COLONEL PAVET RETURNS
But when the morning came, there was no chance to make the intended
visit, for the regiment was shifting its position in preparation for an
attack on the enemy lines. Orders were flying thick and fast, orderlies
were riding from one division to another, and it was evident that a
great battle was impending. Artillery was being brought up from the
rear, for the army had gone ahead so fast on the preceding day that
they had outdistanced their guns. Tanks, too, were massing in great
numbers on the front.
As one of the great monsters was lumbering by where the boys were
stationed, something went wrong with the machinery and the driver
stepped out to adjust it. An exclamation of delight broke from the Army
Boys, as they recognized the bronzed face of their old friend, Will
Stone.
His pleasure at the meeting was just as great, and his face was beaming
as he came over to them with outstretched hands.
“What good wind blew you up this way?” asked Frank, after the first
greetings were over.
“Been ordered up here to help you fellows clean out the Argonne
forest,” answered Stone with a grin. “Some job, too, if all I hear
about the place is true.”
“It’s a big job, sure enough,” admitted Frank.
“Oh, well, we’ve turned the trick whenever we tackled the Huns so far,
and I guess we’re not going to fall down on this,” said Billy.
“Where’s Bart?” asked Stone, as he glanced about him. “I hope nothing’s
happened to him.”
“Nothing fatal, we hope,” responded Frank soberly. “He hit his head
against a stump, in a charge we were making yesterday morning, and cut
it badly. They took him off to the hospital and we were figuring on
going over today and seeing how he was getting along. But I’m afraid we
can’t get off if we’re going to attack.”
“Too bad,” said Stone sympathetically, “but I don’t think we need
to figure on an attack today. They won’t be able to get things in
readiness before night. I was tipped off a little while ago that the
fight was going to start tomorrow morning at dawn. So you may be able
to see Bart today. If you do, tell him I was asking about him and
that I’m rooting for him to get well. But I’ll have to tinker up this
machine of mine and be getting along.”
With a cordial wave of the hand he left them, and after adjusting the
machinery started off to reach his appointed part of the line.
“He’s a bully good fellow,” remarked Frank admiringly, as they gazed
after him.
“You bet he is,” agreed Tom.
Stone’s prophecy proved to be correct, for late that afternoon it was
announced that the attack would take place on the following morning.
The men were released from standing in readiness and the Army Boys had
no difficulty in getting permission to visit their comrade.
But the hopes they had cherished of finding Bart better were doomed to
disappointment. They were taken by the Red Cross nurse into the ward
in which he lay, his face flushed with fever, his hands clenching and
unclenching, while incoherent mutterings came from his lips. It wrung
their hearts to see their chum in such a plight.
“What does the doctor say about him?” Frank asked the nurse anxiously.
“He says that the case is very serious,” was the reply. “He fears
that it may develop into brain fever. He said this morning that if it
were not for the splendid vitality of the patient, he wouldn’t have a
chance. As it is, he hopes he may pull him through.”
The boys were shocked by this verdict. They had been through so many
adventures with Bart, he had been such a loyal and dependable comrade,
that it seemed as though he had become a part of themselves. Army life
without Bart with them seemed almost unthinkable.
“Of course,” the nurse hastened to reassure them, as she saw their
clouded faces, “it may not prove as serious as the doctor fears.
It will be a day or two before he can predict with some degree of
certainty.”
There was nothing to do but hope, and the boys left the hospital with
downcast faces and heavy hearts. They knew that they were carrying a
burden that would not be lightened until Bart was once more at their
side.
On their way back, they passed a prison pen where a large number of
Germans captured in the previous day’s fighting were confined. Most of
these were out in the open, but there were some small structures in
the enclosure where those who were charged with serious offenses were
imprisoned under guard of sentries who were pacing up and down before
the huts.
“There’s Fred Anderson,” remarked Tom.
“Hello, Fred,” called out Billy.
