THE BARBAROUS HUNS
The night was as black as pitch, which, while an advantage in one way,
was a disadvantage in another. For though it lessened their chance of
detection, it also made it more difficult to get the lay of the land and
keep their sense of direction.
But here again their training came into play, for they had been
specially drilled to be blindfolded and remain in that condition for
hours at a time. In that way they had developed their sense of feeling
just as a blind man does and had acquired an almost uncanny ability to
avoid obstacles and steer a course without the aid of their eyes.
"Gee!" whispered Bart to Frank, as the two comrades moved along side by
side, "I never saw a night so dark."
"Yes," replied his comrade, "it's as black as velvet. You could almost
cut it with a knife."
"Lucky if that's the only cutting we'll have to do before the night is
over," murmured Tom.
Soon they reached a little patch of woodland that stood almost halfway
between the lines. Only a few gaunt trees had been left standing, mere
skeletons of what they had been, every branch and twig swept away by
shells and bullets and even the bark stripped off, leaving the trunks in
ghastly nakedness.
But they still afforded shelter from bursting shrapnel or a sniper's
bullet, and the boys stood behind them for a few moments while they
listened intently for any sound that might betray the presence of an
enemy patrol, prowling about on an errand similar to their own.
But nothing suspicious developed, and, reassured, they again, at a
signal from their leader, moved forward. But new they were no longer on
their feet. They were too close to the German line for that.
Down on hands and knees they wormed their way along inch by inch,
reaching out their hand cautiously for each fresh grip on the uneven
ground. Sometimes their hands encountered emptiness and they were warned
that they were on the edge of a shell hole. At other times they drew
back in instinctive repulsion, as they felt the rigid outlines of a dead
body. But whatever detours they had to make, they managed by touch or
whisper to keep together, and although their progress was slow it was
still progress, and they knew that they were steadily nearing the German
lines.
Suddenly Frank's extended hand came in contact with a sharp object that
he recognized on the instant. It was the barb on a broken strand of
wire.
They had reached the entanglement protecting a segment of the German
trench.
Frank had been a trifle in advance of his comrades, and he softly
signaled his discovery to the others. In an instant they had stiffened
out and lay as rigid as statues.
For five minutes not one of them stirred, while they listened for the
tread of the sentry who might be stationed behind the wires.
Some distance off they could hear the sound of voices in guttural tones,
the occasional click of a bayonet as it was slipped into place, the low
rumble of what might have been field pieces being moved into position.
Now too their eyes came into play, for ahead of them the darkness was
threaded with a faint ray of light that rose above the trench, and while
it did little more than make darkness visible, it was still sufficient
to form a background against which they could have detected the figure
of a sentinel.
But they drew no false assurance from that fact, for the enemy's patrol
might be lying on the ground, as silent as themselves and as watchful,
ready to fire in the direction of the slightest sound.
It was a nerve-trying situation, but life or death might depend on their
self-control, and they stood the test successfully, although poor Tom
had an almost irrepressible desire to sneeze, in conquering which he
almost broke a blood vessel.
Convinced at last that it was safe to move, they commenced to crawl
along the outside of the wire, trying by the sense of touch to find out
what havoc had been made in it by the American artillery fire and where
it would be easiest to break through.
They had drawn on rubber gloves, for they knew that the Germans
sometimes charged the wires with electricity, and a touch with the bare
hand would mean instant death.
But that day the fighting had been so fierce and the enemy had been kept
so busy in resisting the American onslaught that no such precaution had
been taken. And this better than anything else told the boys how badly
the enemy had been shaken.
At several places they found gaps that had been made by the Yankee guns,
and these they widened by the use of the wire cutters that they carried
in their belts.
At each such breach the boys tied small pieces of white rag, so that on
the next day these fluttering bits of white could be seen through field
glasses by the American officers, and the full force of guns and men
could be brought to bear against these weakened portions of the line.
They worked rapidly and silently, timing their cutting with the roar of
the guns that still kept up the artillery duel, so that the click of the
nippers would be drowned in the heavier sound.
Little by little in the course of the work, the members of the patrol
had drawn apart, depending upon their ability to rejoin each other by
following the line of the wire.
Frank found himself working on a specially tangled bit of wire that was
made still more difficult of handling because it was intertwisted with
the stalks of a thick hedge. He had just nipped a piece of wire in two,
when his quick ear detected a sound on the other side of the hedge.
Instantly he stiffened. Every muscle became as taut as tempered steel.
He scarcely seemed to breathe while his unwinking eyes tried to bore
through the mass of tangled brush and wire to see what was on the other
side.
There too the rustling sound had ceased and a silence prevailed as deep
as his own.
For minutes that seemed ages this condition persisted. Then slowly, so
slowly that Frank at first was not sure that he saw aright, a slender
spear-like point broke the outline of the top of the hedge. Only the
fact that it stood out against the dim light that came from the enemy
trench enabled Frank to see it at all.
Gradually the object rose higher until it seemed to broaden out at the
base; and then with a quickening of the pulse Frank realized that what
he saw was the spike of a German helmet!
He had won in the duel of silence. The other, unable to stand the
strain, had risen first. Would he win in the grimmer duel that seemed to
be impending?
Frank's fingers stole toward his revolver, but stopped before they
reached it. There must be no shooting so near the enemy trench. A horde
of Germans would be upon him in a twinkling.
His rifle lay beside him where he had placed it while working on the
wire. His fingers closed upon the stock. Here was a weapon that he might
use at either end with deadly effect. The butt could serve as a club,
while the bayonet, painted black like the rest of his accoutrements so
that no glimmer of steel should betray it, carried death on its point.
