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ARMY BOYS IN THE FRENCH TRENCHES
OR
HAND TO HAND FIGHTING WITH THE ENEMY
BY
HOMER RANDALL
AUTHOR OF
"Army Boys in France" and "Army Boys on the Firing Line"
Illustrated by ROBERT GASTON HERBERT
1919
[Illustration: There was a grinding, tearing, screeching sound,
as wire entanglements were uprooted.]
CONTENTS
I A SLASHING ATTACK
II THE UPLIFTED KNIFE
III TAKING CHANCES
IV BETWEEN THE LINES
V THE BARBAROUS HUNS
VI A TASTE OF COLD STEEL
VII NICK RABIG'S QUEER ACTIONS
VIII COLONEL PAVET REAPPEARS
IX THE ESCAPE
X A GHASTLY BURDEN
XI WITH THE TANKS
XII BREAKING THROUGH
XIII CAUGHT NAPPING
XIV IN CLOSE QUARTERS
XV THE FOUR-FOOTED ENEMY
XVI CHASED BY CAVALRY
XVII THE BROKEN BRIDGE
XVIII RESCUE FROM THE SKY
XIX PUTTING ONE OVER
XX SUSPICION
XXI A FAMILIAR VOICE
XXII THE SHADOW OF TREASON
XXIII A HAIL OF LEAD
XXIV A DEED OF DARING
XXV STORMING THE RIDGE
CHAPTER I
A SLASHING ATTACK
"Stand ready, boys. We attack at dawn!"
The word passed in a whisper down the long line of the trench, where the
American army boys crouched like so many khaki-clad ghosts, awaiting the
command to go "over the top."
"That will be in about fifteen minutes from now, I figure," murmured
Frank Sheldon to his friend and comrade, Bart Raymond, as he glanced at
the hands of his radio watch and then put it up to his ear to make sure
that it had not stopped.
"It'll seem more like fifteen hours," muttered Tom Bradford, who was on
the other side of Sheldon.
"Tom's in a hurry to get at the Huns," chuckled Billy Waldon. "He wants
to show them where they get off."
"I saw him putting a razor edge on his bayonet last night," added Bart.
"Now he's anxious to see how it works."
"He'll have plenty of chances to find out," said Frank. "This is going
to be a hot scrap, or I miss my guess. I heard the captain tell the
lieutenant that the Germans had their heaviest force right in front of
our part of the line."
"So much the better," asserted Billy stoutly. "They can't come too thick
or too fast. They've been sneering at what the Yankees were going to do
in this war, and it's about time they got punctures in their tires."
At this moment the mess helpers passed along the line with buckets of
steaming hot coffee, and the men welcomed it eagerly, for it was late in
the autumn and the night air was chill and penetrating. "Come, little
cup, to one who loves thee well," murmured Tom, as he swallowed his
portion in one gulp.
The others were not slow in following his example, and the buckets were
emptied in a twinkling.
Then the stern vigil was renewed.
From the opposing lines a star shell rose and exploded, casting a
greenish radiance over the barren stretch of No Man's Land that
separated the hostile forces.
"Fritz isn't asleep," muttered Frank.
"He's right on the job with his fireworks," agreed Bart.
"Maybe he has his suspicions that we're going to give him a little
surprise party," remarked Billy, "and that's his way of telling us that
he's ready to welcome us with open arms."
"Fix bayonets!" came the command from the officer in charge, and there
was a faint clink as the order was obeyed.
"It won't be long now," murmured Tom. "But why don't the guns open up?"
"They always do before it's time to charge," commented Billy, as he
shifted his position a little. "I suppose they will now almost any
minute."
"I don't think there'll be any gun fire this time before we go over the
top," ventured Frank.
"What do you mean?" asked Bart in surprise, as he turned his head toward
his chum.
"Do you know anything?" queried Tom.
"Not exactly know, but I've heard enough to make a guess," replied
Frank. "I think we're going to play the game a little differently this
time. Unless I'm mistaken, the Huns are going to get the surprise of
their lives."
"Put on gas masks!" came another order, and in the six seconds allowed
for this operation the masks were donned, making the men in the long
line look like so many goblins.
It was light enough for them to see each other now, for the gray fingers
of the dawn were already drawing the curtain of darkness aside from the
eastern sky.
One minute more passed--a minute of tense, fierce expectation, while the
boys gripped their rifles until it seemed that their fingers would bury
themselves in the stocks.
Crash!
With a roar louder than a thousand guns the earth under the German
first-line trenches split asunder, and tons of rock and mud and guns and
men were hurled toward the sky.
The din was terrific, the sight appalling, and the shock for an instant
was almost as great to the Americans as to their opponents, though far
less tragic.
"Now, men," shouted their lieutenant, "over with you!" and with a wild
yell of exultation the boys clambered over the edge of the trench and
started toward the German lines.
"We're off!" panted Frank, as, with eyes blazing and bayonet ready for
instant use, he rushed forward in the front rank.
"To a flying start!" gasped Bart, and then because breath was precious
they said no more, but raced on like greyhounds freed from the leash.
On, on they went, with the wind whipping their faces! On, still on, to
the red ruin wrought by the explosion of the mine.
For the first fifty yards the going was easy except for the craters and
shell holes into which some of the boys slid and tumbled. The enemy had
been so numbed and paralyzed by the overwhelming explosion that they
seemed to be unable to make any resistance.
But the officers knew, and the men as well, that this was only the lull
before the storm. Their enemy was desperate and resourceful, and though
the cleverness of the American engineers had carried through the mine
operation without detection, it was certain that the foe would rally.
Fifty yards from the first-line trench--forty--thirty--and then the
German guns spoke.
A long line of flame flared up crimson in the pallid dawn.
"Down, men, down!" shouted their officers, and the Yankee lads threw
themselves flat on the ground while a leaden hail swept furiously over
them.
"Are you hurt, Bart?" cried Frank anxiously, as he heard a sharp
exclamation from his comrade.
"Not by a bullet," growled Bart. "Took some of the skin off my knee
though when I went down."
A second time the murderous fire came hurtling over them, but the
officers noted with satisfaction that the enemy were shooting high.
"They haven't got the range yet," observed Billy.
"Up!" came the word of command, and again the men were on their feet and
racing like mad toward the trench.
They came at last to where it had been. For it was no longer a trench!
Gone was the zigzag line that the boys knew by heart from having faced
and fought against it for weeks. The mine had done its work thoroughly.
Everywhere was a welter of hideous confusion. Barbed wire entanglements
with their supporting posts had been rooted from the ground. Guns had
been torn from their carriages. "Pill boxes" had been smashed to bits.
Horses and men and wagons and camp kitchens were mingled together in
wildest chaos.
Parts of the trench had been filled to the surface with earth, while
huge boulders blocked the entrance to some of the communicating
passages.
There were a few sharp fights with scattered units of the enemy that had
retained their senses and were trying to get their machine guns into
action. But these detachments were soon cut down or captured. The great
majority of the survivors were so dazed that they surrendered with
scarcely a show of resistance and were rounded up in squads to be sent
to the rear.
The first trench had been won, and it was almost a bloodless victory,
only a few of the American troops having fallen in the sudden rush.
But sterner work lay ahead, for the second and third German lines were
still intact, bristling with men and supported heavily by their guns.
"This was easy," grinned Billy.
"Like taking a dead mouse from a blind kitten," chuckled Tom, as he
wiped the grime and perspiration from his face.
"Don't fool yourselves," warned Frank, as a shell came whining over
their heads. "This was only a skirmish. The real fight is coming, and
coming mighty quick!"