The Khaki Boys at the Front; or, Shoulder to Shoulder in the Trenches

CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XI IN THE FIRE TRENCH Shortly before midnight, the columns of marching Khaki Boys reached a village that lay practically in ruins. Passing through one neglected street after another, the company leading was halted just at the turning of a street by an English major, astride a mettlesome horse. "Who is in command of this company?" came the sharp query. "Captain Reynolds, sir." Saluting, a steel-helmeted officer stepped forward. "Very good. See that every man in your command adjusts his gas mask at alert. All cigarettes must be thrown away." A moment and both orders had been carried out. "Forward march by platoons, fifty feet apart," was the next order. "You will be in range of shrapnel directly you leave here." Obeying instantly, the first company passed on in the designated order. Turning the corner, it started down a road that led straight to the front. It was followed by a second and so on, each company being briefly halted by the English major to receive similar instructions. In silence, broken only by the thud of tramping feet, the two detachments of Khaki Boys hiked steadily toward the trenches. All realized that at any moment the German guns might tune up. If the two detachments reached the front-line trenches without "clicking" any casualties, they would be lucky, indeed. Perhaps for the time being they bore charmed lives. More probably, however, the foe was not aware of their advent into the trenches. At any rate, not even a shrapnel shell was hurled at them by the German artillery. Amid a hush so deep that each soldier could hear the beating of his own heart, the Khaki Boys finally entered the zig-zagging communication trench, through which they must pass to reach the front-line trench where they were to receive their first initiation into the hazards of war. Now they were no longer marching in fours. In single file, six paces apart, they plodded mutely along, their tired feet sinking deep into the mud. In the trenches mud is seldom absent. It scarcely ever dries up sufficiently to make walking easy. An hour from the time of entering the trenches, the Khaki Boys had reached the front line of their sector, and had taken up their positions. Sadly in need of a little rest, the majority of the men seated themselves on the fire step. In the darkness a long line of American soldiers filed past them, on the way to another communication trench that would lead them away from the firing and back to billets behind the lines. These were the men whom the Khaki Boys had come to relieve. In the front-line trench, however, a goodly number of veteran Americans still remained to receive the new men and initiate them into the mysteries of trench warfare. Trying to catch satisfactory glimpses of the shadowy figures which flitted past him in a long succession, Jimmy Blaise speculated as to how long they had been on duty. He was amazed at the number still alive and apparently unscathed. Remembering that, thus far, all night the guns had been silent, he decided that this was the reason why so many Sammies were left to return briefly to billets. He wondered if as many more were still left in the trench. His thoughts turning to his bunkies, he wondered what they thought of it all. A corporal in his platoon, he knew that Bob, at least, was not far away. In the dense darkness, however, there was a small chance of locating him. He wondered, too, what time it was. It had been almost midnight when the marching men had been halted in the ruined village by the English major. It must be after two now. Perhaps the Germans would attack just before dawn. He had heard that with both sides this was a favorite hour for attack. At that hour, a man's faculties were the least alert. He was less likely to give good account of himself. Although he was anything but at home in his new environment, Jimmy was relieved in that he felt not in the least afraid. He had always hoped that it would be thus. Yet he had never been quite sure of himself on that point. He had always known that he should never be afraid in the cowardly sense of the word. Still, he had often pondered as to whether he would "have all his nerve with him" when the eventful front-line hour arrived. He was rather surprised to find himself as "nervy" as ever. He almost wished that something would happen to break the deadly monotony around him. Most of all he wished for daylight to come, so that he might take stock of his surroundings and perhaps "bump into" his bunkies. The night wore on and nothing happened. With dawn came the order "stand down," and the two veteran sentries posted at each traverse along the line got down off the fire step. To them had fallen the task of standing there all night, heads above the top of the trench, eyes straining into the darkness of "No Man's Land." The passing of the word "stand down" was hardly more welcome to the tired sentries than to the newly arrived Sammies huddled along the fire step. It meant to the latter a certain relaxation from duty, and a chance to sleep until the order "stand to" saw them back in their places on the fire step, ready for whatever might come to them. Attempting to rise from the fire step, Jimmy discovered that every bone in his body ached. Crouching in a cramped position on a muddy ledge was not conducive to great agility. Pulling himself together, Sergeant Jimmy went through a series of limbering-up exercises. Burdened by his equipment, which he had not been allowed to remove, he was not very nimble at first. Soon he felt his muscles growing more flexible under the persistent treatment he gave them. Very promptly he saw to it that his men went through a similar set of movements, which did them all good. To his delight, he found Bob only a few men away from him. The latter's face looked rather wan, but his black eyes were bright and snapping as ever. "Some night," cheerily greeted Bob, as Jimmy hurried over to him. "Nothing like a fire step for solid comfort—not. Thought the Fritzies might send over a hot shot or two for a welcome. Nothing doing in Dutchyland, though." "Don't worry. We'll get ours soon enough. Maybe to-day. Still, we might be here quite a while before anything happened. The Boches aren't quite so ready as they used to be to keep hammering the Allies. They've learned a few lessons since this war began. "Here comes our coffee!" exclaimed Bob. "I certainly am ready for it." Glancing up the trench, he had spied two men coming down the line, bearing huge pots of the steaming beverage. "The Tommies may have their tea for breakfast, but coffee for Blazes every time!" With this emphatic comment, Jimmy proceeded to extract from his haversack the large metal cup belonging to his mess kit. Along with it he brought out the remaining sandwich of the two issued to him on the day previous. It