CHAPTER IV “Into the Jaws of Death”

ON the platoons went, gaining the top of the low hill that crowned the valley slope and then—suddenly the terrors of real war descended with one swift stroke and bit and tore and gnashed with even more than their usual fury.

Captain Lowden had been walking with a French guide up the slope and not far from where Herbert preceded his men. A moment before the former had gained the top and come within sight of the enemy’s front-line defenses, hardly a second before the outburst of machine-gun fire from the entrenched foe, the captain had turned to his second lieutenant.

“He says,” meaning the guide, “that right over the hill is the edge of the famous Argonne Forest. It is a wild place; the Huns have chosen to make a stand in it and they have boasted that nothing will be able to dislodge them. But we shall see, my boy; we shall see!”

How false was this boast of the Germans has been well and repeatedly set forth in the history of the Great War. Among America’s most glorious deeds on the fields of battle; among the most heroic annals of all warfare the bitter fight for the possession of the Argonne Forest may be ranked with the highest. Perhaps nowhere on earth has the grit and bravery of men at war been so sorely put to the test as in this struggle of exposed attacking troops against thoroughly trained and efficient soldiers with the skill of expert snipers behind well masked machine guns.

The French, long practiced in the art of war, asserted that this wide tract which had been held by the Germans since 1914 had been made defensively impregnable. According to all previously held standards it was a place to avoid, but the Yanks took a different view of it; the Huns must be dislodged and the former were the lads who could, in their expressive slang, “make a stab at it,” and this in the early morning of the 26th of September, 1918, they were beginning to do.

Every soldier engaged in this stupendous undertaking had his work cut out for him and everyone knew this for a man’s size job. Therefore, each Yank went at the task as it deserved, do or die being virtually every fighter’s motto. Throughout the long, bent line made up of the four combat divisions of infantry and their machine-gun battalion that now advanced toward the densely wooded hills, backed by brigades of artillery, there was one simultaneous forward movement with the two other army corps stretching eastward between the Aire and the Meuse Rivers. And there was one common purpose: to rout the Huns, destroy them or drive them back the way they had come. Never before in the history of wars had there been a clearer understanding among all ranks as to what was expected of the army at large and just what this forward movement was meant to accomplish.

For the glory of America, for the honor of the corps, the division, the regiment, the battalion, the company, the platoon; for the sake of justice and humanity and for the joy of smashing a foe that had not played fair according to the accepted rules of warfare, the determination that led this force ahead could not have been excelled. And therein individual bravery and heroism enacted a very large and notable part in the victory over foes numerically almost as strong and having the great advantage of position.

As the line swept up the hill, Lieutenant Whitcomb noted the various expressions on the faces of those about him. Many of the boys were very serious and quiet, some positively grim because fully aware of what they must shortly encounter and were for the moment only shielded from by the terrain. Others seemed unchanged from their habitual cheerfulness, even bantering their fellows, and a little bunch of evident cronies started up a rollicking song, but in subdued voices.

Herbert heard one man near him call to another:

“A Frog who talked United States told me that the Heinies are a bad bunch up here!”

“These here Frogs know mostly what’s what!” was the reply. Herbert knew that “Frog” meant Frenchman; it was the common term used among the Americans, inspired, no doubt, by the idea that batrachians are a favorite dish with the French, though they cannot be blamed for their choice.

“A sky-shooter gave me the dope that the Jerries are just inside the woods,” another man said. “Reckon we’re goin’ to get it right sudden when we top the rise.”

“There’s goin’ to be some Limburgers short if I kin see ’em first!” said another, laughing.

One prediction proved true, in part at least; the line topped the rise—and got it. The barrage and preliminary artillery fire had done little in this case; bullets, or even high-powered shells could not penetrate far nor do much damage within the dense forest. But it was very different with the enemy among the trees and rocks; they could see out from these natural shelters well enough to choose clear spaces for shooting.

And shoot they did. As the Americans went over the first little hilltop across the nearly level ground towards the woods beyond, the streaks of flame in the misty atmosphere and the rat-tat-tat-tr-r-r of machine guns became incessant. The enemy also was on to his job, had his work well planned and it was now being well executed.

