THE ATTACK
All about them soldiers were fairly hurling themselves into the
dugouts, and the boys would have done the same had they not for the
instant been too dazed,--too bewildered to make a move.
And as they stood there, open-mouthed, with staring eyes, gazing
straight ahead, they saw a tremendous column of smoke rising
menacingly; and mingling with it were tons and tons of earth, rocks and
branches--a fear-inspiring, terrible, yet grand and majestic spectacle.
Higher and higher rose the mass; wider and wider it kept spreading
out at the base, until a great space of the blue sky became entirely
blotted from view. And branching out from the rounded form of the great
column of smoke were spurts and jets furiously lashing, twisting and
darting about in every conceivable direction.
The terror which held Don and Dunstan fast in their tracks was but
momentary, and very fortunate indeed it was for them that this proved
to be the case; for they had scarcely dived into a dugout close by
before the surroundings were deluged by an avalanche of descending
missiles, which fell with terrifying, smashing force, filling the air
with the sounds of vicious thuds, crashes and bangs.
Huddled in the darkness, the inmates of the dugout, their frames
trembling from the shock, and half expecting to be blown to pieces,
awaited the outcome in silence. A limb of a tree clattered down near
the entrance; clods of earth shot beside it. And then the faint light
which had been coming in through the opening suddenly disappeared, and
dense, impenetrable blackness followed--a flood of earth and rocks
could be heard pouring into the interior.
The ambulanciers and the soldiers were entombed. And scarcely had this
startling fact been impressed upon their minds than a tremendous shower
of smaller particles, making a din like the heaviest kind of hail,
began to descend. And although the noise was very great they could
faintly hear the reports of more rifles than they had ever before heard
at any one time in their lives. A tremendous fusillade was going on.
"The Boches have mined the trench, and are attacking!"
These words were yelled from somewhere in the darkness--a poilu had
spoken.
"Mined the trench and are attacking!" echoed Don, huskily.
After all, their visit had not been so very well timed, he thought.
Both ambulanciers possessed their full share of courage, but,
nevertheless, they were very much alarmed. Visions of the many dreadful
things that might happen filled their brains. Their situation was one
of the gravest peril; even should they escape injury or death it might
mean that their careers as Red Cross drivers were over and that they
would be obliged to await the great war's termination in some prison
camp.
The poilus, three of them, were now making a determined effort to
remove the obstruction at the entrance to the dugout. It was hard
work. As fast as they dislodged the yielding soil, the opening filled
up again. But finally the hot, excited Frenchmen succeeded, and, with
yells expressive of satisfaction and defiance, first one and then
another clambered up the ladder and crawled into the trench.
Only a moment or two had elapsed when the sharp cracking of rifles
apprised Don and Dunstan of the fact that these soldiers of the
Republic were doing their part in helping to check the enemy.
The first impulse of the ambulanciers was to get out of the dismal
darkness, but the loud explosion of a hand grenade, which landed almost
outside, made them hastily reconsider.
"Something doing up there!" shouted Dunstan, his face close to Don's.
"Awful!" cried the aviator's son. He shuddered. "Here we
are--caught--almost as helpless as rats in a trap. The trench is so far
in advance of the support lines that the Germans may succeed in cutting
us off. Whew! Just listen!"
The cracking of rifles--of machine guns--was simply terrific. But
occasionally the keen ears of the boys caught other sounds even more
terrible, more sinister than these ceaseless reports--the human voice
raised as if in uncontrollable fury--as if in the greatest desperation
and pain. The Red Cross men, listening, with every nerve at the keenest
tension, knew what was going on--the hostile forces had come together
and in a desperate hand-to-hand conflict were fighting with all the
savagery and ferocity of wild animals of the jungle.
At last the howls and shouts and yells abruptly ended.
Had the French lines broken before the attack? Were the Germans in the
trench?
Unable to bear the suspense, Don Hale sprang for the ladder.
Cautiously, he began to mount; anxiously, he poked his head above the
opening.
Then he drew a long thankful breath. The blue line had held.
French soldiers were still on the firing-step, sending volley after
volley toward the east. Ahead a great portion of the trench had been
utterly demolished; there was no longer any parapet or parados, but
a mass of earth jumbled and piled together in the most extraordinary
confusion. Nearer at hand débris choked up the passageway.
Don Hale allowed his gaze to rest on this evidence of destruction for
only a moment. Something else had attracted the boy's attention and
drawn an exclamation from his lips. Thick, impenetrable clouds of smoke
were rolling slowly across the narrow strip of "No Man's Land," and he
realized at once the reason for it--the Germans had created a curtain
by means of smoke bombs in order to conceal their movements. Perhaps at
that very instant they were ready to launch another attack.
Never at any time since his entrance into the war zone had the
aviator's son felt peril to be so imminent. Should he and Dunstan
venture forth they would expose themselves to the chance of being
hit by some of the flying bullets; should they remain there was the
possibility of capture.
A prey to the keenest apprehension and fears, he dropped back into the
gloom and shadow of the dugout.
"This is worse than the 'Chemin de Mort,'" he cried.
"Very much so, Don, old chap," shouted Dunstan in reply.
Crouching against the wall, the ambulanciers vainly tried to gain some
indication of the trend of events.
Sometimes, mingling in with the firing, they heard the voices again,
and though fainter than before distance could not rob the sounds of
their forbidding nature.
