Army Boys in the French Trenches

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"I guess to-morrow's the big day," remarked Frank, as he looked out at
the settling mists.

"High time," grumbled Tom. "I'd grow stale if we had to wait much
longer."

The regiments slept on their arms that night, and an hour before dawn
all were astir and in their places. There was no special artillery fire,
such as usually preceded big attacks. It was given to the tanks to level
the entanglements of the enemy and open up the gaps for the troops to
swarm through.

The hour dragged by until within ten minutes of the time appointed for
the assault. Then a monotonous hum filled the air as the motors of the
tanks tuned up. Down through the black lines of waiting soldiers the
gray monsters slowly made their way, passed through the gaps made in the
defences and led the way into the desolate stretch of No Man's Land.

Even to the friendly eyes that watched them there was something weird
and frightful in their aspect. It was as though the huge brutes of the
prehistoric world had taken form before them. Even those monsters had
never carried within them such death-dealing power.

As the sea closes in the wake of a ship, the troops fell in behind the
tanks, and the silent procession took up the march toward the German
lines.

Hardly a sound beyond the labored breathing of the tanks broke the
stillness. It might have been an army of ghosts.

On they went, and with every step the conviction grew that the surprise
would be complete. No thunder broke from the enemy guns. No fiery
barrage swept the dense ranks, exacting its toll of wounds and death.
For once the Hun was asleep.

Nearer and nearer. Then like so many thunderbolts at a hundred different
points they struck the German lines and the tanks went through!

CHAPTER XIII

CAUGHT NAPPING

Nothing could stand before the terrific impact of the war tanks.

There was a grinding, tearing, screeching sound, as wire entanglements
were uprooted. These had been strengthened in every way that German
cunning could invent, but they bent like straws beneath the onslaught of
the gray monsters. A cyclone could not have done the work more
thoroughly.

There was no need now for further secrecy, and with a wild yell the
Allied troops swarmed through the gaps, sending a deadly volley before
them, supplemented by thousands of grenades.

At the same instant, the Allied artillery opened up and laid a heavy
barrage fire over the heads of the onrushing troops.

The blow came down on the Germans with crushing force. The surprise was
complete. Every detail of the great drive had been mapped out with the
precision of clockwork, and so nicely had it been timed that on every
part of the long line the shock came like a thunderbolt.

A horde of Germans rushed up from the trenches and poured in a great
stream into the open. The earth seemed to disgorge itself. They came
shouting and yelling in wild consternation, their eyes heavy with sleep
and their faces pallid with fear.

Fear not so much of the Allied troops rushing upon them. These they had
faced in many battles, and though they knew the mettle of their foes,
they were still men who could be faced on even terms. But their courage
gave way when through the spectral mists they saw the wallowing monsters
bearing down on them like so many Juggernauts, crushing, tearing, mowing
them down as though they were insects in the path of giants.

The men fled helter-skelter in the wildest panic that had come upon them
since the outbreak of the war. In vain their officers shouted and cursed
at them. The iron bonds of discipline snapped like threads. Soldiers
rushed hither and thither like ants whose hill had been demolished by a
ruthless foot.

Many fled back toward their second line, pursued by a withering blast of
rifle fire that reaped a terrible harvest of wounds and death. Others
rushed back into their trenches, crowding and treading upon one another.
But even here they were not safe from the great tanks, which lumbered
down into the trenches and up on the other side, leaving devastation in
their wake, spitting out flame from the guns they carried, while they
themselves in their iron armor went on uninjured.

Not only were they frightful engines of offense, but they served as well
for defense of the troops that followed after them.

For the first few minutes the slaughter was awful, and it looked as
though the whole German line would be forced to give way without putting
up any resistance worthy of the name. Prisoners were rounded up by the
hundreds. There was no time then to send them to the rear. So they were
gathered together in the open spaces, their suspenders were cut so that
their trousers would slip down and entangle their legs if they tried to
escape in the confusion, a small guard was put over them, and the tanks
and the troops went thundering on toward the second line.

But here the resistance began to stiffen. The first paralysis of
surprise was past. The heavy guns of the enemy opened up, and from
scores of machine gun nests and pill boxes came a storm of bullets. The
German officers had got their troops under some semblance of control,
and heavy reinforcements were rushed up from the rear. From now on the
Allies had an awakened and powerful foe to reckon with.

