"OVER THE TOP"
Had the entire bunch of fellows, from Regulars to Draftees been planning
for a football game or a very strenuous social lark of some kind, they
could not have appeared more happy, in the beginning, over it. The fact
that the raiders had first in mind the killing of the enemy, men like
themselves sent to cut down their opponents, proved what custom will do.
For custom is everything, and men in a body can fit themselves to
observe almost any procedure and to twist it whichever way that gives
the greatest satisfaction.
In times of peace we regard the murder of one person as something over
which to get up a vast deal of excitement and much indignation, but in
warfare we plan for the killing of thousands as a business matter and
read of it often with actual elation. Such are the inconsistencies of
mankind.
"Say, Corporal, if I don't get at least a half dozen of those Huns
during this little picnic you can call me a clam! These little
get-theres have got to do the job!" Rankin stood gazing lovingly at his
two service pistols, held in either hand, as he spoke. He was admittedly
the best revolver shot amongst the gun-pit contingent.
"I'll run you a little race as to who makes the best score on real
deaders!" spoke up a youthful-looking fellow who was one of the recently
arrived squad of Regulars. "I sort of like to punch holes with these
small cannons myself."
But Herbert heard no other boasts of the sort from the men contemplating
the night raid; indeed, there was very little talk about it at all,
except that some were curious as to how the program might work out, or
what the hitches might be, and some, though determined to do their duty,
seemed to be a bit nervous as time went on.
The boy, having now gone through enough in the crucible of death-dealing
to sear him against the fear of possibilities, even of probabilities,
regarded this raid only as a matter of duty, of necessity, and with very
little thought about it, resolved to do his part to the very best of his
ability.
"Over the top!" This has become a familiar phrase now since a large
part of the present method of warfare consists in those in the opposing
trenches finding a way of getting at each other over No Man's Land,
often not more than twenty yards across and on an average perhaps a
hundred and fifty feet, though the turns and twists of the trenches make
it difficult to draw an average.
Open attacks, except by large bodies of men in what is termed a drive,
are not generally successful in the military, the strategic, sense, for
there are more men lost in getting across barbed wire entanglements,
machine-gun and rifle fire than will pay for what they gain. A section
of trench which is part of the enemy's system will very likely have to
be given up, unless the entire trench is soon after taken, which may
result in a general drive.
The military tactics compel that which the scientific boxer adopts and
calls his art, that of self-defense. Anyone can wade in and hammer a foe
if he does not care how he is hammered in turn, but often the hammering
he gets is more than he can give, unless he studies to shun injury. In
this case often the weaker fighter will outdo the stronger if the former
avoids being punished while getting in some hard cracks on the other
chap's weak spots.
And just so with trench fighting. The opposing armies are precisely like
two trained-to-the-minute prize fighters with bare knuckles and out for
blood; they are watching each other's every move, dodging, ducking and
delivering all sorts of straights, hooks, swings and upper-cuts, all
sorts of raids, bombings, grenadings, shellings, air attacks and what
not?
But the raids at night are the best card that, so far, the opposing
platoons or companies have learned to deliver, and they often result in
a knockout blow, at least to that section of the trench attacked. The
raid must be delivered as a surprise to be most effective and thus may
be compared to the fist fighter's sudden uppercut or swing to the jaw.
The night came on cold, still, with gathering clouds, and the men in the
lower portion of the communicating trench, and mostly within an offset
that had also been dug and roofed over with heavy poles, brush and sod
for camouflage, gathered to partake of the evening meal and converse in
low tones.
Two enemy airplanes bent on scouting duty, started just before dusk
toward the American lines, but with glee the boys heard Susan Nipper
begin to talk again and the planes disappeared, one veering off out of
range, the other being knocked into the customary mass upon the unkind
ground.
Whitcomb, Gardner, Watson, and Rankin chummed together, as was their
habit when all off duty together; not at this time cooking, as there was
no place handy where a fire could be camouflaged. The men now all ate
their grub cold, which was not so bad for an occasional change; the
tinned meats, fresh fruit and fresh biscuits made at the barracks well
satisfying a soldier's appetite.
Hot coffee in a big urn was sent down from the gun pit, and the
lieutenant added a good supply of chocolate candy recently shipped over
from the good old United States for the boys in the trenches and
appreciated as much as anything could be. After this many indulged in
pipes and tobacco, but they were careful to keep the glow of their smoke
well out of sight of the prying eyes of the enemy, for who can tell when
a squirming Hun may wriggle himself up to almost the very edge of his
foeman's trench and spot those gathered within, or overhear their
plans!
