IN A "BABY TANK"
So the American advance continued.
With the supporting columns of infantry that now came forward were
several score of small armored tractors, commonly called "tanks."
Because of the fact that these small machines, unlike their larger
counterparts, were capable of holding only two men--a gunner and a
pilot--they were called "two-men tanks," or more commonly, "baby tanks."
As an engine of warfare, the "tank," an American invention primarily,
had made itself famous when General "Bingo" Byng led his British troops
forward in the Cambrai battlefield, long before the United States
entered the war. There were few tanks in the field in those days, but
since their effectiveness was proven at Cambrai, thousands had been
added to the Allied forces.
The "baby tanks" came later but proved quite as effective. They were
able to penetrate places that were proof against their larger
counter-parts, and now there was scarcely a division of British, French
or American troops in the field that did not have its tank corps.
As the foremost American troops, among which was Hal, now pursued the
enemy, the American "baby tanks" came waddling forward, their guns
belching fire as they advanced.
A short distance beyond Dun the German general staff, realizing that the
Americans could not be stopped in the village, had hastily thrown up a
wandering system of trenches, and to these the enemy now retired.
Immediately General Lawrence ordered a halt, that he might better bring
his own lines into cohesion.
The American and German artillery, hastily rushed up, continued the
struggle at long distance.
An hour later, Hal, returning toward his own place in the line,
accompanied by the marine who had killed the German machine gunner, came
abreast of a "baby tank." The tank appeared perfectly intact, but the
lad knew at a glance that there was no crew within.
"I wonder why?" he muttered, and stopped to investigate.
The small door that served as an entrance was open. Hal peered in. The
marine who was with him also stopped.
"Where's the crew, sir?" he asked.
"You know as much about them as I do," was Hal's reply.
"Maybe they've gone after 'gas,'" said the marine.
Hal climbed in and examined the petrol reservoir.
"Plenty of gas," he said.
He examined the other mechanism carefully.
"Nothing wrong so far as I can see," he declared. "However, it's none of
our business. We'll be moving on."
But at that moment came from General Lawrence's portion of the field the
call for a general advance. Hal glanced around quickly. He was still
some distance from his own post, and he saw his men start forward under
command of Lieutenant Edgerton. It was unlikely that he would be able to
overtake them. He turned to the marine.
"What's your name?" he demanded.
"Bowers, sir."
"All right. Bowers. Do you know anything about these tanks?"
"Not much, sir. I can drive an automobile or an airplane, and I've
watched these things work. Guess I could run one if I had to."
"Well, you can work the gun, can't you?" Hal wanted to know.
"You bet I can, sir, and I'll guarantee not to miss very often. Are you
thinking of boarding this craft, sir?"
"I am," said Hal. "We seem to be out of the fight right now. It's up to
us to get into it again. Climb in, man."
Bowers boarded the tank with alacrity and deposited himself beside the
single machine gun. Hal perched himself in the pilot's seat and opened
the throttle. The tank moved forward.
In the distance, both to right and left, Hal saw other tanks waddling
forward. They were all still too far from the enemy to do any great
damage, but they were ambling forward as swiftly as their peculiar
construction would permit, all anxious to approach within striking
distance.
In front, the American infantry, with absolute disregard for the German
artillery bombardment, dashed for the enemy trenches. They climbed in,
and even from where Hal was the lad could see the signs of terrible
combat within.
But the American charge had not been made in sufficient force. True, the
Germans were driven from their improvised trenches, but the Yankee
forces at the extreme front were numerically too small to pursue their
advantage. They waited quietly for the arrival of reinforcements.
Straight into the erstwhile trenches the tank driven by Hal now nosed
its way. Its appearance was received with cheers by the men. Then it
waddled crazily forward in pursuit of the foe.
Hal was not given to unnecessary recklessness, and the fact that he
advanced now while the bulk of the American troops remained beyond was
not due to any spirit of foolishness. In passing, Hal was not aware of
the fact that the most advanced troops were awaiting reinforcements. He
thought that they would continue the pursuit at once. Therefore, in
spite of the cries to stop that were raised behind, the tank ambled on.
Then, so suddenly that it seemed that a curtain of blackness had been
thrown about them, a fog descended over the field.
In the advance of the tank, the German artillery and machine guns had
been busy. A mine or two had exploded near the machine. Hal had been
struck in the left hand by a tiny bit of shrapnel that found its way
through one of the loopholes, but so slightly that the skin had only
been bruised.