was to be his breakfast. Bob made room for him on the fire step, and the two settled themselves to await the coming of the coffee men. Very soon they were hungrily munching their sandwiches, and enjoying the strong, black coffee, which was, indeed, welcome. It warmed them through and through, and put new life into their chilled bodies. "I'd give a good deal to see the fellows," sighed Jimmy, as, his breakfast finished, he stood up and stretched himself. He was feeling decidedly better, and very wide awake. "Wonder if we dare go up or down the lines a little way." "You're a sarge. You can travel around, I guess, with no come-back. I wouldn't want to risk it, though. This front-line business doesn't carry many privileges." "Even so, we can't stick to the fire step all the time. We have to sleep in the dugouts, and when it's quiet we'll be allowed to hang around in them. It's at night that we'll have to do most of our work, I suppose." "Yes, I presume so. After we get used to this trench system we'll know better how to manage our affairs," was Bob's sage opinion. "We'll have to ask these fellows who are here to help us all about what to do." Breakfast over and quiet still continuing, the men were ordered to the dugouts for rest. Earlier in the great war, the heroes of Ypres, Mons, the Marne, and of other memorable battles, found trench life almost unendurable. Since then trench conditions have changed for the better. To-day there are plenty of dugouts, trench platforms, and many other conveniences which help to make the men on trench duty vastly more comfortable than of old. After seeing that his men were made as comfortable as possible, Jimmy accompanied Bob to one of the dugouts, and flung themselves wearily down on the narrow canvas cots provided for their rest. Just before entering the dugout, however, both had gone a little way up and down the line in search of their bunkies. Failing to find them, and sadly in need of rest, they had agreed to postpone the search until later. How long they slept neither knew. Both were awakened by a thunderous roar that threatened to split their eardrums. Instantly springing from their cots, they made a dash for the dugout's opening, along with the rest of the men it contained. All knew what had happened. The enemy had at last been heard from. Among the first to gain the trench, Jimmy saw that a portion of the parapet on his right had been demolished. It had fallen into the trench completely blocking it. His heart stood still as he saw at the edge of that heap of tossed-up earth an olive-drab arm moving feebly. Others besides himself had now reached the scene, among them a veteran lieutenant who ordered a pick and shovel detail to get busy at once. "Back to dugouts!" was his sharp order to the Sammies who had run to the scene. "Don't expose yourselves unnecessarily." Jimmy, however, was one of the digging detail. Seizing a shovel, he began to dig furiously into the soft earth. It yielded easily. Careful lest he strike the body of the buried soldier with the shovel, he soon had enough of the smothering mud cleared away to expose the man's head and shoulders. First sight of the victim's head, and Jimmy shuddered. The face under the helmet was caved in, an unrecognizable, bloody pulp. "Poor fellow," Jimmy muttered. "He got it pretty quick." He wondered who the man was. Not one of his men. They had all been in the dugout when the crash came. While he continued at digging the dead man out of his prison, the rest of the detail were busy clearing the trench of the piled-up earth that formed a blockade. "It was a 'Minnie,'" one of the veteran diggers informed Jimmy. "Minnie" means a high-power trench mortar shell, of German invention. It is used particularly by the Germans to demolish the Allied trenches. Its real name is "Minnenwerfer." It is especially deadly, as it makes no noise coming through the air. The English soldier is responsible for giving it the name "Minnie." "Funny they don't follow it up with some more," Jimmy observed to the man, as the latter stolidly wielded a pick. Hardly had he spoken when a hail of bullets set in from an enemy machine gun. The Boches had begun to turn their energies to the caved-in parapet. Occasionally a single bullet sped past the diggers, but none of them were hit. By this time another detail, composed of green and seasoned men, were engaged in filling sandbags with earth and passing them on to still another group who were rebuilding the parapet. Farther down, a second deafening roar announced that another "Minnie" had burst in the trench. Jimmy wondered how much damage it had done. Already stretcher-bearers had come up on the double quick, and were taking care of the shattered form which Jimmy had now released from the pinioning earth. They would bear it away through the communication trench to the rear. Presently it would be laid to rest in foreign soil, and an identification tag would go speeding across the ocean to tell its own gruesome story to the Sammy's dear ones back home. Though he had not lived to fire even one shot at the Germans, he had, nevertheless, done his bit. He had died for his country. CHAPTER XII GETTING USED TO IT After a third "Minnie" had sped across No Man's Land and into the front-line trench, an advanced American battery opened up on the Boches and returned the compliment with a hot fire that soon put a temporary check on Fritzie's activities so far as the sending over of more Minnies went. German machine guns, however, continued to direct their fire upon the gaps in the trenches made by their mortars. Four men had been killed and several wounded, as a result of the last two mortar shells. Immediately the damage had been wrought to the trench parapet, willing hands set to work to rebuild the broken places to their original height. During the operation three more men lost their lives, shot down by the bullets from the Boche machine guns. After this brief exchange of hostilities quiet again settled down, broken only by the occasional letting loose of a Boche shrapnel shell directed at some point behind the lines. Their digging detail finished, Jimmy and Bob again repaired to the dugout and slept until noon. Both awoke at dinner time greatly refreshed by their brief sleep. A palatable stew and more hot coffee put them in excellent trim for whatever duty might fall to them later on. Dinner over, they promptly made a fresh effort to find their bunkies. Roger, Schnitzel, and Ignace, who were fairly near together some distance down the line, had also started out on a hunt for Bob and Jimmy. Both search parties met about halfway respectively from their own stations. Bob and Jimmy had the good fortune to bump into their bunkies just as the latter were entering a dugout. "Come on in and let's talk," urged Roger. "Goodness knows we may never have another chance." "Did either of those last two mortars get any of your