[Illustration: "MAYBE I'LL HEAR THEM PRONOUNCE MY DOOM."]
All this while there had been someone at the listening post, that point
of the zigzag trench which was nearest the enemy. The job is an exacting
one and the listeners are frequently relieved by those men most alive to
the interests of the trench.
Presently Sergeant West came to the snipers and addressed Whitcomb:
"Corporal, you fellows are all wide awake and with your eyes sharpened.
I'd like to have one of your men on relief at the listening point."
"All right. Rankin has got ears like a rabbit for hearing, even if he is
a pretty boy. Go to it, old man!"
Rankin got up and stretched himself. He seemed more than usually
serious.
"Maybe I'll hear them pronounce my doom," he remarked and turned away.
"He seems extra solemn tonight," said Gardner. "Wonder if we'll all come
out of this business skin whole."
"All? I'll wager not all of us will. Those Huns can fight; I'll say that
for them. But it's the only good thing I can say for them," Watson
commented.
"That's where you're wrong, old man," Gardner replied. "As you know, I
spent a year in Germany----"
"Or in jail? 'Bout as leave!" Watson jested.
"---- after I left school. Dad sent me over with our buyer to get on to
the toy importing business, and I'll say this for the doggone Germans.
They are rough, they are brags, they are all a little crazy; but they
are wonderfully painstaking, remarkably thorough and persevering, and
here and there, now and then you come across some mighty fine, good,
upright, altogether decent chaps whom you may be glad and proud to have
as friends. It is all wrong, unfair and a little small to consider all
the people in any land unworthy; don't you think so? You remember what
Professor Lamb used to say at school----"
"Professor Lamb?" interrupted Herbert. "Say, man, what school did you
attend?"
"Brighton Academy. Best school in the----"
"Here, too! I was a junior when I enlisted; Flynn and I. Put it there,
old chap!" Herbert thrust out his hand.
"Now, isn't that funny we didn't know that before about you?" Gardner
said. "Yes, Watson here and I were classmates. We were chums at school,
and have been chums ever since; enlisted together."
"And we're mighty glad to be under one who has the same Alma Mater," put
in Watson.
"Or, as poor old Roy Flynn would say: 'We're all the same litter and
bark just alike; mostly at the moon'," Herbert quoted.
"Flynn, too, eh?" questioned Gardner. "He, like many another fitted for
some very different task, came out here to be unfitted. I have thought,
ever since the days in camp back home, that he was admirably cut out for
the law."
"A man doesn't need both feet to talk with," Watson suggested.
"And he may not lose his leg at all," Herbert protested, hoping against
hope.
"It won't still his tongue, I'll wager, if he does."
As the night wore on conversation grew less and many of the men dozed,
sitting on the ground and propped against the dirt wall, or each other.
One little fellow slept and even snored lying across the stretched legs
of two others, until they tumbled off to rest their limbs. Others knew
only wakefulness and either stood about or paced up and down between the
narrow walls of the trench, stopping now and then to exchange a
whispered word with their fellows.
The sniper squad took turns in making pillows of each other. Once, when
they were shifting positions for comfort, Watson remarked rather
sharply:
"We can't yell 'Hurrah for old Brighton!' but we can all pull together,
by gum!"
Rankin, who had been in turn relieved from duty at the listening post
and who was very wide awake, remarked:
"Mebbe we'll all pull together for the other shore before this night's
over."
Herbert waked up at that. "Pull yourself together, old man. You were
telling a while ago what you're hoping to do with those guns of yours
and----"
"If I have any sort of a chance," Rankin said grimly.
* * * * *
"We can't call you fellows together with a bugle," Sergeant West
announced, in a stage whisper. "But it's a few minutes of three o'clock;
everything is as quiet as a mouse. Two of our men are over there to give
an alarm. All get ready. There'll be no falling in, no formation. Keep
well spread out. Orders will be given only by signals. Three of us have
whistles and we hope they won't get all three. One short blow means
follow the leader; two means all return; three means retreat in a
hurry, but with prisoners, if you can get them; a long-continued blast
means retreat for your lives. I guess all understand. But no signals
will be given until after we attack. We must go across absolutely
without noise and we must go quickly. Get the fellow at their listening
post, or any sentinel first. It's our first raid in this sector and they
will hardly expect us. Now, boys, follow Gerry. He knows the lay of the
land."