But despite the sterner opposition, the tanks were not to be denied. On
they went, as resistless as fate. Their sides were reddened now, and the
wake they left behind them was fearful to look upon.

Through the second line entanglements they crashed as easily as through
the first, although this time they met with losses. Some had overturned
and others had been struck by heavy shells and put out of action. But
even though disabled, the guns on one side or the other were still able
to pour out their messengers of death and take savage toll of the enemy.

Jumbo was leading, and close behind followed the boys of the old
Thirty-seventh, with Frank and his chums in the van. They were fighting
like young Vikings, their rifles empty but their bayonets and hand
grenades doing deadly work. Their arms were tired by their terrific
efforts, but their hearts were on fire. They felt as though they were
treading on air, and the blood ran through their veins like quicksilver.
Bunker Hill and Gettysburg spoke through them. The traditions of a
hundred glorious battlefields on which Americans had fought was theirs.
Now again Americans were fighting, fighting to avenge the murdered women
and babies of the Lusitania, fighting to crush the most barbarous
tyranny the modern world has known, fighting the battle of freedom and
civilization.

So they fought on like demons, smashing a pill box here, routing out a
machine gun nest there, until the second line was carried. Then the
conquerors paused for breath.

On the whole German front in that region two lines deep the line had
been smashed. That crowded hour of stark fighting had cracked the
boasted invincible line of Hindenburg and sent the foe flying in
confusion toward their third and most formidable line. Thousands of
prisoners and scores of guns were among the spoils of victory.

And the most gratifying feature of the drive was the insignificant loss
to the Allied forces. The resistance at first had been only slight, and
even in the second phase of the battle it had been so quickly overcome
that few of the attacking troops had fallen. Seldom had so great an
advance been made at so small a price.

But modern warfare has its limits in the matter of time and speed. The
very swiftness with which they had advanced had in itself an element of
danger because it had brought them too far ahead of their supporting
guns. These had to be brought up from the rear, and the captured
positions had to be reorganized. The troops, too, had to be given a
breathing spell, for they had reached the limit of human endurance.

So a halt was called, and the wearied men took turns in resting and
refreshing themselves for the hard work that still lay ahead of them.

"A mighty good morning's work," panted Frank, as he threw himself down
at the roots of a giant tree which had been utterly stripped of branches
and even of bark by the tempest of fire that had raged around it.

"Ask a German and see if he'd agree with you," said Billy with a grin.

"We've got plenty to ask," said Tom, as his eyes roved over the throng
of prisoners. "We sure have taken a raft of them this morning. And
there's a still bigger bunch that will never answer roll call again."

There was food in plenty, but they did not have to avail themselves of
the rations they carried in their kits. There were the camp kitchens of
the enemy that in a twinkling were set to work, and soon the savory
odors of steaming stews and fragrant coffee filled the smoke-laden air
and brought joy to the hearts of the victors.

Frank, Bart, Billy and Tom were lucky enough to stumble on a meal that
had already been started for some German officers, and they were
surprised to find it so good and abundant.

"The Germans may be starving, but there's no sign of it here," remarked
Frank, as he threw himself down on the ground with a sigh of relief.

"Trust the Huns to look after their soldiers, even if the civilians
starve," replied Bart. "The people don't count in Germany. Only the
military are taken seriously. They take the middle of the sidewalk and
others are crowded to the wall."

"Well, I'm not quarreling with them just now on that account," grinned
Billy. "I'm just glad there's plenty of grub here this morning."

"I'm not very partial to German cooking as a rule," chuckled Tom, "but
this stew certainly smells good. How the Boche officers would grit their
teeth if they saw us wading into this."

But his rejoicing was premature, for just at this moment a cannon shot
from the German lines tore its way through the kettle and the scalding
broth was spattered all over the group that were lying about. Luckily it
did no other damage, but the chagrin of the boys was comical to see.

"I'd like to have hold of the gunner that fired that shot," sputtered
Tom wrathfully, as he wiped from his face some of the stew that had
fallen to his share.

"You ought to have knocked wood when you talked of the German officers
seeing us wading into their chow," growled Bart. "There's a perfectly
good stew gone to the dogs."

"Nothing personal in that, I hope," laughed Frank, "because most of it
came to us."