men?" was Bob's first question of Roger, as the five sought a corner of the dugout and sat down on the floor in a compact circle. "No; but Schnitz lost two good boys and Iggy one. My men were in the dugout asleep when it happened." "It was horrible." Schnitzel's dark face wore an expression of deepest gloom. "Ryan and Harvey, corking fellows, both had their heads blown almost off their shoulders. I'm all broken up over Ryan. He was one of the straightest guys I ever met. Gritty, too. He was dying to get a whack at the Boches. Now he's gone West, and never had a chance to kill off even one of the dirty brutes. He was an only son, too. His folks just worshipped him. I'm going to write to his mother. I promised long ago that I would if it came to the scratch. He gave me her address." Schnitzel spoke with intense bitterness. Ryan had been the best man in his squad. "Tough luck!" Jimmy voiced his most emphatic expression of sympathy. "When come him that one shail, so have I the dugout jus' leave," burst forth Ignace. "Then hear I som' the loud thoonder an' fall down in trench. So think I mebbe I daid for minute." "Ha, ha!" jeered Bob. "How could you be dead and keep on thinking, you funny old top?" "Mebbe I daid, you no laugh," responded Ignace with a tranquillity that showed he was quite used to Bob's raillery. "You're right I wouldn't." Bob's merry face quickly sobered. "It's because you're not 'daid' that I'm laughing. It's a poor subject to josh about, though. Let's forget it." "I'll never forget that fellow I dug out of the mud," declared Jimmy tensely. "He was the one croaked by the first 'Minnie.' I was in our dugout with Bob when it hit the trench. All the fellows in there rushed out to see. Lieutenant Jaynes shoved 'em back in a hurry, except a detail to dig and one to repair the parapet. I was detailed to dig and I went at it, too. Hauled the fellow from under all by myself. His face was all smashed in. Don't know yet who he was, except that he wasn't one of my men. One of the greenies, like us, I guess." "It's a pretty savage business, but I'll bet our guns clicked some Boche casualties, too," asserted Roger. "I thought we'd all get the order to 'stand to' after that third shell, but not yet. I suppose the Huns thought they'd send over a few 'Minnies' to scare us. Wonder when they'll make a real stab at us?" "When they get good and ready," shrugged Schnitzel. "Maybe not while we're here. We may be the ones to start the ball rolling. One reason it's been so quiet, I guess, is because the Fritzies haven't any ammunition to waste. I've been told that the Allies are sending over twenty shells to their one these days." "Some improvement." Jimmy expressed his deep satisfaction at this rumor. "When the war began it was twenty to one in favor of Bill Kaiser. Now the shoe seems to be on the other foot." "I hope I live to see the day when it'll be fifty to nothing in favor of the Allies," was Roger's heartfelt declaration. "It'll come, even if we don't live to see it," assured Schnitzel prophetically. "So think I," nodded Ignace. "Byme by, thes' Boche have no the nothin'. Then get kill pretty quick. I would him myself that ver' bad Bill Kaiser kill." "Why don't you ask for the detail?" was Bob's mischievous suggestion. "I'll lend you Gaston to help do the dirty work." "Now again you mak' the fon to me," giggled Ignace. "I say only I would it to do. So is it." "'So is it,'" repeated Bob. "I can just see our Iggins and dear Gaston hot-footing it to Bill's royal shebang to put him out of his misery. Gaston would be some fine little ally. You could turn him loose on the imperial guard while you went in the back door of the palace and did up William." Bob's nonsense brought a smile even to Schnitzel's somber face. No one could be serious for long with Bob on the premises. His light-hearted ability to see the funny side of things when in the midst of shadow was always eminently cheering to his bunkies. "I wish I had Gaston with me," Bob continued regretfully. "I'll bet he'd win a whole string of honor tin cans going Over the Top. He'd probably eat 'em afterward, though, unless Bobby was around to see that he didn't overload his heroic stomach. Just as soon as I get back to a rest billet, I'm going to take Gaston to the K. O. and offer his services. I'll bet they'll be gratefully accepted." "Unless Gaston takes it into his head to charge on the K. O.," laughingly supplemented Roger. "Oh, I'll speak to Gaston about that beforehand," airily assured Bob. "I'll put him wise to the difference between a K. O. and a bunch of insignificant non-coms." "Don't forget to class yourself with that bunch," reminded Jimmy. The five Brothers continued to talk in this light strain, well content to get away briefly from the grim shadow of war. Already they were unconsciously leaning toward the desire to keep strictly to the surface of things. In the front-line trenches men soon realize that it is futile to worry over what may happen. They learn to live from hour to hour and make the most of whatever cheer lies at hand. They gleefully plan for the future, refusing to reflect that a well-directed shell or bullet may send them speeding West immediately afterward. If it were not for this cheery ignoring of grim Death hovering ever near, arrant Fear would soon step in and claim toll on them. Dread of Death courts Fear indeed. Toward supper time the Khaki Boys witnessed from the trench a spirited bout in the air between Boche and Allied aircraft. From somewhere back of the enemy trenches, half a dozen German aeroplanes suddenly rose against the evening sky and began a flight toward the American sector. When hardly halfway over No Man's Land they were met by a fleet of French planes which had promptly risen to drive them back. Though they were some distance up the line from the portion of the front line trench occupied by the 509th Infantry men, the Sammies had a fairly good view of the fight. They could hear the constant pop-pop of the aircraft machine guns as the contestants swooped, dived and circled about one another. Jimmy Blaise centered his attention particularly upon one of the French planes. It had been the first to rally to the scene and was giving good account of itself. Its aviator appeared to bear a charmed life. Shells from the German Archies, which had immediately gone into action, failed to reach him. He spiraled and sank, sank and spiraled with an elusive dexterity that was dizzying to watch. At times his plane would lurch wildly, dropping a little, as though shell-pierced and about to fall. Instantly it would right itself and soar upward, cleverly maneuvering so as always to attain a position in the air where its gunner could pour a mercilessly effective fire upon the Boche planes. One of them went down to destruction as a result of the wonderman's marvelous exhibition of skill and daring. A plane of the French fleet also met