And over the top went the forty odd, wishing they could do so with a
cheer, but keeping as silent as an army of cats after an army of
rabbits--only the prey they sought was by no means as harmless as
rabbits, and this fact made the need of silence greater.
Not a word came from the scouts, and if the men in the enemy's trench
were apprised of the coming of the Americans they were not able to
communicate with their fellows before the raiders had scrambled through,
or rapidly pulled aside the barbed wire, squirmed over a pile of sand
bags and leaped into the German trench.
Not a man hesitated, and the first signal of any kind they heard was the
bark of Gerry's revolver as he sent down the foremost and lone Hun he
encountered just as the fellow tried to raise his gun.
At short range the handier, expertly used revolver won and it was so
throughout the mêlée that followed.
As the Americans landed, some few dashing on and into a wide shelter or
dugout lined with berths and concrete-floored, in which fifty men
reposed or waited for night duty, the short, sharp, rapidly repeated
bark of the ready pistols sounded almost like, though less regular than,
a machine gun.
But the revolvers were used only against those that opposed them; the
foeman who indicated surrender, who was without a weapon or who dropped
it, or who held up his hands was fully disarmed and pushed aside between
guards, quickly signified by Sergeant West.
It was not all surrender, however; at the very rear of the dugout a
dozen men quickly leveled their Mausers and discharged a volley,
point-blank, at the Americans who had entered, the most of them being
still in the trench fighting the Huns who had rallied from either end.
The snipers' squad, all light and active young fellows, had been the
first into the trench; the first into the dugout, they were in the fore
when the volley came. Herbert, a gun in both hands, leaped to prevent
two Germans from seizing their guns; Gardner on the other side held up
three men; Watson blazed away at a commander who blazed away at him,
without making a hit, and half a dozen Regulars behind were coming on to
perform a like duty. But it was Rankin who saw more of the resisting
squad at the far end of the dugout.
The young man, a gun in each hand, became transformed instantly into a
sort of fire-spouting mechanism; the red streaks of flame from his
weapons stabbed the semi-darkness almost with one continuous glare and
when the twelve shots were expended every man of the opposing force had
fallen. But not alone! The last to stand before that burst of fury aimed
true; and as more Regulars rushed into the place to make good the
surrender of the other Huns some stumbled over brave Rankin's body.
The whistle sounded once, twice, thrice. Was the work so soon completed?
That meant hurry, but with prisoners and, of course, the American
wounded and dead.
As though long drilled for this work, knowing precisely what to do and
being not once confused, the boys hustled the Huns before them, some
guarding against any possible flank attack; and Herbert, feeling for the
moment like a young Hercules, lifted Rankin over his shoulder and,
climbing again the ramparts of the enemy's trench, staggered rapidly
back again over No Man's Land, keeping up with his comrades. And a
little behind him came other stalwart fellows, carrying also their
precious human burdens, some groaning, some quiet, two limp and fast
growing cold.
Then came rest, though there was readiness against counter-attack, which
did not then occur. With the coming of dawn a few new men guarded the
communicating trench and the raiders returned to the gun pit. Herbert
listened to Sergeant West's terse report to Lieutenant Jackson:
"Very successful, sir. Captured twenty and left about thirty-five enemy
dead and wounded. Two of ours dead; four wounded. Got a lot of their
guns and smashed a machine-gun they were trying to use in the trench."
Then he added in an altered voice:
"Want to recommend every man for bravery, but especially Corporal
Whitcomb, Privates Gardner and Watson for holding the dugout against
odds until more men arrived, and Corporal Long and Privates Finletter,
Beach, Thompson and Michener for capturing the machine-gun. If I may
mention it, we would all be glad to make another raid at any time."
Herbert saluted. "May I add to that, Lieutenant? Thank you! I want to
tell you what Rankin did before he died." And with a voice a little
unsteady at times the boy related briefly the heroic work of the young
fellow who had shot faster and truer than eight or nine men against him
and had made it possible for the few Americans in the dugout to take the
prisoners they did.
"I think this, more than anything that has occurred yet, shows clearly
the superiority of the Americans' expertness with the revolver and what
may be done with it against odds, if men are taught to shoot accurately
and with great rapidity," he added.
"I am going to report that to our captain," said Lieutenant Jackson,
"and I hope it goes to Washington. I know what I'd do if I had the say.
I'd give each man two pistols and a lot of training and omit a lot of
this liquid-fire business and grenades. A poor shot can do nothing, nor
can a man attempt it who is unfamiliar with the weapon, but an expert
could stop half a dozen men with bayonets before the latter could get
near enough to use them."