"I like mine inside," put in Billy, as he gingerly removed a piece of
meat from his ear. "As an outside decoration I'm dead against stew."

"Well, cheer up, fellows," remarked Frank. "The stew's past praying for,
but there's a lot of other things. And anyway we ought to be mighty
thankful that the shot didn't remove some of us from the landscape as
well as the kettle."

"What's the big noise about?" asked a cheery voice, and they looked up
to see Will Stone regarding them with a quizzical grin.

CHAPTER XIV

IN CLOSE QUARTERS

The four Camport boys greeted Stone joyfully and gladly made room for
him.

"It's another German atrocity," grinned Billy. "They were sore at us for
swiping their grub and they sent our kettle to smithereens."

"I'm glad they don't know about it anyway," said Tom. "I don't want any
Boche to have the laugh on me."

"I guess they're not doing much laughing this morning," remarked Will
Stone, as he dropped down on the ground beside them. "Or if they are,
it's on the wrong side of their mouths."

"We've certainly waxed them good and plenty," said Bart
enthusiastically.

"Jumbo was all to the good this morning," exulted Frank. "It did my
heart good to see the way he ploughed along. There was nothing to it
after he got started."

"He certainly scattered the Huns good and plenty," chortled Billy. "They
ran like hares."

"He does for 'em all right," agreed Stone, glad to have his pride in his
giant pet justified. "And the best of it is that, although the bullets
came against his hide like hail on a tin roof, he came through
practically without a scratch. He sure is a tough old fellow."

"The tanks are wonders," chimed in Tom. "They've won this fight. It was
scrumptious the way they tore those entanglements up by the roots.
Without 'em we'd have lost ten times as many men as we did."

"So far we've gotten off pretty easily," agreed Stone, "but the hardest
part of the fighting is coming. The Boches have got their second wind by
this time, and there can't be any more surprises. You fellows would
better fill up now, for you'll have to have plenty to stand up on."

"Trust us," laughed Billy. "We may be slow in some things, but when it
comes to filling up, we're some pumpkins. But I certainly do feel sore
about that stew."

"Billy'll never get over that," laughed Bart. "He had his mouth all
fixed for it. No other stew in all his life will ever taste so good to
him as this one that he didn't get."

"It's always the biggest fish that gets away," laughed Stone, as he fell
to with the rest.

While they were eating, there was a thunder of hoofs along the road.
This had been such an unusual occurrence up to date that they sprang to
their feet with eager interest.

Then the cavalry swept by.

Fine fellows the cavalrymen were on splendid mounts, which they bestrode
as though they had never done anything else in all their lives. For
months past they had chafed under restraint, for since the struggle had
settled down to trench warfare they had seldom seen service except on
foot. But now their turn had come, for with the broken line of the enemy
had come a call for the cavalry to pursue and complete the
demoralization of the foe.

"Some class to that bunch," remarked Tom, as he watched the flying
column with an appraising eye.

"A little faster than your tanks, old scout?" remarked Bart, giving
Stone a nudge in the ribs.

"They sure are," admitted Stone. "But don't forget that though we may be
slow we get there just the same."

After a brief resting spell the lines were reformed and the fighting was
resumed. The space between the second and the third lines was a wide
one, and the country was hilly, with numerous lanes and ravines. These
were being held in greater or less force by enemy troops posted in
advantageous positions supported by machine guns, while beyond them
their big guns kept up a heavy fire to prevent the Allied advance.

To clean these up and get ready for an attack upon the third line was a
work of hours, as every foot of advance was bitterly contested by the
Germans, who had now recovered from their surprise and fought
desperately to stem the tide that had overwhelmed their first position.

There were two or three villages in the fighting zone and one town of
considerable size. Not that it was a town now in any real sense of the
word. What had once been houses were now mere pitiful heaps of wood and
stone and mortar, and their inhabitants had long since been dispossessed
or slain. It stood gaunt and desolate and forbidding in its mute protest
against the pitiless storm of war to which it had fallen a victim.

In cleaning out a particularly obnoxious nest of machine gun positions
Frank and his friends had been kept busy until nearly noon. But at last
the guns were silenced and the crews wiped out or captured.

The boys started to regain their main force, but the country was
unfamiliar and they took a turning in the road which led toward the
German lines instead of toward their own.