“How are you, Billy?” responded Fred, coming to a pause as they drew
near. “I see you fellows are coming from the hospital. Been over to see
Bart, I suppose. How’s the old scout getting along?”
“He’s in a bad fix,” responded Frank sadly. “The doctor doesn’t know
whether he’ll pull through or not.”
“That’s too bad,” said Fred with genuine regret, for Bart was a general
favorite with the members of the Thirty-seventh. “I hope he’ll come
around all right.”
“We all hope that,” responded Billy. “All the boys of the old regiment
will be rooting for him. How comes it that you’re on sentry duty, Fred?”
“Just my hard luck,” grumbled Fred. “Whom do you think I’m guarding in
here?”
“Oh, some old Hun, I suppose, with an unpronounceable name,” said Billy
carelessly.
“Bad guess,” grinned Fred. “It’s Nick Rabig.”
The name acted like an electric shock on the three comrades.
“Rabig!” they exclaimed in the same breath.
“That’s what,” said Fred. “Seems to be popular with you fellows, I
don’t think.”
“The yellow dog!” exclaimed Billy.
“The traitor!” growled Frank.
“Why haven’t they settled his case long ago?” gritted Tom. “He ought to
have been stood up before a firing squad the day after they captured
him the last time.”
“That’s what he deserved all right,” agreed Fred. “He’s the only fellow
that ever disgraced the colors of the old Thirty-seventh. The fact is,
I suppose, that we’ve been so busy chasing the Huns out of France that
a court-martial hasn’t had time to attend to his case. But it’s a dead
open and shut case and he’ll get his all right when the time comes.”
“It’s a long time coming,” grumbled Tom, who, as our readers will
remember, had especial cause to despise the man whom he had caught in
the very act of dealing with the enemy.
“Well, so long, old man,” said Frank, as the friends prepared to go
on their way. “Sorry you got stuck with guard duty. Hope your time’s
nearly up.”
“I’ve got half an hour at it yet,” replied Fred, as he consulted his
wrist watch and shouldered his rifle. “I’ll be back with you then, if
a Hun shell doesn’t get me. Their batteries have been trying to get
our range, and they’re getting uncomfortably close with their high
explosives. We’ll have to move our prisoners farther back if they keep
it up much longer.”
“Here comes a shell now,” exclaimed Frank, who had learned by long
experience to tell from the whining of a shell just about where it was
going to land. “Down, fellows, quick!”
They dropped flat on the ground and none too soon to escape a huge
shell that flew over their heads and exploded just beyond.
But if it had missed them, another had not been so fortunate. The shell
had struck the hut that Fred had been guarding and reduced it to atoms.
It had missed Fred himself by only a matter of feet, and as he had
followed the example of his friends and thrown himself to the ground he
was unharmed.
As the boys rose to their feet and looked around them, they saw what
had happened and ran to the remains of the hut. They looked inside and
then turned away. That one glance had been enough to tell them what
had become of Rabig. He had gone to his last account, and there was
no further need of any earthly court to judge his deeds and fix his
punishment.
“And it was the very people to whom he sold out that killed him,” mused
Frank, as the remains of the dead traitor were gathered up to be taken
away for burial.
There was no sense of exultation in their hearts, only a feeling that
in a singular way justice had been done to a man who had committed the
unpardonable crime of betraying his country.
They had been to mess that evening, and were talking over the events
of the day, when an orderly came to say that Frank was wanted at
headquarters.
Wondering somewhat what the summons might mean, and pursued by the
chaff of his friends, who predicted all sorts of dire things in store
for him, Frank obeyed the summons, and was surprised and pleased to
find Colonel Pavet waiting to see him. The pleasure was felt also by
the colonel, as was shown by the warmth of his greeting.
Each owed a great deal to the other. Frank, as my old readers will
remember, had saved the colonel’s life when the latter was lying
wounded on the battlefield and had carried him off to safety amid a
storm of bullets. The colonel, on the other hand, had been kindness
itself in looking after the interest of Frank’s mother in property that
had been left to her in France.
