GOOD STEWS
For a moment Jimmy could see nothing. Possibly this was because he
strained his eyes too much, but of course he was looking out into a
darkness so black that it seemed to swallow up everything. And
there was rain, too, a misty, drizzling rain, which alone would have
hampered vision. Then Jimmy closed his strained orbs, and when he
opened them again his vision was nearer normal.
"Do you see it yet?" whispered Bob. "Squint along my finger."
Jimmy did so.
"You have pretty good eyes to see anything in this blackness," he was
saying when he suddenly became aware of something moving out there
among the holes caused by the American shells.
It was more, he said afterward, as though part of the darkness itself
moved rather than that he actually saw something. But it was enough to
direct his attention to what Bob pointed out.
"It _is_ something," was Jimmy's cautious declaration. "And coming
this way!"
There was a movement on the part of Bob, and his chum knew he was
getting his rifle in readiness. Jimmy followed this example. They were
on the alert.
"Don't fire until you challenge," cautioned Jimmy. "It might be one of
our fellows, you know."
"One of our fellows--out there? How could it be!"
"Might have advanced too far, been wounded and have waited for
darkness to crawl back to our lines. Wait a second more until we see
what he's up to."
"It's a man, sure!" Bob whispered, "and he's crawling toward us on his
stomach."
"Let's do the same ourselves and crawl out to meet him," suggested
Jimmy. "If he has a grenade, or a bomb, and tries to throw it, we may
forestall him."
"Our orders were to stay here," decided Bob, and he was a great
stickler for obeying orders to the letter. Perhaps even his small
newspaper experience was responsible for this.
Suddenly the silence of the darkness was broken by an unmistakable
sneeze. True, the sneezer, if I may use such a term, tried to stifle
the explosion, but he was not altogether successful. It was a sneeze,
and nothing could disguise it.
"Did you hear--" began Bob.
And then, to the greater surprise of the two listeners, there came a
muttered exclamation in _German_.
"For the love of gas masks!" breathed Jimmy. "Take aim, Bob!"
And in another moment the fire of two rifles would have been
concentrated on that moving splotch of blackness, whence had come the
sneeze, except that the guttural German expletive was followed by a
tense whisper. And the words came in good English.
"Don't shoot, boys! I'm Schnitz!"
Bob said, afterward, that the reaction was so great that he actually
had a fit of nervous shivering, and Jimmy admitted the same. They
fully expected a rush of the Huns, but they had made up their minds
that first they would "get" the advance guard in the shape of the
man who had sneezed. And then to hear the unmistakable voice of their
comrade in arms!
It was almost unbelievable, and, for a moment, both listening lads had
a doubt. This might be some trick of the Germans, and "Schnitz" was a
sufficiently common Teutonic name, shortened as it was. But a moment
later the voice from the darkness went on in the same cautious
whisper:
"Don't fire, Bob--Jimmy! If you do, you'll spoil a little
surprise-party."
"Say, what does this mean!" asked Jimmy, a bit sternly, for he was
suffering from a reaction.
"You're supposed to be in the dugout, or somewhere back there," said
Bob, when Franz had crawled to them and had arisen to stand beside
them. "What brought you out? Were you sent?"
"I sent myself," was the laconic answer. "I couldn't stand it being
cooped up back there. My ankle felt a lot better, and I took French
leave, as it were. I sneaked out and I crawled over toward the Hun
trenches. And say, I've got some information that the K.O. will give
his eye teeth to have. They're raising a little party to come over and
try to get back some of the land we took from 'em this morning. The
Huns are going to raid our position in half an hour."
"Are you sure?" demanded Bob, and yet he knew that Franz would not say
it if it were not so.
"Well, I'm as sure as one can be of anything in this war," was the
answer in a whisper, all the talk being of that calibre. "I crawled
over until I could hear the sentries talking. Then I located a dugout.
The door was open and more talk floated out. I heard enough to tell
me that the raid is going to be made just before daylight and on this
position."
"You mean where we are?" asked Bob.