Hal put the snout of the tank over the edge of a hill in the fog, but
stopped in time to keep from end-over-ending down. Then he felt his way
carefully down hill by a roundabout road.
In the valley beyond there were machine gun nests and one seventy-seven
field piece and some wandering trenches. In the hillside overhead were
scores of burrow-like dugouts in which Germans had fortified themselves.
In this direction Hal still guided his tank, confident that the American
forces also were advancing under cover of the fog.
Among the thousand shattering noises of battle, the approach of the tank
had not been noticed. Suddenly the fog lifted, and for the first time
Hal was conscious of the fact that his baby tank was unsupported by
other tanks, or infantry, although the big American guns still sounded
from behind. Nevertheless, Hal knew that the American advance was likely
to be resumed at any minute.
In spite of the lifting of the fog, the approach of the tank was still
unperceived by the enemy. It is a constant source of wonder to tank
crews that this happens so often. Locked up in their steel chamber and
with a hammering gun they feel their roaring progress must herald them
afar. Yet it often happens that they creep upon the enemy as though
their beast had been shod with velvet.
Hal saw the flare of the "77" and headed toward it. Bowers turned a
stream of fire on it and the gun went out of action.
The tank lurched on toward a long windrow of rusted wire. The wire shone
red in the sun that had come out to dispel the fog. In successive
alterations of the defense, it had been made into a pile fifty feet
long, by twenty broad, and four feet high.
"Looks like a machine-gun nest to me!" called Bowers.
But Hal still guided the machine toward the spot.
Suddenly a veritable hail of bullets poured upon the tank and rattled
harmlessly off the steel sides.
Hal stopped the tank.
"You're right," he called to Bowers. "It's a nest, all right."
For the next ten minutes, as Hal expressed it later, "we just sat there
and took it."
An anti-tank rifle was brought into play by the Germans. This weapon was
a monster indeed, fully seven feet long and forty pounds in weight--not,
perhaps, a monster as compared with heavy siege guns and heavy
artillery, but a mammoth for an anti-tank gun. But the anti-tank's rifle
bullets likewise failed to pierce the living-room of the tank, although
they did cut through the running gear in one or two spots that were not
vital.
Hal and Bowers ducked down so that they would not be struck by slivers
should they come through the eye-slits in the tank.
"We're in a tight place, sir," called Bowers.
"Right," Hal agreed. "We don't want to take too many chances peeking
through the eye-holes while those bullets are hitting around us like
this. Great Scott! Listen! It sounds like someone was hitting the skin
with a sledge hammer at the rate of fifty blows a second."
A sliver suddenly spun through a porthole and struck Bowers on the hand.
The wound was slight but painful. Bowers wrung his numbed hand in
silence.
"Hurt much?" asked Hal.
"No, sir. I'll be all right in a second."
But the hand wasn't all right in a second. It was still too numb to
permit of handling the gun.
"There isn't any use of our being here unless we can do some good," Hal
called. "I'm afraid you can't work that gun any longer, Bowers."
"I can drive," was Bowers' reply.
So the two changed places, Hal going into the gunners turret.
This to Hal was one of the worst moments of the battle, for tankers fit
as closely into tanks as snails in their shells. It was with an effort
that Hal and Bowers crawled past each other, for there were several
painful moments when two bodies occupied the space that was a tight fit
for one. But they managed it.
Bowers waggled the tank out into the open and headed for the nest of
annoying gunners, and Hal will always have respect for these gunners.
In spite of their failure against the tank, the Prussians died with
their hands on their guns. Others ran away and the tank was checked in
its progress, while Hal poured volley after volley at the fleeing foes.
Suddenly Hal was arrested by a shout from Bowers.
"Hey! What's that?" cried the marine.
Looking a trifle to the left, Hal saw four Germans wearing Red Cross
uniforms, carrying something on a litter.
"That's a mighty funny-looking stretcher," said Bowers. "Have a shot at
it."
"Not a chance," replied Hal. "They're Red Cross workers."
"That's a funny-looking litter," said Bowers, unconvinced. "Take my
advice and shoot."
Then, suddenly, without further words, Hal turned his gun on the four
men, in spite of their Red Cross uniforms, and fired.
"And just in time!" muttered Bowers to himself.