"Gee!" remarked Tom as they trudged along, "maybe I'm not tired. My feet
feel as though they weighed a ton."

"Perhaps they do," gibed Billy unfeelingly. "Considering the size of
them, I should say a ton was just about right."

"I notice your hoofs are not so small," retorted Tom. "But how much
longer is this hike going to take?"

"Search me," responded Frank. "To tell the truth, I'm twisted up about
the direction. Seems to me we ought to strike some of our troops soon."

"It would be funny if we walked straight into the German lines,"
observed Billy.

"Funny!" snorted Tom. "Yes, as funny as a funeral. Some people have a
queer sense of humor."

They were passing a hedge that walled off an orchard from the road when
Frank, who was ahead, saw before him a great wave of gray uniforms
coming around a bend in the road.

"Quick, fellows," he whispered. "Over the hedge and down on the ground."

Like a flash the boys were out of sight, and not one instant too soon,
for a moment later they could see through the hedge what seemed to be an
endless line of gray uniforms going past at the double quick. They were
evidently hurrying forward to reinforce their hard-pressed comrades
farther down the road.

The boys lay still as death until the troops had passed, and then looked
at each other ruefully.

"We're cut off," ejaculated Frank. "Those fellows are between us and our
line."

"Looks pretty bad," said Bart.

"This is a pretty kettle of fish," grumbled Tom. "Let's cut across the
orchard and see if we can find some of our boys."

They acted on the suggestion, but found to their dismay that the Germans
were everywhere. In whatever direction they looked the only uniforms
they saw were the detested field gray. The Germans had rallied and the
boys had been caught in the swirl of the returning tide.

"We'll have to hide somewhere until our men drive back the Huns and get
as far as this orchard," said Billy.

"We're up against it for fair," growled Tom disconsolately.

"It's easy enough to talk of hiding, but where shall we hide?" asked
Bart. "If we stay here above ground we're bound to be spotted before
long."

"Let's make our way toward the town," suggested Frank. "There wasn't a
soul in sight there a few minutes ago. It seemed to be wholly deserted.
There must be plenty of hiding places in those heaps of stones, or
perhaps we can stow ourselves away in a cellar. Let's get a hustle on,
too, or we'll know sooner than we want to what a prison camp looks
like."

As quickly as they dared they crept along, using every bit of cover that
offered itself until they reached the outskirts of what had been the
town. As Frank had said, it appeared to be wholly deserted at the
moment. It was clear that all available forces had been summoned away to
stem the great drive.

Having satisfied themselves that there was no one about they moved
cautiously from one street to another seeking some place of refuge. The
prospect was not hopeful, for there was scarcely a room in a single
house that was not gaping wide open. Doors were gone and windows had
vanished. There was hardly a place where anything as large as a cat
could be free from detection.

"A mighty slim outlook," grumbled Tom, as they crouched close to a pile
of masonry near the corner of a street.

"Stop grouching," counseled Frank. "We may stumble across something at
any minute."

"Stumble is right," said Bart, as he rubbed a barked shin. "I've been
doing nothing else since we got in among these rock piles."

"That house over the way there seems in a little better condition than
the rest of these heaps," suggested Billy, pointing a little way down
the street.

"We'll try our luck there," said Frank, and again their cautious journey
was resumed.

They reached the place and squeezed themselves in through a narrow
opening on a side that had faced a tiny yard bordered by a wall about
eight feet in height.

There had been three rooms on the ground floor of the house, but all
three had been knocked into one by the visitation of shells. The boys
picked their way over the uneven masses of plaster, and Frank gave an
exclamation as he perceived an opening that seemed to lead down into a
cellar.

"This way, fellows," he said as he looked down into the darkness. "I
don't see any stairs here but we can take a chance and drop. It doesn't
seem very deep. One of you hold this gun of mine and I'll go first."

There was a chance of spraining an ankle if nothing worse, but luckily
he landed safely.

"All serene," he called up in a low tone. "Hand me down your guns and
then come along."

They did so, and the four found themselves in a cluttered cellar that by
feeling around with their hands they found to be about thirty feet long
by twenty in width. There was a furnace which had been broken into a
pile of junk and a little light filtering down showed where a pipe had
formerly gone through to the upper floor. There were a number of barrels
in one corner, but apart from these the cellar seemed to hold nothing
but rubbish.