"As nearly as I can tell," answered Franz, whose knowledge of the
German language had again done him and his friends such good service.
"Whew!" softly whistled Jimmy. "We'd better get word to the K.O. in
a jiffy. You'll get blue streaks, though, Schnitz, for disobeying
orders."
"Oh, I guess not," was the easy answer. "It'll all be forgotten in
the excitement. I just had to go out. I heard where you fellows were
stationed on listening post and I started out with the intention of
crawling back to your position. Hit it, too; didn't I?"
"That sneeze came near causing you to be hit, and with something
harder than a rubber ball," said Jimmy grimly. "Bob? you'd better go
back with him and let him tell his yarn to the captain. He doesn't
know the password, and I'll have to stay here on duty. But hurry back
and let me know what the word is."
"Right-O!" assented Bob, and a moment later he and Franz were
stumbling back over the rough ground, and through the rain and
darkness, toward the dugout where the officer in charge of that
particular sector was on duty. A captured German dugout had been taken
over, and such comforts as it afforded were utilized.
Just as Franz had surmised, the import of the news he brought in
wiped out his offense against orders. He told in detail what he had
overheard, and quick, sharp commands were at once sent out over
the telephone, for the engineers had hastily strung wires when the
advanced posts had been taken by the onrushing American doughboys.
And the information Franz had secured by his bold act proved correct
in every detail. The Germans, smarting under their defeat, were
determined on revenge. The raiding party came over--but they found the
Americans ready.
It was not a large raid, not as large as Franz, in his enthusiasm, had
intimated. And it was evidently undertaken to get back the commanding
position occupied by that part of the 509th to which the five Brothers
were assigned.
But with the advent of the foe the Americans opened such a fire
from rifles, hand grenades and light artillery, while the scene was
illuminated by flaring lights, that the Huns were almost completely
wiped out. A number of prisoners were taken, for the Boches, once they
found the tide of battle going against them, threw down their guns and
cried: "_Kamerad_!"
Sharp as was the fighting, it was only a slight incident in the great
war. Such skirmishes, or trench raids, were occurring all along the
Western front every night. But slight as it was it took the lives of
several gallant American lads, and a number were wounded. Roger
Barlow received a slight flesh wound, but he refused to go back to the
dressing station, insisting on getting back into the fight when his
hurt had received first-aid treatment.
"The only trouble was, though," Roger said later, "that the scrap was
all over when I got back from the first-aid post. Pity you fellows
couldn't have kept it going until I could join you."
"Better to have it over with sharp and sudden than drag along,"
replied Jimmy. "They killed poor Baker right in front of me," he
added, naming a "bunkie" of whom he and the five Brothers were very
fond. "I might just as well have received that bullet."
"Yes. It's a queer world," mused Bob. "If it hadn't been that Franz
went out against orders and got information, we might all be dead
now."
And this was true.
Once more silence settled down over the trenches, but it was now
almost morning, and with the breaking of dawn the rain that had been a
drizzle all night settled into a steady downpour.
"Not much fighting to-day," decided Roger, when the four Brothers were
at breakfast together--and a cold breakfast at that, for there was no
fuel to heat the coffee, though word went around that the traveling
kitchens were on their way toward the trenches.
Roger was right. Each side consolidated its positions, and each seemed
waiting for what the other might do. This state of affairs continued
for three days, during which the rain lasted. Save for an occasional
artillery duel at night, precipitated often by some nervous sentry
firing his rifle, there was no actual battle.
At the first chance, when he was off duty, Jimmy secured permission to
go back to their former headquarters.
"I want to find out about Iggy if I can," he said, "and also make
inquiries about Sergeant Maxwell and that money I owe you fellows."
"You don't owe it to us!" declared Roger.
"I sure do!" was the answer. "Just as much as if I'd borrowed it from
you!" declared Jimmy. "And I'm going to pay up, too!"
He returned from his little trip much sooner than his comrades had
expected. There was a joyous light in his face as he greeted them, and
cried:
"Good news, fellows! Good news!"