“Ah, Monsieur Sheldon, how glad I am to see you again,” said Colonel
Pavet.
“No more than I am to see you, sir,” returned Frank, shaking the hand
which the colonel in sheer disregard of the difference in rank had
extended to him. “I hope that you are well.”
“Perfectly well, I thank you,” replied the colonel, “and happy beyond
expression at the way things are going. It will not be long now before
the arrogant Huns will be driven from France. Oh, what we Frenchmen owe
to you brave Americans! You are like the Crusaders of old. You came
to our aid when our backs were against the wall and you gave us fresh
courage, new life.”
“Just as your people did for America more than a hundred years ago,”
replied Frank. “You don’t owe us anything, Colonel. We’ve simply been
paying a debt.”
“But paying it with interest a hundred fold,” protested the colonel
warmly. “But tell me how things are going with you, _mon cher ami_.”
“Oh, the same as usual,” returned Frank. “The Hun bullets haven’t got
me yet.”
“But that isn’t because you haven’t been where the Hun bullets were,”
smiled the colonel. “I’ve been hearing of what you did on that scouting
expedition last night. It’s a marvel that you came through it alive.
But fortune favors the brave.”
“Oh, that was nothing,” said Frank, who always felt uncomfortable when
anyone referred to his exploits.
“Your officers think differently,” laughed the colonel. “But now to
other matters. In the first place, I want to tell you how sorry I was
that I was away when that unfortunate accusation was laid against you.
A word from me would have shown its falsity at once.”
“I know it would,” answered Frank, “but luckily things took such a turn
that I was soon cleared of that charge.”
“The next thing is,” went on the colonel in a tone of regret, “that
some complications have developed in the matter of your mother’s
property.”
Frank felt his heart sink. It was only a little while since he had
written her, telling her that everything was practically settled in her
favor, and that all she would have to do after the war ended would be
to take possession.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied. “I thought that the dying
confession of that rascally butler had established her claim beyond a
doubt.”
“It did as far as the attempt to defraud her was concerned,” answered
the colonel. “This is a technical matter bearing on the title to a part
of the estate. It seems that some legal formalities were overlooked at
the time of its acquisition. My brother Andre explained it to me in his
last letter. But I am only a plain soldier and I could not quite grasp
the details. Now, don’t let it worry you, for Andre thinks that the
matter can be attended to and the title made perfect. Only it will take
some time and I thought I ought to notify you just how matters stood.”
“It’s very good of you,” replied Frank, relieved to learn that the
fears he had formed when the colonel first began to speak of the matter
might be groundless. “Of course I’m sorry that there’s any hitch at
all, but if it can be remedied it doesn’t matter so much.”
“Right,” agreed Colonel Pavet, “and if I might be permitted to suggest,
I would say nothing to your mother about it at present. If it were
anything really serious, of course she ought to know. But under the
circumstances it would only cost her needless worry. Now I must be
going. Of course you know or have guessed that there will be a great
battle tomorrow.”
“I have heard that we attack at dawn,” replied Frank.
“Yes,” confirmed the colonel. “To you Americans has been assigned
the task of clearing out the Argonne Forest. It is one of the most
tremendous tasks of the war but I know you will be equal to it. My own
regiment is with Gouraud’s forces on your left. We will probably effect
a juncture with your forces after you have taken the forest, and the
two armies will have a friendly race to see which gets to Sedan first.
The luck of battle may bring us together again before long.”
“I hope so,” smiled Frank, “and when we do meet I hope that we can
congratulate each other on the complete defeat of the Huns.”
“We will,” replied the colonel with conviction. “Their lines are
bending now and are ready to break. One more great effort and the work
is done. The Allied armies will spend Christmas on the Rhine.”