disaster. Seeing one of their number down, the Frenchies rallied to the onslaught with a zeal that soon put another Boche plane out of business. By this time Allied Archies were sending their shells against the invaders with a demoralizing aim that crippled a third enemy plane and sent the three remaining Boche flyers soaring out of danger and back to their own lines. In the trenches the Sammies were cheering with wild enthusiasm as they watched the spirited conflict in the air. Here was a spectacle beside which even baseball paled into insignificance as a purely "sports" proposition. They were only sorry that it lasted so short a time. "Great work," yelled one of the seasoned men who stood beside Jimmy. "That one guy was a sure-enough peach of a birdman." "You bet," agreed Jimmy fervently. The clever work of the daring aviator had brought to his mind the "Flying Terror of France." He imagined that only a man like Voissard would be capable of giving such a wonderful exhibition of flying as he had just witnessed. Where was Cousin Emile now, he wondered, and would he ever see Voissard again? Perhaps he would not live long enough to learn the important information concerning the "tiger man" which Voissard had mentioned in his letter to Jimmy. Until now Jimmy had not once thought of the "tiger man" since the march to the front had begun. The events of that memorial hike had driven the past quite out of his mind. Standing there in the trench his gray eyes grew retrospective as his mind harked back to the time he and his bunkies had boarded the Columbia . He had not realized until then how really remarkable had been his adventures since he left the United States. Living them from day to day they had not seemed so very unusual. The greatest adventure of all yet lay ahead of him. He had still to know what it meant to be actually under fire and take part in a real, bang-up fight. His natural impatience of delay made him wish that it would come soon. Perhaps this latest attempt of the Boches to send observation planes over the American trenches meant that the enemy was getting impatient, too. He hoped so. He had come to the trenches to fight and he felt it would be a bitter disappointment should his first tour in the trenches end without at least one opportunity to fire a shot for Uncle Sam. CHAPTER XIII UNDER FIRE Eating an early supper, the order "stand to" came just at dusk and was passed along from traverse to traverse. With it two veteran sentries in each traverse took up their positions on the fire step to keep ward over No Man's Land. Until relieved by other sentries, one of the two in each traverse would stand, immovable on the fire step, watching over the parapet for any signs of activity on the part of the enemy. The other man would sit at his feet ready to inform the platoon officer of whatever reports his companion might make in regard to what he saw going on across the narrow stretch of land that divided the two armies. It was an especially trying post for the observation man. Not for an instant did he dare remove his eyes from the portion of land in front of him. Whether he spoke to make a report or to answer a question put to him by his companion, he was obliged to speak in guarded tones and without turning his head. His motto had to be "Eyes Front." In the trench, ranged along the fire step, with bayonets fixed, Uncle Sam's young defenders sat ready for duty at the slightest word of command. Now strictly on the alert, the Khaki Boys dared not speak above a whisper and only when necessary, as, for instance, in passing an order along the lane. Rigid discipline had to be observed in this respect, lest some loudly-uttered word should be heard by a Boche detail out on listening post duty. In the daytime No Man's Land is never a land of living men. Often it occupies a space hardly larger than a good-sized garden. It is a desolate stretch of ground, indeed. One sees only masses of barbed wire and yawning shell holes, sometimes containing all that remains of what once were fighting men. Perhaps a few ragged stumps dot it here and there, or a pile of debris that originally formed part of a farmhouse, long since leveled to the earth by the barking dogs of war, the big guns. At night, however, it undergoes a swift transformation. Under cover of the darkness it soon swarms with living men. They crawl stealthily about on their details. Perhaps they are risking their lives on listening duty. Again they may be out to mend broken-down wire. After a battle they steal out to bring in their dead and wounded. Night expeditions across No Man's Land are of equal importance to both sides. Each sends out its eyes to keep tab on the movements of the other and find out, if possible, his opponent's strength and plans. Many a silent battle is fought there in the dark when two enemy details chance to meet. Never a shot is fired. Steel meets steel and the victor goes on his way, leaving behind the lifeless form of his antagonist. Out there, kill quickly and mercilessly is the watchword. The ethics of No Man's Land permit of no quarter. The quiet continuing all evening, toward ten o'clock the new men and a part of their seasoned comrades were allowed to seek the dug-outs for a little sleep. At three o'clock in the morning the sleepers were routed out with the order "stand to." Though the Khaki Boys could not know it, a patrol had returned half an hour before with the information that they had surprised a Boche wiring party, who were busily engaged in cutting lanes in their own wires, and had killed two of them. This looked decidedly suspicious, to say the least. The patrol was of the belief that an attack on the American trench would soon begin, followed by a raiding party of Boches. Shortly after the Khaki Boys had taken up their positions on the fire-step, the German guns began a furious bombardment of the American trench, forcing the men to shelter themselves behind the parados. The parados, in this particular trench, were composed of squares of sandbags built up at intervals for a distance of about three feet behind the parapet, leaving a lane in the trench just wide enough for passage back and forth behind them. These parados did much to avert casualties caused from bits of bursting high-explosive shells. The American batteries lost no time in opening up on the Germans, returning their fire with equal fury. For a while the din was terrific. Shells screamed overhead, causing a pandemonium of racket. Bursting, their fire made No Man's Land almost as light as day. In the trench many Sammies were dropping, wounded or killed by pieces of exploding shell. The Khaki Boys were receiving their baptism of fire in earnest. It was a battle in which the Sammies themselves took small part, save to crouch in the trench, shielding themselves as best they could from that devastating rain of fire. The noise was too great for them to make themselves