written all over it, for it performed its mission fully.

As the avengers raised their rifles and waited for the deliberate word to aim and fire, their eyes fixed upon those gray-green figures in the open grove, they heard the whine of the great shell and amid the many long streaks of flame, the volcanic-like dust, smoke and flying particles of a great explosion, the entire Hun squad, with the long gun and the boxes of shells exploding also, disappeared. For many minutes the Americans crouched there in silent awe.

“First message from our lines! Good omen!” Herbert declared.

“Effective, anyway, but awful,” Don said.

“Our boys are coming up through the valley!” Farnham exclaimed. “Didn’t you hear that yell down there? It was a Yank cheer, sure!”

They all stood, listening intently and were swiftly convinced. The firing had become very rapid; there were other sounds of battle as though an attack, fast and furious, were being made. The positions of the Hun platoon far down the hill and just below the spruces were being assailed.

“Let’s go meet them!” Herbert shouted; then turned, laughing. “Any of you fellows had dinner recently?”

“Me for chicken, waffles and ice cream, P.D.Q.!”

“Mush and molasses wouldn’t go bad, but I could stand steak!”

“A good old Irish stew for mine, with plenty of gravy!”

“Can’t we make a short cut, Lieutenant?” They could and did; straight down the hill, through the dense thickets, everyone racing, but Don was well in the lead, this sort of thing being familiar work to him. Suddenly he halted, dodged back and much effort was required of him to stop all of the others.

“Herb, there’s a bunch of Huns ahead, with machine guns.”

Herbert peeped. “They’re in a position to do our boys an awful lot of damage. We could get around them, but we won’t. Ready, men; we’re going to take that crowd by surprise. There are nine of them, two depleted squads, but if we surprise them quickly——”

“They are our meat, Lieutenant,” the corporal said and Kelly echoed:

“We’ll eat ’em alive!”

Down on all fours went the five, creeping in single file after Herbert, who, in turn, followed Don. Around a cluster of birches they crept; then into a mass of prickly furze that shielded them well and yet could prove a telltale if much disturbed. This occasioned slow going, but beyond was a clearer space with clumps of high grass as a wide shield. Don caught the advantage, whispered to Herbert and the commander motioned to the three others to come up, all then having an even start. After a little pause the word was given and a second later the five men were leaping down, straight at the machine gunners and almost behind the Huns, all of whom were gazing expectantly into the valley.

A German officer wheeled about and his hand went to his pistol; someone fired and the fellow dropped. Another grabbed a gun, making a club of it, and a pistol shot put him out of business. The other officer tried to swing the machine gun around, but a rifle butt full in his face jarred the notion out of him. The remaining men, more surprised than if a snow squall had struck them and taken completely off their guard, saw no alternative but to fling their arms upward and shout rather unintelligible German, one word of which was recognized as “kamerad.” Ten minutes later, disarmed, but not appearing terribly dejected, the six able-bodied fellows, carrying their injured comrades, were headed down through the woods.

Putting the machine guns out of action caused Herbert a moment’s delay; Don remained by him. One of the prisoners addressed the latter in pure German, of which the boy understood enough to get the general meaning.

“Herb, he says there’s an Amerikaner, wounded, back here in the bushes. It may be Gill. Had we better go see?”

“Sure! You and I. Corporal, hold those chaps; if they try to make a break, you men know what to do. Come on, Don!”

Into the hilltop thicket the boys, spreading out, forced their way. Presently Herbert called: “Hello! Anyone in here?” An answering call came from somewhere ahead. The lads came together and advanced again, going fully fifty yards in all from the more open woodland on the slope. A big pine towered ahead and as usual there was a small cleared space here, into which the boys went hurriedly. A khaki-clad figure lay on the ground, hands and feet tied with twine. Herbert and Don ran toward it.

“Hands oop, Amerikaner” came a terse command from the bushes and with that four Huns, with rifles ready, leaped out confronting them.