ENTOMBED
Hal Paine and Chester Crawford, in spite of the fact that the United
States had not declared war on Germany until April of 1917, already had
seen virtually four years of fighting in Europe.
They had been in Berlin when the European conflagration broke out and
had been with the Allied armies almost from the first.
The lads had seen active service with the Belgian, British, French,
Italian and Russian armies and, through their courage and bravery, had
won captaincies in the British army.
When the United States entered the war, Hal and Chester were among the
officers sent back to America to help train the young men in the various
officers' training camps. When they returned again to the fighting front
with the first contingent of American troops to join the Allies, it was
as first lieutenants, U. S. A.
Through their courage and resourcefulness, both lads had won the praise
of Marshal Joffre, commander of the French forces, in the early days of
the war, and of Sir Douglas Haig, the British commander-in-chief. They
had also rendered invaluable service to the Allied cause upon the
request of General Pershing, in command of the American Expeditionary
Forces.
Times had changed greatly since the first campaign, when the German
armies advanced to the very doors of Paris soon after war was declared.
With America sending thousands of men each month to reinforce the armies
of France and Great Britain, it appeared that the Allies soon would have
the necessary numerical superiority to drive the enemy out of France and
Belgium for all time, and to strike a decisive blow in the war.
So far, while battles of such magnitude as had never been seen before
were fought almost daily, there had been nothing in the nature of a
conflict that would indicate an ultimate decision. True, the Germans and
Austrians, their allies, had staggered the Allies with a crushing drive
in Italy; but, through the prompt action of the British and French, they
had been driven back again.
It appeared, at this moment, that the next great blow would be delivered
by the Allies; that, with her numerical superiority overcome, her output
of munitions of war surpassed, Germany from this time on must remain on
the defensive in an effort to retain what ground she had won in the
early days of the war and to keep her enemies off German soil.
On the twentieth day of March the great battle line extended, roughly,
from Ostend on the North Sea south to within a few miles of Ypres,
thence to Bailleul and Lens. Here it was pushed slightly east, touching
Bapaume and Peronne. In the Soissons region the Germans were in
possession of Chauny and Laon. The battle line continued south to the
river Aisne, and then followed that stream east into Alsace-Lorraine.
Everywhere, up to this time--that is, since the early days of the
war--success had seemed to crown the efforts of the Allies on the
Western front. On the Eastern front, however, it was different. Through
German intrigue, Russia had been removed as a belligerent and more than
a million and a half of German troops had been released to reinforce the
hard-pressed Germans on the west.
Though the loss of Russia's aid in the war was a severe blow to the
Allies, it was more than offset by the entrance of the United States
into the conflict. American soldiers were being rushed to Europe with
all possible dispatch and were taking their places on the firing line.
Already they had covered themselves with glory. So far, however, they
had taken part only in what the official dispatches called "skirmishes,"
although, compared to battles of previous wars, they could be classed as
engagements of more than passing importance.
But the time was coming, and coming soon, when the Yankee troops would
go "over the top" under command of General Pershing in such force and
with such courage that the Germans could not stand before them.
Through the decision of an Allied war council, in which the United
States participated, General Foch had been made the supreme commander of
the Allied forces--British, American and Italian included. It was
believed that through this unity of command greater success would be
achieved than had yet been manifest.
And the time for Marshal Foch to prove his mettle was at hand.
Under the personal direction of General von Hindenburg, the greatest
military genius that the war had yet produced, the German forces had
been massed for their second effort to break through to Paris. Although
Marshal Foch had some slight inkling of the impending attack, he had
been unable to tell just where it would be made. True, his air scouts
had flown time and again over the enemy lines, but so far they had
failed to learn where the foe would strike.
As it developed, the first thrust was made in the north, with Ypres as
the apparent objective; although after the first few days of the drive
it became apparent that Hindenburg's real plan was to get behind Paris
from the north, after driving a wedge between the French and British
armies. This, through the ablest of strategy, Field Marshal Haig was
able to prevent.
Bailleul, Lens and other important railroad centers fell to the Germans
in the second great enemy drive of the war. Suddenly, when apparently
checked in the north, the enemy struck farther south, capturing Bapaume,
Albert, Peronne and other important towns and villages.
When the Allied line at last held there, the attack was pressed against
Ypres.
But this second drive was to fail as had all others, with a terrible
loss to the Germans in manpower. Marshal Foch sacrificed ground to save
lives, while, on the other hand, the German high command threw their men
forward with an utter disregard for loss of life.
To Hal and Chester, after their return from No Man's Land on the night
before the opening of the German advance, it seemed that they had just
closed their eyes when they were awakened by a sudden loud detonation
apparently in their very ears.
As both lads jumped to their feet they were borne down by an avalanche
of dirt and concrete. Although neither lad knew at that moment what had
happened, a German bomb had burst squarely over their dugout, shattering
the little place.
The boys slept in improvised bunks close to each other, and in jumping
to their feet, they came closer together. They lay on the floor face
down as the debris continued to rain on them. For the moment neither was
able to speak.
At last the shower of debris ceased, and Hal made an effort to rise. He
dropped down to the floor again suddenly with an exclamation.
"What's the matter?" asked Chester, sitting up.
"Matter is," said Hal, "that I bumped my head. Seems like the roof has
fallen in."
Chester now made an effort to rise. He got to his feet more cautiously,
however, and so did not hurt himself. Nevertheless, the lad gave an
exclamation of alarm.
"Bump your head, too?" asked Hal.
"No," was the reply.
"What's the trouble then?"
"Trouble is," said Chester, "that we seem to be buried in here."
"Oh, I guess it's not as bad as that," said Hal hopefully, and, getting
to his feet cautiously, he began to explore.
The dugout, before the explosion, had been a small building, possibly
fifteen feet wide and as many feet long. It was entirely covered by a
roof of wood. This, Hal found by exploration, seemed to have come down
to within five feet of the floor and to be wedged down by a heavy weight
outside.
"We're buried, all right," said Hal at last, "but I guess we can get
out. We'll have to dig."
"All right," said Chester. "Let's begin. I've got a knife here."
Hal also produced a knife and the lads fell to work upon the roof at one
end. After half an hour of strenuous work Hal sat down and wiped a moist
brow.
"Don't seem to be accomplishing much," he said.
"I should say not," said Chester as he sat down beside his chum.
"I'll tell you," said Hal after a pause, "I don't think we'll ever dig
our way out with these tools," and he tapped his knife.
"Well, what then?" asked Chester. "We can't stay here forever. We'll
suffocate. In fact, the air is already getting bad."
"I noticed that," Hal declared, "which is the reason that I say we can't
get out by digging. We might eventually dig our way out, if given time;
but the poisonous air will overcome us long before then."
"We've got to do something, Hal," said Chester. "We can't perish here
like rats in a trap without making an effort to save ourselves."
"Right. Then I've a suggestion to offer."
"Let's have it."
"It's dangerous," said Hal quietly, "and may mean only a quicker death."
"Anything is better than this inaction," Chester declared.
"Well," said Hal, "near my bunk are two hand grenades. My idea is this!
Place them close to the fallen roof where we have been digging, come
back here and pot them with our revolvers. The explosion should blow the
roof off."
"Or bury us a little deeper," said Chester grimly.
"Of course," said Hal. "However, it's the only chance I see. What do you
say?"
"Try it, of course," said Chester promptly. "It's the only way. Get out
your bombs."
Hal did so, and a moment later he had placed them to his satisfaction.
"Guess I can hit one in the dark," he said. "Hug down close, Chester."
Chester did so and Hal made himself as small as possible. A moment later
there was a sharp report, followed by a heavy explosion.