heard in passing an order, save by cupping hands to mouth and yelling as loudly as they could. For an hour each side continued to bombard the other's trenches. All along the parapet of the American trench yawning gaps began to appear. As fast as one was made, men set to work upon it to repair the damage before dawn should appear and expose the Sammies to the rifle and machine-gun fire of the Boches. The Khaki Boys turned to with a will. Some filled sandbags with mud, others rebuilt the shattered parados and stopped the gaps in the parapet. Toiling with desperate energy, they could only hope that the American guns were doing much heavier damage to the Fritzies' fire trench. They had faith that their own artillery could register more telling hits than that of the enemy. Considering the number of shells that the Germans were sending over, many of them had been aimed in the direction of the flare from the American batteries. These passed right over the trenches. The American guns continuing to keep up a constant thundering, it looked as though the Boches had not succeeded in wiping out any of these batteries. The gray light of dawn showed first glimpse of the enemy trenches. It was a sight that cheered the Sammies immensely. Gap after gap yawned in the parapet of their fire trench, through which could be seen plainly the forms of German soldiers, hurrying back and forth or toiling desperately to re-establish a protecting wall between themselves and the Sammies. If the Boches had intended to raid it seemed evident that they had given it up as a bad job and devoted themselves strictly to the business of playing safe. With daylight their guns suddenly became silent. The American batteries went on hammering at them, however, for some time after the Boche artillery had ceased firing. The dilapidation of the Boche fire trench gave the Sammies the opportunity for which they had been waiting. They now began to pour a hot rifle and machine-gun fire at the enemy, inflicting heavy casualties. The German batteries immediately got busy with smoke shells and soon hung a curtain of heavy smoke in front of their lines, which completely obstructed a view of their trenches. Through the smoke the Sammies continued to harass the foe, until the order came to cease firing. Though the Americans had suffered a good many casualties, the Germans had clicked a far greater number. Their proposed raid had ended in a sound drubbing for them. When night again fell they would have the pleasure of mending the wires they had been in such a hurry to cut, provided they did not make a second attempt to raid within the next few hours. Of late these night raids had become a new feature in the war. Beginning with a heavy bombardment, the attacking troops would dash over the top, take the enemy trenches, make thorough search of them, capturing as many prisoners and machine guns as possible. Instead of occupying the trenches taken, these would be destroyed by fire or dynamite, the victors returning to their own lines. It was such a raid as this that the Germans had been on the point of making. Thanks to the efficient work of the American batteries, they had not been able to carry it out. When it was all over and comparative quiet had again settled down on both sides, Jimmy Blaise was amazed to find himself not only alive but unhurt. Through those terrible hours he had seen comrades dropping on both sides of him, yet, somehow, he had come through that raging hail of shot and shell unscathed. He marveled that, while it had been going on, he had worked like a tiger at helping rebuild the shattered defenses without a thought that he might be living his last moments of life. After firing a final shot and getting down from the fire step, he stared about in a half-dazed fashion. To and fro through the fire trench stretcher-bearers moved continually, bearing the shell-shattered soldiers away through the communication trenches to first-aid posts. Many a bloody form lifted gently to the stretchers was beyond human aid. Jimmy's first coherent thoughts centered on his own men. He must find out what had happened to them. Pulling himself together he began an investigation. He soon discovered that he had lost four of them for good and all. Several others had been seriously wounded. Like himself a few had come out of the fray untouched. For a time he busied himself in doing what he could for the wounded, until relieved by the first-aid men. The aroma of coffee in the air brought him to a dim realization that it was breakfast time. He was not hungry. Who could be after seeing those broken, bloody shapes being lifted to the stretchers? He felt as though he would not be able to eat for a week afterward. "Thank God, Blazes, you're not one of 'em!" A friendly hand clutched his arm. At the sound of the familiar but rather unsteady tones and the touch of a hand Jimmy whirled to find Bob beside him. The latter's face was grimy, a little stream of blood trickled down one cheek from a shallow gash high up toward his left eye. "Bob!" Jimmy grabbed his bunkie and fairly hugged him. "You're hurt!" he exclaimed. "Just a scratch. I can hardly feel it. A Fritzie bullet shinned past me and broke the skin. I just used my first-aid dressing on a fellow in my squad." "Let me fix you up." Jimmy hurriedly reached for his first-aid packet, took from it his last bit of antiseptic gauze and applied it to the bleeding gash, careful not to touch it with his fingers. As Bob had declared, it was hardly more than a scratch. "I'd plaster it up," he said, as he staunched the bleeding, "but you'd better hike down to first-aid post and have it looked after there. You mustn't run chances of infection." "I started for first-aid when I bumped into you. You're a welcome sight, believe me, Blazes!" Bob spoke with an intensity of affection. "I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw you standing there. Not a scratch on you, you good old scout! How any of us managed to live through that fracas beats me. Under fire, at last! Well, I guess so!" "Maybe I'm not just as glad to see you!" Jimmy's gray eyes shone. His brief flash of joy changing to anxiety he asked: "Bob, have you seen any of the fellows? We've got to find out——" "Rodge is all right," Bob quickly responded. "I saw him right after things quieted down. He's looking up Schnitz and Iggy now. As soon as I get this Boche memento plastered up I'm to meet him at the dugout we were in yesterday. He'll have found out about the boys by then." "Go to it and get plastered, then. I'm going after Rodge. Look out while you're in the communication trench. If you hear a whishing sound, duck for cover. The Boches are likely to send over shrapnel, 'cause they know the stretcher men are using that communication trench now." "Duck's the word. See you at the dugout." With a wave of his hand, Bob hurried away. Jimmy watched him for a second, then started