ORDERS ARE ORDERS
Night fell dark and stormy. As soon as it was dusk Fritz begged to
be released and, receiving the General’s permission, slipped away.
“I doubt if he comes back,” said the General, “but it will spread
the news at least. No, it is too much to expect that a man will
persuade a couple of men, to say nothing of twenty, to give
themselves into the hands of an enemy they have been taught to
believe is ruthless, but if he does, we will know that the
conditions in the German army are worse than we dream.”
Time dragged away. The boys, still believing in Fritz, sat at the
head of the only trail, watching. They almost wore their watches out
looking at them, and trying them to see if they were wound. Time
seemed to stand still and yet, somehow, ten o’clock came, and eleven
and a quarter past. At half past the drivers prepared the cars for
their silent night journey to the next sector. The tents were down,
all but the screen of blankets behind which, with a closely shaded
light, the General sat.
Ten minutes and the boys looked once more at the illuminated dials,
and sighed.
“I’d have bet on that duck, if I was a betting man,” said Porky
sadly. “I bet he _meant_ to come.”
“Hark!” said Beany, listening.
Porky listened too. He could always hear what Beany heard, if Beany
called his attention to it. A soft tramp of feet could be heard. The
boys leaped to their feet. Tramp, tramp, scuffle, scuffle, up the
hill in the darkness!
“They are coming!” gasped Beany.
They were.
A flash of lightning preceding the storm that had hung off all day
split the sky, and in its momentary glare the boys saw a small squad
of American soldiers come out into the little clearing. The boys
stood aside as they passed. Another squad brought up the rear, and
between them--yes, between them marched, or rather staggered, a
dismal company of twenty haggard skeletons headed by Fritz!
He had kept his word. The men were evidently frightened badly and
Fritz kept talking to them as they advanced. The General came out of
his shelter and surveyed them by the light of his flash.
“Here they are, sir,” said Fritz. “Ask them what you like.”
The General spoke to the weary men and they replied rapidly in
harsh, hoarse voices. Porky and Beany stood in an agony of
curiosity, wishing that they had studied German instead of Latin in
high school.
Finally the General took time to explain to the officers who did not
understand.
He gave orders to have the prisoners fed, and soon the strange
little company wound off down the hill again on its way to the
prison camp. Fritz, as a sort of trusty, was given special
privileges.
“It is quite true, gentlemen,” said the General. “The conditions in
the enemy’s army are most serious. They are only half fed, poorly
clothed and letters occasionally smuggled from home report a
frightful state of affairs--famine, disease and intense suffering
among the families of the soldiers. This alone you know will break
the morale of their troops.
“And Fritz said he could have brought five hundred men as well as
this twenty, but they are taught that we torture them and always
shoot our prisoners sooner or later. That is why they fight so
desperately.
“They think death awaits them in any case, and that death on the
battlefield is far preferable to that which we will mete out to them
if taken prisoners.
“Fritz assured me that he had set the ball rolling, however, the
news of our millions of men in the field. This has been a surprising
experience but we are already late. We must be off!”
Rapidly the party took their seats in the automobiles. The first was
about to start when a motor was heard in the darkness. It was
approaching, apparently from headquarters.
“Word for the General!” was the whispered word, and sure enough, the
driver of the swift, low car had a letter for the General. He read
it and called the boys.
“News for you, young men,” he said regretfully. “General Bright has
been recalled to the States, and you are to return with him. This
cuts your stay several weeks and, I regret to say, makes it
impossible for you to continue with us. You are to return in this
car.”
The boys, desperately disappointed, hopped out, found their field
kits, and advanced to say good-by to the General.
He shook hands heartily and patted each on the shoulder.
“I shall miss you, boys,” he said. “You have certainly done your
bit! Some day, when we are all back in America, I shall expect you
to come and see how _real_ apples grow on a ranch in Oregon.”
The boys thanked him. They could not say much. It was a great
disappointment.
They settled back in the car which was to take them back to General
Bright. They heard the other cars glide quietly and swiftly away in
the distance. They too shot out at high speed.
Soberly they stared into the darkness. Their thoughts flew forward
to the tiresome trip to the port of embarkation, the long ocean
voyage with its deadly inaction. They had been living in confusion,
danger, and uncertainty. They commenced to see before them their
home, their father and mother, the familiar fellows.
“We have to get Bill and Peggy,” said Beany.
“Yep!” said Porky briefly.
They could just _see_ their mother, with oceans of love for them and
plenty for the two orphans beside.
For the first time a great wave of homesickness swept over the boys.
That they were to have a pleasant, safe trip would not have
interested them if they could have been told of it. They were
homesick. Silently they rolled on and on in the dark. Presently
Beany slipped an arm around the hunched up shoulders of his twin.
“Wish we were home _now_!” he said huskily.
“Gosh!” said Porky.
FINIS