[Illustration: The two forces met with a tremendous shock.]
ARMY BOYS
MARCHING
INTO GERMANY
OR
OVER THE RHINE WITH THE STARS
AND STRIPES
BY
HOMER RANDALL
AUTHOR OF “ARMY BOYS IN FRANCE,” “ARMY BOYS IN
THE FRENCH TRENCHES,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
BOOKS FOR BOYS
ARMY BOYS SERIES
BY HOMER RANDALL
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated
ARMY BOYS IN FRANCE
Or From Training Camp to Trenches
ARMY BOYS IN THE FRENCH TRENCHES
Or Hand to Hand Fighting with the Enemy
ARMY BOYS ON THE FIRING LINE
Or Holding Back the German Drive
ARMY BOYS IN THE BIG DRIVE
Or Smashing Forward to Victory
ARMY BOYS MARCHING INTO GERMANY
Or Over the Rhine with the Stars and Stripes
GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY
GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY
_Army Boys Marching Into Germany_
PRINTED IN U.S.A.
ARMY BOYS MARCHING INTO GERMANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE DISGUISED OFFICER 1
II TRAPPED 11
III A BREATHLESS MOMENT 26
IV IN THE TUNNEL 36
V A MASTER STROKE 46
VI COLONEL PAVET RETURNS 57
VII AT GRIPS WITH DEATH 72
VIII PUTTING IT OVER 81
IX THE SHINING PLANE 89
X TANK AGAINST TANK 99
XI LIQUID FIRE 109
XII BEATING THE HUNS TO THEIR KNEES 117
XIII THE WHITE FLAG OF SURRENDER 128
XIV VICTORY 139
XV ON TO THE RHINE 148
XVI THE MARCH OF TRIUMPH 154
XVII FRIENDS OR FOES? 160
XVIII A PERPLEXING QUESTION 169
XIX THE LONE STRAGGLER 175
XX ON GERMAN SOIL 181
XXI AS FROM THE DEAD 187
XXII A JOYOUS REUNION 193
XXIII CROSSING THE RHINE 199
XXIV THE CELLAR 204
XXV FOILING THE GERMAN PLOT 210
ARMY BOYS
MARCHING
INTO GERMANY
CHAPTER I
THE DISGUISED OFFICER
“We’ll hold this position, boys, if we die for it,” exclaimed Frank
Sheldon, as he wiped the grime and sweat from his face with his sleeve
and reloaded his rifle.
“We’ll die all right,” muttered Tom Bradford, as his rifle cracked and
accounted for another German, “but we’ll take lots of those fellows
with us anyway.”
“There doesn’t seem to be any stopping them,” grunted Billy Waldon.
“Looks as if the whole German army’s wading into us.”
“Heinie’s there with the goods all right,” admitted Frank, “but it’s
his last kick. He’s about due to pass out now. We’ve got his number.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” cautioned Tom. “It’s still a long, long
way to the Rhine.”
“Stop your chinning, you fellows,” warned Billy. “Here comes another
rush. Stand fast.”
Down over the slightly sloping ground came a great wave that threatened
to engulf the little band of army boys who were holding the position.
A hail of bullets and of hand grenades met the assailants and tore
great gaps in their lines. Men by the score threw up their hands and
fell, but their comrades pressed on over them in a fierce determination
to wipe out once for all the American detachment that had been holding
them so obstinately at that point of the long battle line on the edge
of the forest.
“They’re gluttons for punishment,” panted Tom, as he pumped bullets
into the oncoming ranks until his gun grew hot in his hands.
“It’ll be hand to hand this time,” gritted Frank between his teeth.
“Bullets won’t stop them. We’ll have to give them the bayonet.”
“That’s what,” growled Bart, as his fingers tightened on his gun stock
and his muscles tightened.
“I’m glad of it,” muttered Billy. “I’m tired of lying here and holding
them back. I’m aching to get into the middle of that bunch and give
them a taste of cold steel.”
“They’re twice as many as we are,” observed Frank, “but that’s just
about right. One American ought to be able to handle two Huns and give
them all that’s coming to them.”