up the trench toward the dugout he and his bunkies had been using since their arrival in the trenches. All the way he encountered stretcher men, busy with their ghastly work. Three times he stopped to aid them in lifting a wounded Sammy to a stretcher. By the time he reached the dugout he was feeling sick at the stomach. It was the sickness of fear, however. With every bleeding form he had seen, his heart had been in his throat lest in it he recognize Iggy or Schnitz. Finally reaching the dugout, he was about to enter when he spied Roger coming down the trench toward him. Behind Roger were two disheveled, grim-faced men, whom he nevertheless recognized. Despite the restriction against using a handkerchief to staunch bleeding, one of them was holding that forbidden bit of linen to his cheek. Uttering a shout, Jimmy ran toward them. "Oh, you fellows!" was his heartfelt cry of relief. "It takes more than a Boche thunderstorm to put the five Brothers out of business!" CHAPTER XIV DETAILED TO SCOUTING DUTY The joy of that meeting, even under such grim circumstances, can be better imagined than described. To all it seemed unbelievable that they should have been spared to fraternize once more. The tears raced frankly down Ignace's smoke-blackened face as he crooned over Jimmy in Polish. He could find no English in which to express his utter happiness at seeing his best beloved Brother safe and sound. By common consent the quartet sought a dugout for a few minutes' talk. They were wild to compare notes. "Take that handkerchief from your face," Jimmy commanded of Schnitzel. "Where's your first-aid packet?" "Gone. Used it on one of my men. It didn't do him much good. He went West in my arms. This beauty spot on my cheek is nothing much." Schnitzel's joy at seeing his friends vanished from his face, leaving it doubly somber. "I've only one whole man in my squad," he said. "Curse the Boches!" "Amen!" agreed Roger savagely. "They lost me two good men. They certainly soaked it to the fire trench." "We went 'em one better," exulted Schnitzel. "Their artillery isn't in it with ours. It's a wonder they didn't slam their own fire trench. Some of those shells were aimed by Boche tailors, I guess. They certainly went wild. But, oh, Boy! What our batteries did to their trench was beautiful! Wish we'd gone over the top. We could have taken their first trench easy as wink." "That's what I thought," put in Roger. "I expected every minute to get the order to go after 'em." "We're too green yet, I suppose, for that," was Jimmy's opinion. "This stretch in the trenches is really our practice turn. Next time in, maybe, we'll get a chance to leg it across No Man's Land." "That's what the Boches had up their sleeve," declared Schnitzel. "They've been on pins to find out our strength and all that. They haven't got much of a line on the Sammies yet. They'll know more about us when we get through with 'em, those that are left alive." "So think I. By my squad have I the one man see get the head shoot off. Now will I soon the five Boche kill. So is it to pay the head this poor man. This remember I when go over top. I will it do, I no get the croak firs'," vowed Ignace vengefully. "A Polish vendetta." Schnitzel smiled faintly. "A five to one proposition like that suits me, though. I'll rid the earth of as many Fritzies as I can. If ever I get one where I want him, the Kamerad business won't go down with me. They say the dogs whine like anything for mercy in a bayonet charge. Cold steel gives 'em the Willies." Having won safely through their first trial by fire, the Khaki Boys were full of rancor against the enemy. The horrible slaughter of their comrades had given Hate fresh impetus. Bob presently returned, his face neatly plastered. Another joyful reunion took place between himself, Ignace and Schnitzel. "Go and get your face fixed, Schnitz," he advised when the first effusion of greeting was over. "The first-aid fellows have their own hands full, but they'll do you up quick if you can get hold of one." "I'm going to feed first," replied Schnitzel. "I didn't know I was hungry until I saw you guys. Seeing you all to the good brought back my appetite." "I'm hungry, too. It's a queer game, isn't it? How a fellow can see his comrades go West by the shell road and then feel like eating is a puzzle to me," mused Roger. "We're beginning to get used to the trenches," was Schnitzel's grim opinion. "A few more scraps like this and nothing will faze us. If we expect to be any good as fighters we've got to eat, no matter what happens." A little later the five bunkies found breakfast very palatable, even after the horrors they had recently witnessed. The trench now fairly clear of wounded and dead men, the survivors sat along the fire step and hungrily devoured their stew and hot coffee. After breakfast, sleep became the order of things, except for those detailed to various trench labors, particularly that of completely restoring the parapet. Men engaged in this task were relieved from time to time by a fresh detail, thus enabling all to get a few hours' rest. Except for occasional Boche shrapnel shells aimed principally at the communication trenches, all remained serene. A communication trench is not easy to hit, as it makes use of everything available for cover. It is cut through the ruins of barns or houses and seeks in every possible way to conceal itself from enemy observation. As it must run indirectly at right angles to the fire trench and thus toward the German, its zig-zag, tortuous windings are necessary to keep it from being enfiladed by the enemy guns. When it reaches a spot bare of bushes, ruins or similar protection, it makes a quick turn to the right, then to the left, to the left once more, forming a partial square, which prevents the preceding bit of trench from being enfiladed. It is generally about five feet deep and the earth taken from it is piled up on each side, forming mounds. Stakes are driven into it to a height of about two feet above its open top on each side, and between these stakes expanded metal is stretched to keep the piled-up earth in place. Along the dirt walls on each side are rows of telephone wires. These belong principally to the artillery batteries. Failing to get a direct whack at a communication trench, the Germans are fond of shelling "at it" nevertheless. In consequence, their shrapnel does much damage to the top and sides of it. After a bombardment it keeps both engineers and sappers (wiring men) busy putting it in order again. Often the wires become so tangled that the various artillery signalers have great difficulty in locating their own. In going to an advanced first-aid dugout to have their slight wounds dressed, Schnitzel and Bob had traveled back a little way through one of these trenches. By daylight it was teeming with activity. They passed sappers, engineers and various worried-looking persons, all