Ned, Bob and Jerry on the Firing Line Part 20

Forward they surged. So great was the first rush that they fairly were carried--it did not seem that they took themselves--beyond the last of that particular line of German trenches. Now they were actually on the open ground beyond--the s.p.a.ce where the Huns had their reserves, and these were now quickly thrown into the battle.

Clip after clip of cartridges had been used by the boys, and they were drawing on their reserve supply now. But the battle was not going with the same rush. The Germans were holding even as a desperate eleven holds when it is on its own goal line and the opponents are madly striving to shove it over and out of the way, that a touchdown may be made.

Following the instructions they had received, the Americans began to look for what shelter they could find--a hole in the ground, a heap of dirt, the body of some fallen man, a slain horse, a heap of rubbish, a dismantled machine gun, anything that, for a time, would fend off a bullet.

The first, or shock-wave, of troops had gotten as far as it was advisable to go, and they must wait a moment for reinforcements and for the artillery to come up. So it was that they threw themselves flat, to escape the storm of bullets that drove into their very faces.

There was no question, now, of surprising the enemy. He was fully awake to his danger, and had rushed all his available troops into the conflict. He had an unusually large number of machine guns, and on these he depended more than on artillery or rifle fire to break up the attack. And nothing more effectual could have been chosen. Only, the Americans were determined not to be stopped.

Hastily they began entrenching, digging shallow ditches in which to find shelter. It does not take much of a mound of earth to provide a s.h.i.+eld against rifle or machine-gun bullets, and in ten minutes an advancing body of troops can provide themselves with temporary protection, while in half an hour they can almost be in trenches, though these are not as deep as the permanent ones.

While part of the advancing Americans still maintained a fusillade from their rifles and from a few machine guns that had been rushed up, others used the intrenching tools. Then, when all were under temporary shelter, they began a.s.saulting the Boches from their vantage places.

But now the Germans had begun to fight back with their artillery, only, fortunately for Ned, Bob, and Jerry, and their comrades, the range was not yet ascertained, so that the shots flew well over their heads. The sh.e.l.ls landed back of the American trenches which had been abandoned when the order came to go over the top, and as this ground was temporarily vacant no great harm was done.

"There go our guns again!" cried Ned into Jerry's ear, as he lay stretched out beside his tall chum.

"Yes. They're trying to drive the Huns back so we can go on. We've got to get farther than this."

The battle was now one of longer range, the first fierceness of the infantry having spent itself. Indeed, the men were practically out of ammunition, though a reserve stock was being rushed to them under the cover of the American guns.

A considerable s.p.a.ce, corresponding to No Man's Land, separated the two lines, and over the heads of the prostrate men flew the sh.e.l.ls of their respective batteries. So, for the time being, except for stray shooting of rifles and machine guns, the two confronting lines of infantry were comparatively safe.

It was during this lull that Bob, looking back from where he was sheltered by a little hill of earth and stones, uttered a cry.

"What's the matter?" asked Jerry quickly. "Are you hit, Chunky?"

"Hit? No! But look there! Fried holes! See 'em!"

For an instant both Ned and Jerry thought that Bob had been seriously hurt, and was out of his head. But they looked to where he pointed and saw a man in the uniform of the Salvation Army coming across the ground over which the Americans had recently stormed. And the intrepid noncombatant carried on either arm a big basket of a type well known to our American fighters.

"Fried holes!" cried Bob. "Fried holes! Salvation Army doughnuts, fellows! I'm going to get some!"

CHAPTER XVIII

THE SCHOOL JANITOR

Just how it happened that the Salvation Army worker had ventured into that place of death none knew, and none stopped to inquire. Probably the man, in his eagerness to serve, did not realize where he was nor how he got there. Naturally he would have been denied permission to go forward during an engagement--that was no time nor place for a noncombatant. But he probably had not asked. He had made his way through a rain of lead and steel to a zone of comparative safety. And there he stood, as if bewildered, with his baskets of cheer on his arms.

And now a sudden change in the battle made the zone of comparative safety one of danger. For the range of the German guns became shorter.

The muzzles were being depressed to seek out those intrepid Americans who had rushed over the first Hun trenches and were waiting to rush onward again. This must not be, thought the Huns, and so they sought them out to kill them.