An hour passed--an hour such as neither had ever before experienced.
It was filled with every sort of alarm. Veritable streams of shot and
shell were crashing over the trench, and at times it seemed to the
boys as if the crucial moment had at last arrived and that the host of
gray-uniformed invaders must be sweeping down upon them through the
smoke clouds.
And then, when both least expected it, there came a second cessation in
the violence of the battle; the mitrailleuses and other machine guns
stopped their fire altogether, while the sharp, vicious snapping of the
rifles was heard only at intervals.
"Great Cæsar! can it be possible that the attack has been repulsed?"
cried Don, inexpressible relief and hope in his voice.
"Let's take a look! Let's take a look!" shouted Dunstan.
Without an instant's hesitation Don Hale ran up the ladder; without an
instant's hesitation he climbed outside the dugout.
Yes, there could be no doubt about it--the blue line still held. And
the smoke cloud over "No Man's Land" had vanished.
A wave of joy surged through the aviator's son.
"Ils ne passeront pas!" he exclaimed in a fervent voice to Dunstan, who
was now standing beside him.
"No--'ils ne passeront pas!'"
The air they breathed was impregnated with the odor of burning
gunpowder; smoke drifted through the trench, and everywhere they looked
a bluish haze filled the atmosphere.
Joyous as the ambulanciers were at their deliverance, they could
not help but feel saddened at the thought of the many casualties
which certainly must have occurred, not only through the great mine
explosion itself but on account of the desperate nature of the assault
which followed. Though both were intensely anxious to know just what
had happened they realized that it was not a time to seek information
from the stern-faced soldiers on the firing-step. On looking about,
however, they discovered a poilu not much older than themselves leaning
heavily against the rear wall.
Don, walking forward, ventured to address him.
"Did the Germans get anywhere near the trench?" he queried, eagerly.
The young soldier nodded.
"I think so," he replied. "Some were almost on top of us before we
stopped them. But now that it's all over I can scarcely recall anything
clearly. My head's in a whirl. But they tell me that wave after wave of
the Boches rolled up, and then thinner waves rolled back again. It was
terrible--awful!"
A perceptible shudder shook the young soldier's frame.
"Come on, Dunstan!" shouted Don, suddenly.
The art student instantly discovered what had attracted his companion's
attention. Stretcher bearers were making their way over the heaps of
débris ahead in search of the wounded. Don was already hurrying toward
them, and Dunstan sprang to join him.
The nerves of the ambulanciers had on many occasions been put to pretty
severe tests, so they were now rapidly recovering from the effects of
their thrilling experience; but they were still in a situation of the
gravest danger, for shells were every now and again screeching overhead.
Quickly reaching the brancardiers, the two were face to face with a
scene which but for their experiences as Red Cross drivers would have
perhaps made them falter and turn pale. The attack had exacted its full
toll of dead and wounded. Many of both lay about, and the stretcher
bearers were busily engaged in carrying the wounded to the dressing
station just behind the lines.
Two, close at hand, were feverishly trying to release a wounded,
half-unconscious poilu pinned down by a supporting timber of the
trench.
The Red Cross men at once leaped to their assistance, though each had
the uncomfortable realization that there was no shelter to protect them
from the enemy's fire.
No words were exchanged by any of the four. The brancardiers used their
spades while Don and Dunstan laid hold of the timber. By their united
efforts it was at last raised and dragged aside. The two Red Cross
drivers helped to place the soldier on the stretcher, and as they did
so he opened his eyes and exclaimed, weakly:
"Well, I thought the Boches had got me that time--but they didn't."
"You are mighty fortunate," commented Don.
With a grave face, the boy looked over the ghastly battle-field and
at the bodies of the blue-clad soldiers who had faced the Germans for
the last time and died for their country. Harrowing as the scene was,
however, he realized that at such a time emotions must be held in
check; the duty of all was to the living.
Accordingly, he was glancing around, in order to see where he might be
of help, when an officer approached. In sharp, authoritative tones,
he commanded them to get away from that immediate vicinity with all
possible speed.
"You are lucky not to have been killed," he declared.
"That's just how we feel about it," remarked the aviator's son, grimly.
"We have plenty of men here to do the work," continued the officer.
"There's no use of your taking any chances. The Red Cross needs you."
The two, obeying his mandate, climbed down into the trench and started
back the way they had come.
A little further along a communication trench opened out before them,
and, swinging into this, they kept up a lively pace--or at least as
lively as they could with so many soldiers constantly moving about in
both directions.
No stops were made, however, for every now and then the cannonading
started up afresh. The reports of rifle-firing in the trenches, too,
carried over the air with unpleasant distinctness.
"I reckon when Chase hears our story he'll be mighty glad he didn't
come along," declared Don.
"I reckon you're right about that," chuckled Dunstan. "By the way, old
chap, it's becoming kind of sultry. To my mind, a storm is brewing."
"I wish I thought you were mistaken, but I don't."
"And both of us are on call to-night."
"Yes; and I shouldn't be a bit surprised if they'd need us at the
outpost."
Following the devious wanderings of the boyau, the two finally emerged
upon a recently-constructed military road which led up over the slope
of a hill. From that time on they made rapid progress, and both were
well pleased indeed when, hot, dusty and perspiring, they reached the
headquarters of the Ambulance unit.