of whom were busy putting the place to rights after the attack of the morning. Bob, in particular, was so much impressed by what he had seen that, before going to sleep after breakfast, he wrote down a detailed description of the communication trench as it appeared to him. Proudly exhibiting it to Roger, he met with a severe shock. "You'd better tear that up quick," was Roger's stern advice. "You mustn't carry it around with you. Suppose you got the order to go over the top. You'd go and maybe get killed. Then some Boche might get hold of that paper. It's information, you know." "Oh, I'd tear it up if I knew I was going over," asserted Bob. "You might forget to do it. Better be on the safe side and can it." Grumbling a little, Bob reduced the fateful paper to bits. "I guess I won't gather much data in this dump," was his regretful opinion. "If I write it in billet and try to send it home to Mrs. Blaise, the censor'll probably can it. I'll have to keep it all in my head. If a shell takes my head off, it'll be a great loss to the literary world and a greater one to Bobby." "When the war's over and you get back to the U. S. you can scribble all you want to and no one will stop you," consoled Jimmy. "Won't that be nice?" "Yes, when it is and when I do is something to gamble on," jeered Bob. "Another such shindig as this morning and Bobby may be taking a little trip West. I'm going to sleep and forget this pesky old ditch for a while." Awakened toward the middle of the afternoon to relieve men who had been on duty, the five Brothers were kept busy by various tasks which they were called upon to perform. Quiet still prevailing, evening drew on with no signs of immediate hostilities on the part of the foe. All day they had prudently kept the smoke curtain across their lines in order to conceal their activities from the Americans. Shortly before dark Jimmy Blaise was set aquiver with excitement when he received information that he had been chosen to make one of a scouting party who were to go out on a scouting expedition into No Man's Land. The party was to start out at ten o'clock and creep across to the German lines in order to discover whether the Boches had repaired their wire entanglements or had still left lanes in them, preparatory to making a raid that night. They were also instructed to keep their eyes and ears open for anything else that might fall to their lot to see or hear. Realizing that this scouting duty might be his last, Jimmy sought out his bunkies for a farewell word. Though it was still light, the order "stand to" had gone forth and half of the occupants of the front-line trench ranged along the fire step with bayonets fixed and ready. The other half were still resting in the dugouts. "I'm going out as a scout," he informed Bob, who was nearest to him. "You don't say! Take me along!" "Wish I could. I don't know who all is in the gang. Lieutenant Redmond's in command," Jimmy replied. "I've got to beat it and see the fellows before dark. Now will be my only chance to get a word with 'em. We're to start out at ten. See you again in a few minutes." So saying, Jimmy went on down the trench to where Ignace, Roger and Schnitzel were usually stationed. He was not sure whether they were on duty or in a dugout. He soon came upon them. They were seated on the fire step not very far apart. Jimmy's news brought a shadow of deep gloom to Ignace's solemn face. "I no like," he said sadly. "I would by you go the care you to take. You no come back, I hope shail hit me then pretty quick." "Cheer up, Iggins. I'll come back. Now shake hands. Not good-bye. Just for luck. I'll see you again to-night all right." Ignace looked his deep distress as he mournfully shook his Brother's hand. He would not have minded going out on such a hazardous enterprise, but he hated to see Jimmy go. Roger accepted the news very quietly. There was a wistful look in his blue eyes, however, as his hand met Jimmy's. "Do be careful, Blazes," he urged. "Don't jump headfirst into something without looking before you jump. You're too blamed venturesome for your own good, you know." "I'll be a regular slippery sleuth," Jimmy promised as he left Roger to go on to Schnitzel. "Schnitz," he began, "I'm going out on a scouting party. I——" "So am I," was the amazing response. "Under Lieutenant Redmond?" was Jimmy's excited query. "Yep." "Good work!" Jimmy brightened visibly. "Then we're in the same detail. It certainly suits Blazes." "That's fine," glowed Schnitzel. "I was going to wait till a little later and tell you fellows. I intended to ask leave to have a word with you and Bob before I went." Together the two walked to where Roger and Ignace were stationed. Pausing only to shake hands again with both, Jimmy went on to his station, leaving Schnitzel with his other two bunkies. Shortly afterward Schnitzel came to bid Bob farewell. The latter did not look as cheerful as usual. Jimmy had already informed him that Schnitzel was also to be one of the party. Two bunkies going on a danger hike into No Man's Land made Bob feel rather downcast. He kept his feelings to himself, however. The same yearning light that had darkened Roger's blue eyes leaped into Bob's black ones as he shook hands with Schnitz and wished him a safe return. He could not help thinking that it would be a miracle if either Schnitz or Jimmy Blazes got back from the detail alive. CHAPTER XV OUT IN NO MAN'S LAND At exactly ten o'clock a cautious little party of nine men went through an embrasure in their own fire trench and set stealthy feet upon No Man's Land. Besides Lieutenant Redmond and the two non-coms, Jimmy and Schnitzel, there were three veteran infantrymen and three from the 509th Regiment. Lieutenant Redmond was also of the veteran contingent. Safely on the ground, they passed through a lane purposely cut for exit in their own barbed wire. For a few feet they walked along, the officer in the center. The sending up of a German star shell caused the whole party to drop like a flash and hug the ground. These star shells are used at night by both sides for the purpose of illuminating No Man's Land. They are fired from a tube somewhat resembling a pistol. When fired, they hang in the air for about twenty seconds, giving forth a radiant, silvery light, highly betraying to a scouting party. Each member of the scouting party was armed with a bayonet and knife. Lieutenant Redmond was the only one of them to carry a pistol. Should they encounter a German patrol or scouting party they would be obliged to engage in hand-to-hand combat with its members. Battles such as they might have to engage in had to be fought out in the dark with noiseless weapons. The crack of a rifle or a pistol would immediately draw down upon the scouts the machine-gun fire from both sides, with the result that neither Boches nor Sammies would escape. Following the ascent into the air of the star shell that