Did an order to charge on the double-quick come along the American line? Or was it rather a common understanding born of the impulse to get at an enemy that was capable of doing so much damage unless quickly overcome? At any rate, the men broke into a run, with no attempt at drill about it; every one for himself and yet with the common notion to work with his fellows, to support and be supported by them.

Herbert’s men, being still a little in advance, seemed to draw more of the enemy’s fire than they otherwise might have done. At one moment there was the full complement of men, a little separated from their company comrades, charging toward the enemy positions; in the next sixty seconds there was not two-thirds of this number dashing on, and in another minute, by which time they had gained the wood, less than half of their original number were in action.

It will be remembered that Lieutenant Herbert Whitcomb had been in several charges when serving in the trenches; a half dozen times he had “gone over the top.” In one desperate and successful effort to regain lost ground and then to forge ahead over a hotly contested field he had seen his men go down; in holding a shell hole gun pit, in springing a mine, in finally victoriously sweeping back the Germans when they were driven from Montdidier where he had been gassed, he had witnessed many bloody encounters, missed many a brave comrade. But here was a new and more terrible experience. The Americans had forced the fighting into the open, and yet again and again they were compelled to meet the foe within well prepared and hidden defenses; therefore, the offensive Yanks must suffer terribly before the Huns could be dislodged.

The boys in khaki knew only that before them, somewhere from among the trees, the enemy was pouring a deadly machine-gun and rifle fire, sweeping the open ground with a hail of bullets in which it seemed impossible for even a blade of grass or a grasshopper to exist. The miracle was that some of the boys got through untouched, or were but slightly hurt. Those who had nicked rifle stocks, cut clothing, hats knocked off, accouterments punctured and even skin scratches were perhaps more common than those entirely unscathed.

Yet through they did go; and in the midst of the sheltering trees at last, where now the Yanks, too, were in a measure protected and where almost immediately a form of Indian fighting began, the Americans still advancing and stalking the enemy from ambush, in like manner to the German defense.

The Yanks took no time to consider the toll of their number out there in the open and to the very edge of the forest, where men lay dead and wounded by the score, the ground half covered, except that the desire was to avenge them, to destroy the cause of the loss among their comrades. And this was a very palpable desire, serving to increase the fury of the offensive.

More than ever among the trees it was every man for himself; yet every man knew that his surviving comrades were fighting with him, and while this sort of thing strengthens the morale it was hardly needed here, for each man depended also on his own prowess, and there were many who, had they known that every one of their companions had been shot down, would alone have gone right ahead with the task of cleaning up the Argonne Forest of Huns. Numerous cases of this individuality were shown and will be forever recorded in history to the glory of the American fighting spirit, being all the more notable on account of the German boast that the Americans would not and could not fight, and they could expect nothing else than overwhelming defeat if they should attempt to combat the trained soldiers of the Central Empire.

In the advance across the open the singing and striking of small arm bullets accompanied by the roar of many running feet was the principal impression which Lieutenant Whitcomb received; the purpose of charging the enemy and overcoming him was so fixed in Herbert’s mind as to be altogether instinctive. Several times he glanced aside to see a comrade tumble forward or, going limp, pitch to the ground with his face ever toward the enemy. Several times the lieutenant but just observed the beginning of struggles in agony or the desire to rise and go on again. Once, after a particularly savage burst of fire concentrated from the forest upon his men, when several fellows in a bunch went down and out of the fight and the line for a moment wavered a little, the boy officer called out sharply:

“Steady, fellows, steady! Keep right on! We’re going to get those chaps in there in a minute and make them sorry we came!”

Then a moment later, when they were among the trees, he turned again to call to his platoon, within hearing at least of the nearest, though he could not have told how many of his men were with him, how many had survived the terrible ordeal of the charge in the open:

“Now, men, go for ’em in our own way! Trees and rocks—you know how to make use of them! Give them a taste of their own medicine, only make it ten times worse! Forward!”