CHAPTER III Starting a Big Job

LIEUTENANT Herbert Whitcomb stood for a long half minute watching the slowly disappearing Red Cross ambulance. The car merely crept on down the long, straight road, as though the driver were loath to leave his companion of the last twenty-four hours, as indeed he was, for these old Brighton boys, meeting thus on a foreign shore and bent on much the same business, had become closer friends than when at school.

“I wish,” Herbert was thinking, “that Don would get into the army service and could get assigned with me. He’d make a crackerjack of a scrapper; the real thing. But I suppose they’ve got him tied to hospital work.”

Then, after saluting the guard and saying a word or two to an orderly who was waiting to receive or to reject visitors, mostly the latter, the young lieutenant passed inside. Ten minutes later he emerged again with a happy smile on his face and, accompanied by several other men who had also returned to duty after the healing of minor wounds, Herbert Whitcomb led the way to a waiting motor car and presently was speeding away to the fighting front, all of his present companions being assigned, with him, to the Twenty-eighth Division and to a company that had suffered serious depletion because of many violent attacks against the stubborn Hun resistance in the drive beyond Rheims and on the Vesle River.

Herbert was far from being disappointed over the fact that he was not to rejoin his old battalion. Both his major and his captain had been invalided home and could never lead the boys again; several of his comrades-in-arms, among them three old Brighton boys, had been killed or pitiably wounded; there had been such a thinning out of their ranks that nothing but a skeleton of them remained, which must indeed be only depressing, saddening as a reminder. Moreover, this division had now been put in reserve where the American sector joined that of the British and was doing no fighting.

Much rather would the boy take up new duties with new comrades, feeling again the complete novelty of the situation, the test of relative merit, the esprit de corps of personal equation anew. But however glad he was to get back again into the maelstrom of do and dare, a satisfaction inspired both by sense of duty and the love of adventure, he did not welcome the opportunity more than the boys of the —th welcomed him. Before Captain Lowden and First Lieutenant Pondexter received Herbert they had been made acquainted, from Headquarters, with Whitcomb’s record and it meant good example and higher morale for an officer, however young, to be thoroughly respected by the rank and file.

And then, within a few hours back again into the full swing of military precision and custom, the young lieutenant was ready for anything that might or could come.

“The orders are to advance and take up a position on the up slope of that brown field on the other side of this little valley and thus try out the enemy; after which we may go on and attack him. So much from Headquarters. In my opinion the Colonel will say to just go ahead without bothering to try them out.” Thus spoke Captain Lowden at a brief conference of his officers, immediately prior to the line-up after early morning mess. And then he added, by way of sounding the human nature of his under officers:

“What would you say about that, gentlemen?”

Herbert waited until the first lieutenant should express himself. Pondexter was a grave and serious-minded fellow, oldish beyond his years, rather slow of speech, studious, thoughtful, austere.

“We don’t know how strong the Germans may be there,” he said, “and it would not be very wise, it seems to me, if an offensive were made against greatly superior numbers intrenched, or within strong, defensive positions. But if we first try them out then we can——”

The captain did not wait for the lieutenant to finish, but suddenly turned to Herbert:

“I’d take a gamble on it and go over the hill,” the young officer suggested. “We can be pretty sure, judging from the enemy’s general distribution all along the line, that just at this point they do not greatly outnumber us; there can hardly be double our number. We are good for that many any day.”

Captain Lowden laughed joyfully and slapped his knee. He was a young fellow from Plattsburg and Camp Meade, an ex-football star, athletic in build, quick in his motions and decisions, stern, yet kindly toward his men and greatly loved by them. He had already proved his heroism near Vigneulles, during the St. Mihiel battle, when the German salient was being flattened. He gazed at his new second lieutenant in a manner that quite embarrassed that youthful officer; then the captain said:

“You’ll do! Your predecessor is in a hospital in Paris; I hope you don’t have to go there, but can stay with us. And I am blamed glad they pushed you right on through the replacement divisions and landed you here.”

“Oh, thank you! I—I—don’t——” But the captain paid no attention to Herbert’s stammering reply, and continued:

“And I hope the general tells the colonel to send us right on over the hill.”

Perhaps that is what the brigade commander did, or perhaps the colonel decided the matter on his own initiative; it would require a good deal of cross-questioning and then much guessing, probably, to determine these matters. Anyway, the battalion of four companies, each originally of two hundred and fifty men, but now considerably reduced, some of them to only half their number in spite of replacements from the reserve divisions in the rear, now advanced almost as though on parade, except that they were strung out, wide apart, making no attempt to keep in step.

And no sooner were they under way than the watchful enemy made the Yanks aware that their intentions were understood, for almost instantly the desultory firing of heavy shells and shrapnel aimed at our boys was increased tenfold. Added to this was the continuous roar of the latter’s own barrage, the combined American and French artillery sending over far more than shell for shell in the effort to cripple and stop the German field pieces and to chase the enemy to cover.

Of the four companies that composed the battalion advancing across this short open space with their objective the top of the slope between two wooded points, Captain Lowden’s company, composed mainly of very young men, proved to be the most rapid walkers. It appeared also that Whitcomb’s platoon, taking example from Herbert, speeded up until it was considerably in advance of those on either of its flanks. The advantage of this haste seemed evident: the abruptly rising ground and the fringe of trees at the top offered a natural shelter against the enemy fire. Thus only one larger shell landed and burst near enough to the platoon to do any harm, but that was a plenty. It tore a hole in the ground about a hundred feet behind Herbert and the flying pieces killed two privates, wounded two others, the concussion throwing several violently to the ground, the lieutenant among them.

Herbert regained his feet instantly, looking to see the damage and calling for a runner to hurry back for an ambulance. The lad dashed away and a man, heavy-set, with the sleeve marks of a sergeant, marching some distance in the rear, offered the remark, with what seemed a half sneer:

“Red Cross car just down the hill, coming up.”

“Don’t see it. Sure of that?” There was something in the fellow’s manner that nettled the young lieutenant and he spoke sharply, quickly; he must get back to his men. Then he added:

“Who are you?”

“Liaison officer. With the Thirty-fifth Division and this one.”

“Where are your men?” Herbert turned to go.

“Scattered around, of course, and on duty.” The man spoke with an attempt to appear civil, but it was clearly camouflage; his habitual contemptuous expression and lowering glance indicated all too plainly that he possessed some animosity toward the lieutenant. Herbert, noting this, wondered. He had never seen the fellow before; evidently the dislike was sudden, mutual. Whitcomb ran on up the hill and rejoined his men, never once looking back, and the incident was at once almost forgotten.