had flattened the scouts to the ground, they separated, Lieutenant Redmond and two infantrymen crawling away together, the others in pairs. The point in their own sector from which they had made exit was nearest to the German fire trench. Jimmy found himself creeping slowly along over the rough, uneven ground in company with one of the veteran Americans. On they went, side by side, scarcely breathing. Frequently they had to flatten themselves to the ground on account of star shells. Numerous shell holes also afforded them considerable cover. They had to be specially careful, however, of these same holes. To drop suddenly into one of them, unawares, they were likely to make enough noise to attract the attention of some sharp-eared enemy scout or perhaps a Boche sentry. Little by little the two wormed their way across No Man's Land until at length they reached the Boche wire entanglements. Here the two separated, to travel in opposite directions along the wire, feeling every inch of it to determine if it were open at any point. The patrol had been divided so that each man had a certain section of enemy wire to account for. His first feeling of nervousness vanished, Jimmy was beginning rather to enjoy his nocturnal adventure. Strongly imbued with the spirit of daring, this hazardous expedition appealed to him immensely. His right hand grasping his bayonet, his left lightly investigated the wire as he moved slowly along. Instantly afterward his heart almost skipped a beat. His alert ears had caught the sound of voices, speaking in the guttural Boche tongue. He knew that these voices proceeded from the enemy fire trench. He wished he could understand German. Pausing briefly to listen, he again started on. Grasping the wire, his hand moved gingerly along it. He stifled a little gasp as the groping hand suddenly dropped into space. Quick investigation revealed to him that he had discovered the very thing he had been sent out to learn. He had come upon a clean severing of the wires for a distance of about two feet. Jimmy also discovered something else in the same moment. He landed squarely upon a form lying flat on the ground. Involuntarily a whispered "Great Guns!" issued from his lips. "Blazes!" Jimmy's incautious utterance alone saved him from bayoneting his own bunkie, Franz Schnitzel. Had Schnitzel not recognized him and whispered his name, Jimmy's bayonet would have done its deadly work. In the darkness the two clung to each other without speaking. Each was trembling at the narrowly averted tragedy. As they lay there, the sound of voices from the trench could be plainly heard. A quick pressure of his arm by Schnitzel informed Jimmy that Schnitz, at least, could understand what was being voiced by the near-by enemy. Still holding to Jimmy's arm, Schnitzel began to edge along. Obediently Jimmy followed him in the direction from which the German-American had come when the two bunkies had fallen over each other. A few feet and Jimmy understood. They were descending into a shell hole directly below the barbed-wire entanglement. Hardly had they reached it when a star shell went up and hung directly over the spot they had just left. The shell crater was deep enough, however, to convince them that they could not have been seen from the enemy's fire trench. For half an hour they lay there, scarcely making a movement, while Schnitzel listened to the talk that went on in the trench. One of the voices heard almost continually had a harsh, authoritative ring. It gave Jimmy the impression that it must undoubtedly belong to a German officer. He wished he could understand what the Boche was saying. At last Jimmy felt Schnitzel's hand press over his body until it reached his head. An instant and Schnitzel's lips against his left ear breathed: "Back to our lines quickly!" Immediately the German-American began wriggling along, Jimmy following. Presently they were out of the shell hole and had turned themselves toward their own lines. Although the scouting party had started out together, the men had been ordered to return singly or in couples to the American lines, using their own discretion as to the length of time they remained out. Now began the ticklish task of crawling safely back to their own trenches. The nearer they came to the center of No Man's Land the greater grew their danger. Jimmy knew that Schnitzel's desire to reach the American trenches quickly meant that he had learned something of decided importance. Coming to a shell hole a little over halfway across the danger land, Schnitzel pulled him into it. One side of this crater projected over, forming a little cave underneath it. Into this, as far back as he could go, Schnitzel piloted Jimmy. "Listen," he breathed. "I've got to tell you this in case anything should happen to me before we get back. The Boches are going to try another raid at four o'clock. They're going to open fire at two o'clock. One of their crack Prussian regiments has just come into the fire trench. No matter what our guns do, they're coming over, several waves of them. They're going to use extra batteries of their biggest guns to smash our defenses. They're after prisoners to torture. I heard 'em brag what they're going to do to the dogs of Americans. Now I'm going to get out of here and beat it for our lines. Wait what you think to be ten minutes, and then follow me. One of us surely will get back with the word. Good-bye, Blazes. If I don't see you again I'd like you to remember what I say now: 'You're the whitest guy I ever knew and I love you!'" "You're the bravest old sport I ever knew, and I'm all there with the reciprocity stuff," Jimmy whispered tensely. The two bunkies gripped each other's hands hard in the darkness. Then Schnitzel began to crawl away and out of the crater. Directly he had gone, Jimmy crouched in the little cave, his ears straining to catch any sound that might proclaim disaster to his bunkie. Save for the occasional hiss of an ascending star shell, he could distinguish not even the faintest noise of a suspicious nature. Waiting until he judged the ten minutes to have expired, he began his own perilous exit from the shell crater. He knew that the cave itself lay toward the German trenches. Crawling out of it he must continue straight ahead. The open side of the crater was toward the American lines. He could only hope that Schnitzel had also remembered this. Climbing out of the hole, he decided upon a brave but reckless course of action. Getting to his feet he started for his own trenches, running lightly on his tiptoes. He knew that he was likely to crash headlong into a shell crater, or that a star shell might suddenly outline his upright running form with its silvery light. Still, he took a desperate chance on his fleetness of foot to reach his goal. Not for nothing had he won the hundred-yard dash at prep. school.

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