“I hope you are as good a prophet as you are a fighter,” laughed
Frank. “But I believe in my soul you’re right.”
“I’m sure of it,” replied the colonel. “And now I must go. Remember me
to your mother when you write.”
They shook hands and separated, the colonel mounting his horse which
stood at the door, and Frank with a final wave of the hand returning to
his comrades.
His sleep that night was as sound as though the next day were to be a
holiday, instead of marking the beginning of one of the most desperate
battles of the war.
The reveille sounded while it was yet dark on the following morning,
and before the first faint streak of dawn appeared in the eastern sky
the old Thirty-seventh was in line waiting for the word to advance.
Before them in the semi-darkness loomed up the gigantic shapes of the
tanks that were to lead the way and smash the barriers that the foe had
erected during the four years that they had held the forest.
Thousands of men who were too old for military service had been
employed there in building concrete fortifications, bombproof shelters
and underground passages leading from one trench to another until the
whole forest was a perfect labyrinth from which the Germans would
have to be driven foot by foot and trench by trench. There were “pill
boxes” by the hundred set up in concealed locations that commanded
the entire territory. Snipers were in the lofty trees and machine gun
nests existed by thousands. There were deep pits into which the unwary
might fall. Barbed wire entanglements added to the natural difficulties
of the position. Deep gulches and ravines made it impossible for the
troops to advance in any kind of regular formations, and in places
there was only room for them to go in single file over ground swept by
enemy bullets. Their heaviest batteries had been brought from other
portions of the line and concentrated there.
It was the Germans’ last stand. If they failed to hold the Americans,
their cause was lost. Back of the forest was the railway line that
ran from Longuyon to Mezieres and Sedan. It was their chief artery of
supplies for all their armies in France and Belgium. If the Americans
once got astride of that railway, the Germans would be bottled up with
no way of escape except through the gateway of Liege.
Orders had gone out from the German High Command that the forest must
be held at any cost, and their crack divisions of the Jagers and
the Prussian Guards had been brought up with orders to die at their
posts rather than retreat or surrender. They had all the advantage of
position. They boasted that the forest could never be taken. Even the
Americans whom the Huns had first learned to respect and afterward to
fear, could not, it was said, do what was beyond the power of mortal
men. It was simply impossible. Had not the great Napoleon himself
declined to attack the enemy who held the forest in his day, saying
that it was impregnable?
But the American troops had learned to laugh at the word “impossible.”
They wouldn’t admit that it was in their dictionary. They had been told
that their green troops could not hold the Germans at the Marne, but
they had held them. They had been told that it was impossible to break
the Hindenburg line, but they had smashed it to bits. They had been
told that the St. Mihiel salient could not be pinched out, but they did
in two days what others had failed to do in four years. Now, when they
heard that it was impossible to clear the Argonne Forest, they simply
grinned. It was only a German joke.
“Wonder when the music will begin,” said Frank, as he crouched beside
Tom and Billy, waiting for the thunder of the great guns to signal the
beginning of the attack.
“It won’t be long now,” replied Tom, as he cast his eyes up to the sky
where a faint light was beginning to diffuse itself.
“I wonder if Stone is with this bunch of tanks in front of us,”
remarked Billy.
“I’d know his tank if I saw it, but it’s a little too dark yet to make
it out,” said Frank, as his eye ran along the silent row of monsters
that stretched up and down the line. “But one thing’s certain, if he
isn’t in the front row at the start, it won’t be long before he gets
there.”
Men passed along the line with steaming buckets of coffee, for the
morning was chilly, and the boys swallowed their portions with gusto
and passed the tins back for more.
“Gee, but that tastes good,” said Tom, smacking his lips. “It warms me
to the toes.”
“You’ll get exercise enough to keep you warm before many minutes are
past,” prophesied Billy.
“It can’t come too soon,” put in Frank, as his fingers tightened over
the stock of his rifle.
Just then the word came down the line:
“Fix bayonets!”