On came the enemy until they were so close that the boys could see from
the marks they bore that they belonged to the Prussian guards, the
choice troops of the German army.
“Tough nuts to crack,” muttered Tom, “but we’ve cracked them before and
we’ll do it again.”
Nearer and nearer that mass of field gray came until the boys could
literally see the whites of their eyes.
But it was no part of the American plan to take that shock standing
still and give the enemy all the benefit of the momentum. A bugle rang
out with a call that the boys well knew and that thrilled them to the
marrow. Then down the line came the sharp, quick command:
“Fix bayonet. Ready. Charge!”
The American boys swarmed out of the trenches and with a shout rushed
forward to meet the foe.
The two forces met with a tremendous shock that seemed at first as if
it would annihilate them both. The impact was terrific. The Germans had
the advantage of a greater momentum, but this was offset to some extent
by the fact that they were more tired by their exertions while the
Americans were comparatively fresh.
There was very little firing done now. The machine guns on either side
had ceased, as they were as likely to mow down their own men as the
enemy by shooting into that dense mass. Rifles and revolvers were used
until their charges were exhausted. Then revolvers were thrown aside or
hurled into opponents’ faces, the rifles were used as a backing for the
bayonet or whirled about the head like a flail, and the fighting became
a conflict between individual men or groups battling to the death.
For a few minutes it was a mêlée of hacking, clubbing and stabbing.
Men by the dozen went down, killed or wounded. Some of the latter, who
could still move, crawled or fell into shell holes that offered some
slight measure of protection. Often a pair of combatants went down
together, locked in a close embrace from which neither of them rose
again.
Frank found himself engaged with two husky Germans who attacked him at
the same moment. He side-stepped one and drove his bayonet through the
shoulder of the other. He tried to withdraw it, but could not pull it
out before the other German was again upon him.
Like lightning he dropped his hold on his gun, his fist shot out and
landed flush on his assailant’s jaw. The man went down, and Frank,
content with having put him out of action, wrenched his gun free from
his other fallen enemy and hurried to the help of Tom, who was hard
beset.
Whirling his gun about his head, he cleared a space about himself and
his panting comrade. A moment’s respite and again they plunged into the
thick of the fight.
“Hot stuff, eh?” said Tom, with a twisted grin on his lips that had
been cut by a glancing bayonet thrust.
“Hot’s the right word,” gasped Frank. “Where are Bart and Billy?”
“I don’t know,” replied Tom, and then, as a group of Germans surged in
upon them, they said no more but went at it tooth and nail.
It was not an easy victory, for the Germans fought desperately. But
victory at last it proved to be, as the Yankee boys pressed forward
with that same splendid get-there-or-die spirit that they had shown
ever since the first glorious days at Belleau Wood and Château Thierry.
Soon the long lines broke up into separate groups and a few minutes
later the Germans began to retreat, slowly at first and then more
rapidly, until the wood in front of the old Thirty-seventh had been
cleared, and the American line had been advanced far beyond where it
had been when the fighting had begun.
The Americans had lost a considerable number of men, but not so many as
the enemy, for the ground was covered with German dead.
Frank had come through unscathed, except for a slight ridge in the
scalp that a bullet had barely grazed, but Tom’s cut lip had swelled
so that his mouth was twisted in a ludicrous shape and he could only
speak with difficulty. At any other time Frank would have been inclined
to “guy” him over the comical appearance he presented, but now, as
always after a hot fight, his first thought was of Bart and Billy. He
looked about him anxiously, but could see nothing of them as his glance
darted in and out among the trees.
“Could anything have happened to the old scouts, do you think?” he
asked of Tom.
“They’ll turn up all right,” answered Tom, with more confidence than
he really felt. “There’s Billy now,” he exclaimed with great relief,
pointing to the right, “and I’m blessed if the old boy isn’t driving a
couple of Huns in front of him.”
It was Billy, sure enough, as jaunty and chipper as ever, walking
behind two Germans who shuffled along sullenly enough. Billy’s face
broke into a broad grin as his friends hurried toward him.
“Some class to this child,” he chuckled, as he indicated the prisoners.
