RETALIATION
“LIEUTENANT, I ain’t complainin’, I ain’t kickin’ an’ I don’t want to
disobey no orders, but please let me go out an’ round up them polecats
on the hill, that killed my buddy. I knows just where they’re at an’ I
can do it. Please, sir, I want t’ go.”
So begged the hunter and scout Gill, the big tears rolling down his
cheeks, though his features were grim with determination. Beyond the
unutterable love for his dead friend and comrade, only revenge stirred
him; the desire to get the very ones who had caused Jennings’ death was
now his one purpose in life.
But Herbert shook his head. “No, Gill, old chap, if only for your own
good; they’d get you, too. And we can’t spare you now. They are making
ready to hit us hard and we’ve got to fight, man; hold ’em off. There
are no more of them than before, but they’ve got a field piece out
there on the hill and shells probably. They’ll hammer us a bit and
then rush us.”
It proved to be as Herbert foresaw; these tactics would be most
effective and the Huns could not tolerate a nested enemy able to do
much damage upon their immediate flank. Directed now by a gray-haired
veteran just arrived on the scene, there was a precision of action
that augured badly for the Yank squad. The first shell came over a
few minutes after the raking machine-gun-fire that had killed the big
mountaineer and the shot struck well up among the spruces, splintering
a tree, throwing bits of wood and limbs down upon the men, the
concussion throwing several of them to the ground. Then Herbert ordered
all within the two stone shelters, except one who must risk going on
watch, and he elected himself for this task, though some of the others
strongly objected. The lieutenant crouched down close to the rocks and
two of the boys reared some large stones about him as a shield; then
the tired and hungry squad awaited results. And these results were a
little beyond their most pessimistic estimates, if even one of the
remaining ten could have taken anything but an optimistic view of the
situation.
The second shell also landed among the spruces, but far back; the
third, fourth and fifth struck outside of the stone breastwork and one
was a “dud.” Then came the sixth, which squarely hit the side of one
stone shelter, making the rock splinters fly and the explosion seemed
as though it would tear down the heavy walls. Though the watcher was
several yards away and protected in part, he was terribly affected by
the concussion and his first thought was the fear of shell shock if
this sort of thing was to continue. But what could the squad do, other
than remain here, even though it meant annihilation or insanity?
Don Richards also, from nearest the doorway of the smallest shelter,
saw clearly, as all of the squad must have seen, the inevitable; with
him to determine was to act.
“That gun has got to be stopped! Two of us can do it. Who?”
“Me, me! Take me!” Gill held out his arms like a child begging a favor.
“I wanted him to let me go, but he said we’d all be needed here.”
“So we will, later. They don’t know how many of us there are here and
they won’t rush us yet a bit; we ought to get back before that, if at
all. There’s no need of Lieutenant Whitcomb’s knowing; he’s too busy
watching to take note of us. Now then, Gill, we’ll slide as soon as the
next shell lands, if it doesn’t get us.”
The next shell didn’t get them; it struck, as most of the others
had done, against the rock wall. With about one-half minute between
each shot there was time and to spare for a get-away. Out under the
shadows the two leaped, Don leading, and however agile the slim young
mountaineer was, he was no quicker on his feet than the school athlete.
But long training in the woods and then the special course in fighting
methods in the camps had made of the mountaineer an expert that no
tyro, nor even few so drilled could hope to equal. Conscious of this,
Don motioned that Gill now take the lead.
“Soft, still; go easy like,” Gill cautioned. “Big game ahead! They
killed my buddy and we’ve got to git ’em. Don’t break no sticks nor jar
no high bushes.”
On through the dense undergrowth the two went, doing that which Donald
had deemed impossible: making haste and going cautiously at the same
time. The boy, an apt pupil, following almost in the footsteps of his
comrade, doing whatever Gill did, avoiding whatever he dodged. Then it
occurred to Don that he was not sure of the ground; rather uncertain
of the direction they must take. Could he trust the woodsman? Did Gill
know?
Suddenly the scout stopped, crouched, gestured for Don also to get
down. Thus they remained, silent, motionless for a full half minute,
hearing plainly someone beyond pushing through the thicket, the sound
coming nearer. Gill was moving his head about in the effort to see
through and beyond the bushes; then he held up one finger and finally
pointed to himself, motioning Don to come on slowly, which Don did;
fearing to spoil his comrade’s plan, then only to witness in part the
subsequent tragedy. But as little as he saw of it, for one fleeting
second the question assailed him: was he to go on with this task alone?