So it was that as Bob spied the "fried holes" the dispenser of them gave a start as a bullet or a piece of sh.e.l.l flew close to his head.

He was in grave danger now, and realized it. But he did not falter. He gave one backward glance, not with an idea of retreating, that is sure, but to see if there were any near him in that direction whom he might serve. Then he saw the p.r.o.ne lines ahead of him.

"Me for some of those!" yelled Bob, as he rose from his improvised trench.

"Lie still, you chump!" shouted Ned. "Do you want to be killed?"

"No more than you did when you got the wood from the busted truck,"

was the answer. "But I've got to have some of those doughnuts!"

And Bob, never heeding the fact that he would be a s.h.i.+ning target for the guns of the Germans, started to run toward the Salvation Army man.

Some of the officers, from where they were stationed among the troops, saw him.

"Come back! Come back! Who is he? What's he doing? Is he going to desert in the face of the enemy?" were some of the commands and cries.

But it needed only a glance to show that Bob never had a notion of deserting. He ran toward the man with the baskets of doughnuts on his arms. Crisp, golden-brown doughnuts they were, fresh from one of the traveling kitchens where, behind the lines, the Salvation Army la.s.sies made them--a devoted service that will never be forgotten, but will rank with that of the Red Cross and be immortal.

And now, as might have been expected, the Germans saw the two figures--the only upright ones in that particular neighborhood. And the inevitable followed. They were fired at.

Both offered good marks, but Fate, Providence, or whatever you choose to call it, favored them, or else the Germans were wretched shots, which last, in a measure, is known to be true.

At any rate, Bob and the Salvation Army man met and Bob took charge of one of the baskets of doughnuts. That, too, was to be expected.

"Come on--run for it!" yelled the stout lad. "This place is getting hot!"

And indeed it was, for all about their feet were little spurts of earth, showing where the bullets were striking. And together they ran on toward the war-worn, weary figures of the men in the shallow trenches. Straight to where he had left his comrades Bob led the brave man, and they were received with a cheer.

Though it was desperately against all orders and discipline for Bob to do what he had done, not an officer rebuked him. And then the "fried holes" were quickly handed out to the fortunate ones in that section of the line, the officers refusing any, so that the weary men might have some little refreshment.

"Halves only--each man only take a half!" cried Ned, when he saw how many men there were and how few--in spite of the two big baskets--the doughnuts were.

Bob looked a trifle crestfallen, but he agreed with a smile, and to his eternal credit be it said that when he broke the one doughnut he saved for himself, and it came apart in two unequal pieces, he gave the larger section to a comrade on his right.

"Bravo, Chunky!" said Jerry softly, as he observed.

And then, as if in horrible contrast to this peaceful scene, the battle began again.

"Forward!" came the orders, and the three chums, with their comrades, sprang from their shelter.

And as Bob left the shallow hole he had dug for himself to see what became of the Salvation Army man, he saw him roll gently over on his side, a little hole in his forehead showing where death had entered from one of the hundreds of bullets that were now sweeping down among the troops. But there was a smile on his lips.

And there died a very brave and gallant gentleman.

Burst and roar and rumble and thunder and shriek and yell and cry and sob succeeded, accompanied and overlapped one another. The battle was on again in all its horrid fury.

Forward rushed the troops, freshened by their rest, with more ammunition of death. Forward they rushed, driving the Germans back, out of the trenches improvised by the Huns. Forward they rushed while the American guns lifted the barrage to protect them, and the German cannon crashed out their answer.

On they went, stumbling, falling, getting up again some of them, never rising again many of them. b.l.o.o.d.y and mud-stained, powder-grimed and sweat-marked, torn and panting, cut and bruised, with dry tongues that swelled in their blackened mouths. With eyes that saw nothing and everything--the sight of comrades torn to pieces beside them, the falling of beloved officers, the tearing of great holes in the ranks, and the closing of those holes by a living wall of others who offered themselves for the sacrifice.

Forward they rushed, shouting and firing, tossing hand grenades into the midst of the dust-gray bodies of the Huns that opposed them.

Onward they leaped and ran and staggered and jumped, but always onward.