Now beneath the helmet the head of a man appeared, then the shoulders,
and finally the sentry, evidently satisfied that his suspicion had been
without foundation, straightened out to his full length. He stood for
another minute or two peering into the darkness. But Frank's black-clad
form merged so perfectly into its surroundings and he remained so
motionless that the German at last was convinced.
With a grunt of satisfaction he stooped to pick up his rifle.
Lithe as a panther, Frank sprang to his feet, leaped over the hedge and
landed heavily on the stooping form, knocking the breath out of the
German's body.
In a flash Frank's sinewy hands were upon the sentry's throat, stifling
the cry that sought to issue from his lips.
There was a brief struggle, but the attack had been so sudden and
tremendous that it was soon over, and the German lay limp and
unconscious.
The instant Frank realized this, he relaxed his hold. He tore open the
man's coat, felt for his heart and found that it was still beating.
What his foe would have done if the case had been reversed, Frank knew
perfectly well. A dagger point would have pierced his heart and stilled
its beating forever. More than once he had looked on the bodies of
comrades who had been butchered while lying wounded and helpless on the
battlefield, and had been stirred by a wild desire to take similar
vengeance on those who had violated all the laws of war.
But he was an American, with all the proud traditions of honor and
chivalry that had come down to him through generations. He could not
slaughter a helpless foe. He had the man a prisoner. It was enough.
Quickly he tied the sentry's hands, using the German's own belt as a
strap. Then he tore some strips from the white cloth he had been
carrying to fasten on the bushes and made a gag, in case the man should
recover his senses and try to give the alarm.
He dragged the man through a gap in the hedge so that he would not be
found by any of his comrades who might come that way. Then he crept down
to where the corporal and the other members of the patrol were still
busy on the wires and in a whisper told what had happened.
Wilson was quick to see the opportunity that the capture had afforded.
"Good work, Sheldon," he commended. "Here's where we get through the
wires. And we've got to do it quickly, for we don't know at what time
that fellow's relief may be coming along."
His prophecy seemed about to be fulfilled with startling suddenness,
for, even while he spoke, a group of several figures, topped by helmets,
was revealed by the action of one of them in striking a match. It flared
up brightly for a second, but luckily the boys were outside the zone of
light that it formed.
They lay perfectly still, although each of them took a tighter grasp on
his rifle.
The men conversed in guttural tones for several minutes, that seemed as
many ages to the watchers in the shadows.
Would the Germans come toward them or walk away from them? Their lives,
or at the least their liberty, might depend upon the answer.
One of the men pointed in their direction and even took a step forward,
but his comrades stopped him and an animated discussion ensued, which
finally resulted in their retracing their steps in the direction from
which they had come.
A sigh of relief went up from the boys and their grip on their weapons
relaxed.
"A mighty close shave," whispered Billy.
"It was all of that," agreed Bart.
"As close for them as it was for us," said Tom grimly. "I had that big
fellow picked out and I'd have dropped him sure."
Like so many ghosts, the party drifted along in Corporal Wilson's wake
until they came to the gap. A glance at the motionless sentry showed
that he had not yet returned to consciousness.
"That was a knockout for fair," murmured Billy admiringly.
"He must have thought a house was falling on him," whispered Bart with a
low chuckle.
"Frank's no featherweight," agreed Tom. "I'd hate to have those trench
clogs of his come down on my back with him inside of them."
A warning "s--sh" from the corporal brought them back to the grim
business still before them, and they crept along behind him as he wormed
his way through the breach.
Camp utensils were scattered upon the ground and indicated that a field
kitchen had stood there recently, an impression that became a conviction
when Bart burned his hand by bringing it down upon some smoldering
embers covered with ashes.
He bit his tongue trying to repress the exclamation that leaped to his
lips, but he succeeded, although his fingers were badly blistered.
Little by little, with many pauses, they reached the edge of a small
section of the first trench. Nothing hindered them, no one challenged
them. In fact their progress was so free from obstacles that the
corporal, a wily veteran who had had long experience among the savage
Moros while serving in the Philippines, became uneasy, fearing an
ambush.
Still, that was one of the chances that the party had to take, and there
was nothing to do but to keep on. But they redoubled their precautions,
every sense tingling with watchfulness against a sudden surprise.
They worked their way along the trench until they reached the entrance.
No sound came from the interior. They listened for the murmur of
conversation, the scraping of feet, the clank of a weapon. They looked
down its length for a ray of light. Not a gleam or a sound rewarded
them.
As far as they could judge, it was absolutely deserted. But on the other
hand it might be bristling with armed men, waiting in a stillness as
deathlike as their own the command to fire.
For fully ten minutes their watch continued. Then the corporal gathered
them close around him and gave his commands in a whisper.
"We'll raid it," he decided. "There are only a few of us, but we'll have
the advantage of surprise. That is, if they're not waiting to surprise
us. But we'll have to gamble on that. It's only a connecting trench, and
there won't be more than a dozen men or thereabouts in it. If we could
bag them and take them back to camp it would be a good night's work.
Have your guns ready and be prepared to slip them a few grenades if we
have to. I'll lead the way and when the time comes I'll flash my light.
Come along now and be right on your toes when I give the word."
Corporal Wilson went first and his scouting party followed close on his
heels. It was like going into the jaws of death. It would have taken
less nerve to face a charge, for then their blood would have been up and
they would have been fired by the sight of their enemy. There would have
been nothing of this eerie stillness, this vault-like chill. Yet not one
of them hesitated or lagged behind.
Twenty paces had been covered when the corporal stopped, drew out his
flashlight and sent out a stream of radiance that illumined every nook
and cranny of the trench.
On the instant the boys had their rifles at their shoulders with their
fingers on the triggers, ready for a volley.
But their precaution was needless. The trench was empty!
Empty as far as men were concerned. But it was full of other things that
made their hair stand up with horror as their meaning swept in upon
them!