CAUGHT NAPPING
Nothing could stand before the terrific impact of the war tanks.
There was a grinding, tearing, screeching sound, as wire entanglements
were uprooted. These had been strengthened in every way that German
cunning could invent, but they bent like straws beneath the onslaught of
the gray monsters. A cyclone could not have done the work more
thoroughly.
There was no need now for further secrecy, and with a wild yell the
Allied troops swarmed through the gaps, sending a deadly volley before
them, supplemented by thousands of grenades.
At the same instant, the Allied artillery opened up and laid a heavy
barrage fire over the heads of the onrushing troops.
The blow came down on the Germans with crushing force. The surprise was
complete. Every detail of the great drive had been mapped out with the
precision of clockwork, and so nicely had it been timed that on every
part of the long line the shock came like a thunderbolt.
A horde of Germans rushed up from the trenches and poured in a great
stream into the open. The earth seemed to disgorge itself. They came
shouting and yelling in wild consternation, their eyes heavy with sleep
and their faces pallid with fear.
Fear not so much of the Allied troops rushing upon them. These they had
faced in many battles, and though they knew the mettle of their foes,
they were still men who could be faced on even terms. But their courage
gave way when through the spectral mists they saw the wallowing monsters
bearing down on them like so many Juggernauts, crushing, tearing, mowing
them down as though they were insects in the path of giants.
The men fled helter-skelter in the wildest panic that had come upon them
since the outbreak of the war. In vain their officers shouted and cursed
at them. The iron bonds of discipline snapped like threads. Soldiers
rushed hither and thither like ants whose hill had been demolished by a
ruthless foot.
Many fled back toward their second line, pursued by a withering blast of
rifle fire that reaped a terrible harvest of wounds and death. Others
rushed back into their trenches, crowding and treading upon one another.
But even here they were not safe from the great tanks, which lumbered
down into the trenches and up on the other side, leaving devastation in
their wake, spitting out flame from the guns they carried, while they
themselves in their iron armor went on uninjured.
Not only were they frightful engines of offense, but they served as well
for defense of the troops that followed after them.
For the first few minutes the slaughter was awful, and it looked as
though the whole German line would be forced to give way without putting
up any resistance worthy of the name. Prisoners were rounded up by the
hundreds. There was no time then to send them to the rear. So they were
gathered together in the open spaces, their suspenders were cut so that
their trousers would slip down and entangle their legs if they tried to
escape in the confusion, a small guard was put over them, and the tanks
and the troops went thundering on toward the second line.
But here the resistance began to stiffen. The first paralysis of
surprise was past. The heavy guns of the enemy opened up, and from
scores of machine gun nests and pill boxes came a storm of bullets. The
German officers had got their troops under some semblance of control,
and heavy reinforcements were rushed up from the rear. From now on the
Allies had an awakened and powerful foe to reckon with.
But despite the sterner opposition, the tanks were not to be denied. On
they went, as resistless as fate. Their sides were reddened now, and the
wake they left behind them was fearful to look upon.
Through the second line entanglements they crashed as easily as through
the first, although this time they met with losses. Some had overturned
and others had been struck by heavy shells and put out of action. But
even though disabled, the guns on one side or the other were still able
to pour out their messengers of death and take savage toll of the enemy.
Jumbo was leading, and close behind followed the boys of the old
Thirty-seventh, with Frank and his chums in the van. They were fighting
like young Vikings, their rifles empty but their bayonets and hand
grenades doing deadly work. Their arms were tired by their terrific
efforts, but their hearts were on fire. They felt as though they were
treading on air, and the blood ran through their veins like quicksilver.
Bunker Hill and Gettysburg spoke through them. The traditions of a
hundred glorious battlefields on which Americans had fought was theirs.
Now again Americans were fighting, fighting to avenge the murdered women
and babies of the Lusitania, fighting to crush the most barbarous
tyranny the modern world has known, fighting the battle of freedom and
civilization.
So they fought on like demons, smashing a pill box here, routing out a
machine gun nest there, until the second line was carried. Then the
conquerors paused for breath.
On the whole German front in that region two lines deep the line had
been smashed. That crowded hour of stark fighting had cracked the
boasted invincible line of Hindenburg and sent the foe flying in
confusion toward their third and most formidable line. Thousands of
prisoners and scores of guns were among the spoils of victory.
And the most gratifying feature of the drive was the insignificant loss
to the Allied forces. The resistance at first had been only slight, and
even in the second phase of the battle it had been so quickly overcome
that few of the attacking troops had fallen. Seldom had so great an
advance been made at so small a price.
But modern warfare has its limits in the matter of time and speed. The
very swiftness with which they had advanced had in itself an element of
danger because it had brought them too far ahead of their supporting
guns. These had to be brought up from the rear, and the captured
positions had to be reorganized. The troops, too, had to be given a
breathing spell, for they had reached the limit of human endurance.
So a halt was called, and the wearied men took turns in resting and
refreshing themselves for the hard work that still lay ahead of them.
"A mighty good morning's work," panted Frank, as he threw himself down
at the roots of a giant tree which had been utterly stripped of branches
and even of bark by the tempest of fire that had raged around it.
"Ask a German and see if he'd agree with you," said Billy with a grin.
"We've got plenty to ask," said Tom, as his eyes roved over the throng
of prisoners. "We sure have taken a raft of them this morning. And
there's a still bigger bunch that will never answer roll call again."
There was food in plenty, but they did not have to avail themselves of
the rations they carried in their kits. There were the camp kitchens of
the enemy that in a twinkling were set to work, and soon the savory
odors of steaming stews and fragrant coffee filled the smoke-laden air
and brought joy to the hearts of the victors.
Frank, Bart, Billy and Tom were lucky enough to stumble on a meal that
had already been started for some German officers, and they were
surprised to find it so good and abundant.
"The Germans may be starving, but there's no sign of it here," remarked
Frank, as he threw himself down on the ground with a sigh of relief.
"Trust the Huns to look after their soldiers, even if the civilians
starve," replied Bart. "The people don't count in Germany. Only the
military are taken seriously. They take the middle of the sidewalk and
others are crowded to the wall."
"Well, I'm not quarreling with them just now on that account," grinned
Billy. "I'm just glad there's plenty of grub here this morning."
"I'm not very partial to German cooking as a rule," chuckled Tom, "but
this stew certainly smells good. How the Boche officers would grit their
teeth if they saw us wading into this."
But his rejoicing was premature, for just at this moment a cannon shot
from the German lines tore its way through the kettle and the scalding
broth was spattered all over the group that were lying about. Luckily it
did no other damage, but the chagrin of the boys was comical to see.
"I'd like to have hold of the gunner that fired that shot," sputtered
Tom wrathfully, as he wiped from his face some of the stew that had
fallen to his share.
"You ought to have knocked wood when you talked of the German officers
seeing us wading into their chow," growled Bart. "There's a perfectly
good stew gone to the dogs."
"Nothing personal in that, I hope," laughed Frank, "because most of it
came to us."
"I like mine inside," put in Billy, as he gingerly removed a piece of
meat from his ear. "As an outside decoration I'm dead against stew."
"Well, cheer up, fellows," remarked Frank. "The stew's past praying for,
but there's a lot of other things. And anyway we ought to be mighty
thankful that the shot didn't remove some of us from the landscape as
well as the kettle."
"What's the big noise about?" asked a cheery voice, and they looked up
to see Will Stone regarding them with a quizzical grin.