"It's as dark as Egypt down here," grumbled Tom.

"So much the better," replied Bart. "There'll be that much less chance
of a Heinie seeing us if he takes the trouble to look down here."

"So this is where we've got to hang out until our boys get here,"
remarked Billy, grinning. "It reminds me of the Waldorf-Astoria--it's so
different."

"Never mind," said Frank cheerfully, "it's a thousand per cent. better
than a Hun prison camp, and don't you forget it!"

"You said a mouthful that time," replied the irrepressible Billy, with
more force than elegance.

CHAPTER XV

THE FOUR-FOOTED ENEMY

"The first thing to do is to make a barricade of these barrels," said
Frank, when the four privates had made an inventory of what the cellar
afforded in the way of defense.

"They will help us in putting up a fight if the Huns discover us here,"
agreed Bart.

"Let's see if there's anything in them," suggested Billy.

"Swell chance," commented Tom. "They smell as if they'd had wine or beer
in them, and you can trust the Heinies to have drained them to the last
drop. Not that I want any of the stuff, but if they were full they'd
stop a bullet better than if they were empty."

They tested the barrels by knocking against them with the butts of their
rifles and the hollow sound they gave back proved that Tom had
conjectured truly.

"Dry as the Desert of Sahara," pronounced Frank.

"And that reminds me," said Bart. "What are we going to do for water to
drink? We've got grub enough in our kits to last us a couple of days in
a pinch. But we can't hold out long without something to wash it down
with."

"We won't worry about that yet," said Frank. "I stepped into a puddle
over in one corner while we were going round here. I suppose that came
from the rain we had last night. It doesn't fit my idea of what drinking
water ought to be, but it's a mighty sight better than dying of thirst."

They got out their stock of food and decided that with careful rationing
they had enough for two days.

"And that will be plenty," prophesied Billy. "Our fellows will be here
before long. Perhaps this very night we'll be with the old bunch again."

"I wish I had your cheery disposition," growled Tom. "When any one hands
you a lemon----"

"I make lemonade out of it," came back Billy, and there was a general
laugh.

"That's the way to talk," said Frank. "The Huns haven't got us yet, and
even this hole is better than a German prison camp."

"You bet!" responded Billy. "From all I hear those places are something
fierce. A fellow had better die fighting than die of abuse or
starvation."

"That's what," agreed Bart. "And that's another thing that shows how low
the Huns have stooped in this war. Look at the way we treat them when we
take them prisoners. They live on the fat of the land. Of course the
Germans haven't as much food in their country as we have, and we don't
expect so much for our men in the matter of grub, although even at that
they don't get enough to keep body and soul together. But it's sickening
to hear of the way they torture them. One of their favorite sports is to
set dogs on 'em. If a man doesn't move quickly enough to suit 'em they
stick a bayonet into him. It's low beastly tyranny that puts them on a
level with the Turks. It's no wonder that Germany is coming to be hated
and despised by the whole world."

"Did you hear of the fire that happened in one of their camps?" queried
Tom. "There was a hut in one corner of the camp with five men in it. It
caught fire and the men, who couldn't get out of the door because it was
locked, tried to get out of the window. The sentry thrust his bayonet
into the first man, and threw him back into the flames. The poor fellow
made another attempt and again the sentry ran the bayonet into him. And
every one of the five men burned to death, though every one of them
could have been saved. What do you think of that, fellows? Isn't it the
limit?"

"They'll get theirs," said Frank bitterly. "They can't sow the wind
without reaping the whirlwind. They'll surely pay, soon or late, for
every bit of this brutality.

"I hope it will be soon," said Billy. "I'm getting impatient."

"It won't be long if we can keep up the pace we set this morning," said
Bart. "Gee, how our tanks went through those wires as though they were
rotten cord."

"And our guns are keeping it up," said Frank. "Just listen to that roar.
What a shame it is we can't be out there doing our bit. It makes me feel
like a slacker."

"It's the fortune of war," said Billy philosophically. "But it's might
hard luck just the same that we took the wrong direction after we
cleared up that machine gun nest so neatly. But let's have a hack at
that grub, fellows. Oh, boy, if we only had some of that stew we lost
this morning!"

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