“Copped them out all by my lonesome. But where’s Bart?” he asked, his
tone changing as he noticed the absence of his comrade.
“That’s just what we want to know,” replied Frank with great
uneasiness. “He got away from us in the early part of the fighting and
we haven’t seen him since.”
Billy signaled to Fred Anderson, who was passing.
“Take these fellows back to the pen, will you, Fred?” he asked. “I want
to help the boys hunt up Raymond.”
“Sure thing,” responded Fred good-naturedly, as he relieved Billy of
his charges.
“Now,” said Billy, “let’s get a hustle on and hunt among the wounded.”
Each of them felt in his heart an awful fear that something worse than
wounds might have come to Bart, but by common consent they kept the
word “dead” away from their lips and tried to keep it away from their
minds. All of them had been face to face with death again and again and
had been wounded more or less severely, but so far death had spared
them and the four had grown to feel that they would all pull through
safely. But Bart was missing. Had a break come at last?
Already burial parties were going up and down the field and the
stretcher parties were gathering up the wounded to convey them to the
advanced dressing stations. The three chums attached themselves to
these and searched frantically among both the wounded and the dead.
For some time their search was unavailing, and then suddenly Frank
gave a call that brought the others instantly to his side.
“I’ve found him!” he cried. “But I don’t know whether he’s living or
dead. Help me to get him out of this pile of bodies.”
In a moment their sinewy hands had extricated their comrade, and Frank
knelt down and lifted Bart’s head in his arms, while Tom tore open
their chum’s shirt and put his hand on his heart.
There was a great gash in Bart’s forehead from which the blood had
flowed freely. His face was as pale as chalk except where it was
streaked with blood, his eyes were closed and he showed no sign of
life. But just as Frank was fearing the worst, Tom gave an exclamation
of relief.
“He’s alive,” he cried. “His heart is beating.”
“Thank God!” exclaimed Frank fervently and was echoed by Billy. “But
I’m afraid he’s pretty badly hurt. We’ve got to get him to the hospital
in a hurry.”
He called out to a couple of litter bearers and they hurried toward
him. With infinite care and tenderness they lifted Bart and put him on
the stretcher. They would have taken him to the hospital themselves,
but that was the work of the bearers, and duty held the boys to
the line that might at any moment be assailed by the Germans in a
counter-attack.
“Good old Bart!” murmured Frank. “He’s alive anyway and while there’s
life there’s hope.”
“Bart’s luck will stand by him, all right,” prophesied Billy,
reassuringly. “But that was a fearful swipe he had across his forehead.
It must have been made by a bayonet.”
“I don’t think so,” said Tom, who had been looking about him. “See that
stump? It’s covered with blood. Bart stumbled over a body or something
and struck his head against this stump and it’s knocked him out.”
Further conjectures were deferred by a sharp, quick summons for the men
to get back into line. An aviator had signaled that the Huns were again
preparing to attack with fresh regiments that had been hastily brought
up, and the old Thirty-seventh, like the veterans they had become,
hurriedly consolidated their positions and awaited the worst that the
enemy could bring against them.
Just then there was a stir in the lines and a staff officer, in the
uniform of a colonel, came galloping up, attended by an orderly. He
dismounted, threw the reins to the orderly and came up to a group of
the Thirty-seventh’s officers.
“Who is in command here?” he asked briskly.
Major Willis, who had charge of that portion of the line, stepped
forward and saluted.
“I am,” he declared.
“Orders from headquarters,” said the newcomer, as he returned the
salute. “You are to retire from this position at once and fall back to
your former line of defense. The enemy has been so strongly reinforced
that it is inadvisable to remain where you are.”
The major looked his surprise and seemed about to protest, but
instinctively discipline asserted itself and he again saluted and
turned to give the necessary orders.
The boys had been standing near enough to hear the conversation, and
Frank, happening to catch sight of Tom’s face, was startled. His face
was pale and his eyes were blazing.
“What is it, Tom?” he asked in a low voice and put his hand on his
comrade’s arm.
But Tom shook off his hand and sprang forward. His voice rang out like
a trumpet.
“It’s a lie!” he shouted. “That man is a German spy! Seize him! Seize
him!”