He felt that he could go on with it, for his automatic was in his hand
and he knew well how to use that weapon. Then he saw Gill’s bayoneted
rifle lifted high; he saw it strike forward and down; he heard a
gasping exclamation and the scout, turning once to glance back among
the bushes and wiping his bayonet on a tuft of grass, rejoined the
wondering boy.
“He near got me, acrosst the peepers; his blade was longer than mine,”
Gill remarked, in a whisper. “Scout, too, lookin’ for a way to get to
us from this side. Come on!”
Again Don followed. They made even more rapid headway than at first,
veering continually to the right until the boy was almost convinced
that they had completed a circle. Finally, straight ahead, they
described a more open woodland on ground sloping away. This they
closely scanned from a screened position within the underbrush.
“See ’em, eh?” Gill made remark, grinning fiendishly. And Don, craning
his neck above the friendly branches, had a full view of half a dozen
Huns, rapidly operating a long-barreled field piece under the expert
direction of an under officer. The Germans were not a hundred paces
distant and chance favored the two Americans for there were but few
trees between them and the cannoneers.
“Now, then, buddy, lay low and watch your uncle! If they come a huntin’
up here, an’ they won’t, you can wish ’em well with your gun and
automatic.” Gill openly took command in this sort of thing, as it was
right that he should. It was surely his game, even if partly Don’s
idea, and the young officer was not arrogant. He knew he was no match
for the other with a rifle and that they might need every cartridge
they had in close work before their task was completed, if completed it
could be.
The Huns were about to fire their long weapon; the officer stooped to
sight it. As his hands loosened upon the adjusting mechanism and he
slumped to the earth, the others glanced quickly around to see where
the bullet came from that had killed him. One big, fat Hun raised his
arm to point in almost the exact direction where Don and Gill knelt;
another also had his eyes turned upon the spot where the Americans
crouched. Then the fat fellow pitched headlong and the man with him
leaped back to a machine gun; he had seen a movement, the flash of
flame from Gill’s weapon, or detected the gaseous drift from smokeless
powder. But before the death-dealing weapon could be brought into
action, the gunner also tumbled over, grasping at his side, struggling
a little, then lying inert, as were the other two. Two of the remaining
gunners flung themselves flat on the ground; the other leaped toward
the machine gun, but fell between the legs of the tripod, upsetting the
weapon in his struggles before he, too, lay still.
“Reckoned I’d make ’em sorry they killed old Jen,” Gill said. “Now
then, buddy, let’s go down an’ fix them other two.”
But seeing that this would be a foolish attempt, Don now took command.
“No. You stay here, Gill, and pick off any others that come up and try
to use that gun, which they will and soon. I’ll go back to the rocks.
In about ten or twenty minutes you come back, too. If you get some more
of them they’ll likely let the gun alone for a bit and then try to
grenade us. If they get to working the gun again, then----Listen, Gill;
listen! The shooting all along the line is getting awfully near. It
can’t be half a mile away. They’re coming fast. I’ll get back now.”
There was little trouble in retracing his steps and creeping under
the spruces. Don found the squad just as he had left it, except that
another man was missing. Gerhardt had gone a little out of his head;
had become quarrelsome and abusive, mumbling that he was hungry, that
there were apples and pears down in the woods and that, Germans or no
Germans, he was going after them. Before the others of the squad could
lay hold to stop him he had leaped over the stone barrier and actually
untouched by a veritable hail of bullets had gone off on a wabbling
run. And that was the last any of them had ever seen of Gerhardt; his
fate was never known. Probably he got into the German lines, was
killed because dangerously insane and his unmarked grave would tell no
tales.
Herbert, still on watch and looking terribly pale and haggard, had not
known of the expedition of Don and Gill. When young Judson crawled out
and insisted on taking the lieutenant’s place on watch and Herbert had
almost reluctantly crept back to the shelter, he remarked that the Hun
shells had ceased being fired. Then Don informed him of what Gill had
done.
“That has saved our lives, Don! They were getting our exact range to a
T. We never could have survived that shell fire. And Gill is still out
there?”
“If he gets back, Herb, that fellow will deserve all the honors that
may be put upon him. He’s coming back in twenty minutes.”
“Listen! Was that a bugle, men?”
“It might have been; off a long way.”
“If it was, it was Yank.”
“The shooting is nearer all the time.”
“Slow, but mebbe sure, Lieutenant.”
“I am sure it is sure. They’ll get here, Farnham.”
“And find us sitting up and waiting for a square meal.”