FAST WORK
IT is the unexpected that often happens, in battle as well as in
everyday life.
Captain Lowden had given orders to his men to cease advancing a little
before darkness set in and to hold the ground they had gained against
counter-assaults, a plan carried out by the 77th Division wherever the
fighting was so severe as to show that the Germans equaled or exceeded
the Americans in numbers and were most bitterly contesting the ground.
About twenty men of a depleted platoon were now with the Captain and
operating directly under him. With the setting of the sun they began
to prepare a hasty camp, putting up a few small tents, all used for
the temporary relief of the wounded. A messenger had been sent after
stretcher bearers and several men had been detailed to roughly clear an
old roadway that led out to the nearest approach for ambulances.
But although there was much hustle and bustle about the camp, it
really bore a remarkable contrast to the daytime scenes of men in
action and of those supporting and aiding them in every way. In a
little while the activities quieted down and the men began to seek
places of rest, a few pickets being sent forward, as usual, and others
detailed to remain on guard against an attack of the enemy. Captain
Lowden went back to the hospital tents.
Needing sleep more than anything else, Lieutenants Whitcomb and
Richards selected ponchos and rolled up on beds of leaves, dropping off
instantly into perfect oblivion. Don meant to ask something about Gill,
who had suddenly acted as though ill and had been sent to the rear, but
the question died before the boy could frame the words. He would not
have got a reply had he spoken.
The hours dragged on for those awake. Private Neeley had been hit in
the hand; so slight a wound that he did not report it. But now it
commenced to hurt and gaining his corporal’s consent he went to the
rear to have the wound dressed. That done, he returned, coming alone
through the short stretch of woods between the camp and the _abri_.
It was not very dark and now and then distant flares brightened the
surroundings a little, even slightly penetrating the forest.
Neeley paused to rub his paining wrist; he looked off among the trees
quite absent-mindedly, and an object that ordinarily he would have
taken for a stump seemed to move slightly. The soldier gazed at it
curiously; the thing moved again.
The Yank was without his gun; he had placed it against a tree, calling
the corporal’s attention to it. Neeley had his automatic, but while no
coward, he was cautious; it would hardly do, with only a pistol, to
challenge a possible enemy scout. Better pretend not to have noticed
the object and then to watch it.
Therefore, Neeley calmly walked on slowly and when he knew he was out
of sight of the thing, if it were human, he silently doubled back and
crouching within the gloom of a big spruce, kept his eyes sharply
directed toward the spot where the moving object had been.
Was it possible, he wondered, for a Hun to sneak so far through the
American lines and would one dare to do it? The Yank’s query was
answered very soon. There was not one, but fully thirty men slowly
advancing, still for half a minute, then moving forward for a few
seconds, all together as in drilling. They were strung out like
sheep, though far apart, and they came along this unoccupied stretch
of woodland from the densely grown hilltop above the late fortified
position of the lost squad. That great thicketed patch was surely Hun
territory, up to the present time, at least.
If these were Yanks, they would not come among their friends in this
manner, but the enemy would do just so. Surely an error had been made
in not picketing the slope below the rocks. And now the little bunch
of Yanks separated from the rest of the company, would soon face, in a
night assault made upon them, superior numbers, with the advantage of
surprise.
With all the speed possible, not to apprize the foe, Neeley got out
of his place of close observation and, once beyond sight of the Huns,
made rapid progress to the camp. The fellow fairly flung himself upon
Herbert and shook him like mad, bringing the lad to a sitting posture;
then instantly to his feet and awake. Neeley knew it was necessary to
spread the alarm silently, lest the Huns should be impelled to attack
at once; the Yanks, in turn, must quickly be ready to give the enemy a
surprise.
Lieutenant Whitcomb shook the cobwebs out of his brain; he caught Don
Richards by the collar and yanked that officer to his feet, dodging his
sleepy blow, and sent Neeley to apprize the guard and pickets, that
they might all, observing caution, waken their sleeping comrades. With
whispered commands Herbert brought the platoon silently to attention
and made his hasty plan known. From a few spare garments a figure
not unlike a scarecrow was erected and a few yards away a bull’s-eye
lantern was left burning. Then, dividing the men into two groups of ten
each, one with Don and the other with Herbert, they sneaked off into
the woods in opposite directions and a little toward the rear, each
man following the example of the leader by crouching or hiding behind
a tree. The signal for action, a combined rush from two directions,
was to be the whistle of a bird, as though some belated songster was
disturbed on its roost. Each man tied a handkerchief, or white rag, to
his cap band to avoid being shot by friend instead of foe.
But the Yanks had long to wait and just exactly what they were waiting
for they did not know. There was no sound of a definite character in
the forest near by; it was not possible to see for more than a few
yards. At any moment, back near the camp, they expected to hear the
sound of rushing feet and the Hun order of “Hands oop, Amerikaner!” It
never came.
After nearly half an hour, almost convinced that some mistake had been
made, Don took it into his head to do some scouting. If there were a
false alarm, a needless scare, he would endeavor to find it out.
Asking Sergeant Fetters to take command, the boy went off toward the
stretch of more open woods at the base of the hill and just below the
rock basin and spruces, the scene of so many recent tragedies and brave
acts. The boy knew this spot, even at night; he knew the only way that
might be taken without mishap after dark to gain the top. Did he hear
some sounds a hundred yards or more away, as of feet stepping on loose
stones, a cracking stick, a low command, or was he imagining this?
Don quickly and by a slightly circuitous route gained a position at the
bottom of the hill and waited. Even now he half believed he was on a
sort of wild goose chase; it was probably all quite absurd.
But what was that? Another breaking stick, a low word spoken and now
quite near. With field glasses one may discern objects much farther
away and more clearly at night, and the boy’s handy little lenses came
into play. Coming slowly almost toward him, working their way with
infinite caution and at a snail’s pace up the hill, were many figures.
Were they friends or foes? Did this bear out Neeley’s observations?
Don held his place, with some risk of the advancing men’s discovering
him, but he was sufficiently curious. Again the little glasses
performed their duty. The first man in the van wore a German officer’s
service cap.
The fact was pretty evident that after a painfully tedious, silent
march into the very jaws of the American positions, in order to
surprise and capture a platoon of sleeping men, of which in some way
they had gained knowledge, they had found these fellows had become
alarmed and so, patiently, after the German painstaking method, the
Huns were retracing their steps.
A quick mental calculation convinced Don that he could get back and
bring up the platoon to a position on the hill, ahead of the Germans
and, once away from possible observation, he moved like a June hornet.
Single file, as usual on such expeditions and almost on a dog trot,
the Yanks followed Don and Herbert up through the woods where the much
interfered with field piece had been destroyed, reached the very spot
where Gill had been captured, skirted the thicketed edge once again and
then dropped to the ground. And this time the waiting was brief.
“Hands up, Dutch!” ordered Don, as the tall officer came abreast of
him, and as the Yanks on either side of the way, with leveled guns
leaped to their feet the enemy made no resistance.
Coming to make a capture, they were themselves taken prisoners by the
very men they meant to surprise.