BOWLED OVER
Not a man of the American and French forces that were to attack the
Germans had yet left the protecting trench. The object of the artillery
fire, which always preceded an attack unless it was a surprise one with
tanks, was to blow away the barbed-wire entanglements, and, if possible,
dispose of some of the enemy guns as well as the fighting men.
The barrage was really a "curtain of fire" moving ahead of the attacking
troops to protect them. This curtain actually advanced, for the guns
belching out the rain of steel and lead were slowly elevated, and with
the elevation a longer range was obtained.
Waiting in a trench slightly behind the troops that were soon to go into
action, Blake Stewart and his chums talked, taking no care to keep down
their voices. Indeed, they had to yell to be heard.
"Well, we're here at last," said Blake.
"Yes; and it looks as if there'd be plenty of action," added Joe.
"If it only gets lighter and the smoke doesn't hang down so," added
Charlie. "We won't get very good films if it doesn't get lighter. It's
fierce now."
"Well, if the fighting lasts long enough the sun will soon be higher and
the light better," responded Blake. "And it sounds as if this was going
to be a big fight."
By this time the German guns seemed to have awakened, and were replying
to the fire from the American and French artillery. The shells flew
screaming over the heads of those in the trenches, and instinctively
Blake and his companions ducked.
Then they realized how futile this was. As a matter of fact, the shells
were passing high over them and exploding even back of the line of
cannon. For the Germans did not yet have the range, some of the Allies'
guns having been moved up during the night.
Suddenly, though how the signal was given the moving picture boys did
not learn until afterward, there was activity in the trenches before
them. With yells that sounded only faintly above the roar of the big
guns, the American and French soldiers went "over the top," and rushed
toward the German trenches.
"Come on!" cried Blake. "This is our chance!"
"It isn't light enough!" complained Charlie, as he ran along the
communicating trench with the other two lads to the front line ditch.
"We can't get good pictures now."
"It's getting lighter!" cried Blake. "Come on!"
He and Joe were to work the cameras, with Charles Anderson to stand by
with spare reels of film, and to lend a helping hand if need be.
Along the narrow trench they rushed, carrying their machines which, it
was hoped, would catch on the sensitive celluloid the scenes, or some of
them, that were taking place in front. Mad scenes they were, too--scenes
of bursting shells, of geysers of rock and earth being tossed high by
some explosion, of men rushing forward to take part in the deadly
combat.
As Blake had said, the scene was lighting up now. The sun rose above the
mists and above the smoke of the guns, for though some smokeless powder
was used, there was enough of the other variety to produce great clouds
of vapor.
Behind the line of rushing soldiers, who were all firing their rifles
rapidly, rushed the moving picture boys. They were looking for a spot on
which to set their machines to get good views of the engagement.
"This'll do!" yelled Blake, as they came to a little hill, caused by
the upheaval of dirt in some previous shell explosion. "We can stand
here!"
"All right!" agreed Joe. "I'll go a little to one side so we won't
duplicate."
The barrage fire had lifted, biting deeper into the ranks and trenches
of the Germans. But they, on their part, had found the range more
accurately, and were pouring an answering bombardment into the artillery
stations of the French and Americans.
And then, as the sun came out clear, the boys had a wonderful view of
what was going on. Before them the French and Uncle Sam's boys were
fighting with the Germans, who had been driven from their trenches. On
all sides were rifles belching fire and sending out the leaden
messengers of death.
And there, in the midst of the fighting but off to one side and out of
the line of direct fire, stood Blake, Joe and Charlie, the two former
turning the handles of the cameras and taking pictures even as they had
stood in the midst of the volcanoes and earthquakes, or in the perils of
the deep, making views.
The fighting became a mad riot of sound--the sound of big guns and
little--the sound of bursting shells from either side--the yells of the
men--the shouting of the officers and the shrill cries of the wounded.
It took all the nerve of the three lads to stand at their posts and see
men killed and maimed before their eyes, but they were under orders, and
did not waver. For these scenes, terrible and horrible though they were,
were to serve the good purpose of stimulating those at home, in safety
across the sea, to a realization of the perils of war and the menace of
the Huns.
The fighting was now at its fiercest. The Germans had an accurate idea
of the location of the American and French cannon by this time, and the
artillery duel was taking place, while between that double line of fire
the infantry were at body-grips.
Hand grenades were being tossed to and fro. Men were emptying the
magazines of their rifles or small arms fairly into the faces of each
other.
When a soldier's ammunition gave out, or his gun choked from the hot
fire, he swung the rifle as a club or used the bayonet. And then came
dreadful scenes--scenes that the moving picture boys did not like to
think about afterward. But war is a grim and terrible affair, and they
were in the very thick of it.
Suddenly, as Blake and Joe were grinding away at their cameras, now and
then shifting them to get a different view, something that made shrill
whistling sounds, passed over their heads.
"What's that?" asked Charlie, who stood ready with a reel of spare film
for Blake's machine.
"Bullets, I reckon," answered Joe. "They seem to be coming our way,
too."
"Maybe we'd better get out of here," suggested Blake. "We've got a lot
of views, and----"
"Don't run yet, Buddies!" called a voice, and along came Private Drew.
"You'll never hear the bullet that hits you. And they're firing high,
the Fritzes are! Don't run yet. How're you making it?"
"All right so far, but it's--fierce!" cried Blake, as he stopped for a
moment to let a smoke cloud blow away.
"Yes, it's a hot little party, all right," replied the soldier, with a
grin. "I haven't had all my share yet. Had to go back with an order. Hi,
here comes one!" and instinctively he dodged, as did the others, though
a moment later it was borne to them that it was of little use to dodge
on the battlefield.
Something flew screaming and whining over their heads, and fell a short
distance away.
"It's a shell!" cried Joe, as he saw it half bury itself in the earth.
"Look out!"
Private Drew gave one look at the place where the German missile had
fallen, not ten feet away, and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, he
cried:
"It's only a dud!"
"What's that?" asked Joe.
"Shell that didn't explode," answered the soldier. "The Fritzes have
fired a lot of them lately. Guess their ammunition must be going back on
them. It's only a dud!"
He was about to pass on, and the moving picture boys were going to
resume their making of films, when another scream and whine like the
first came, but seemingly nearer.
Instinctively all four looked up, and saw something flashing over their
heads. They could feel the wind of the shell, for that is what it was,
and then the chance shot from the German gun fell about fifty feet
behind the group.
The next instant there was a tremendous explosion, and Blake and the
others felt themselves being tossed about and knocked down as by a
mighty wind.