FOREWARNED IS FOREARMED
It seemed to Jimmy Blaise that he must have stayed a very long time in
No Man's Land. In reality he had been away from his own lines hardly
more than two hours. It had been only a little after midnight when he
returned with the important communications intrusted to him by the
still absent Franz Schnitzel.
The information Schnitzel had gleaned set headquarters in an orderly
flurry of industrious preparation to beat Fritz at his own game. The
wires of the communication trenches hummed continually with messages to
the American batteries behind the lines. By one o'clock every man of
the front-line trench units was "standing to" on the fire step ready to
give the Boches a warm reception.
In darkness and in discreet silence the work of preparation went on.
Every possible precaution was taken to spring upon the Fritzies the
surprise they trustingly expected to launch at the Sammies.
With the exception of Schnitzel the remainder of the scouting party
had all returned by a little before one o'clock. They reported the
finding of lanes cut in the enemy's wire entanglements, but that was
all. Stellar honors had fallen to Schnitzel, whose knowledge of the
German language had enabled him to obtain such valuable information.
Schnitzel, however, did not appear to claim them. His mantle had
partially dropped upon Jimmy's shoulders.
Jimmy had been roundly commended at headquarters for his work that
night. Ordering him to be brief, the commanding officer had requested
him to give an account of his scouting in No Man's Land. In telling his
story, Jimmy gave Schnitzel full credit, explaining that he had been
merely the German-American's messenger.
He left headquarters with a heavy heart. The fact that Schnitz had not
reported there proved him to be still absent. Jimmy was fairly sure
that the American batteries would open fire before long, thus stealing
a march upon the enemy. The Boches would then get busy. What if
Schnitzel were lying wounded upon No Man's Land? He would then be under
the fire of both sides. And he had been the one to warn his own side of
the purposed bombardment! It was too horrible to contemplate!
Back in his own place in the fire trench, Schnitzel's fate continued
to haunt the heart-sick sergeant. Perhaps Schnitz was already dead.
Perhaps he had gone down in hand-to-hand conflict directly after he and
Jimmy had parted. Again, he might now be a prisoner. That would be even
worse than death. As a German-American the Boches would wreak a ghastly
vengeance upon Schnitzel.
Shuddering, Jimmy felt that he would prefer his bunkie to be dead
rather than the prisoner of such inhuman fiends.
If only he could talk to someone. Bob was not far away. He might just
as well be a thousand miles off. In that dark hour of waiting not a
word more could be even whispered that was not actually necessary.
Jimmy did not know that the rest of the scouting party had returned.
He judged it to be at least one o'clock. The German bombardment was to
begin at two. He wondered how soon the American batteries would open up.
At precisely half-past one the intense quiet of the night was shattered
by the terrific roar of American batteries concentrated on the Boche
trenches. A blinding red glare lighted up the sky at the rear of the
Sammies' trenches. Over their heads shells screamed their devastating
way across No Man's Land. Above the terrible din came the sighing moan
of shells from the big guns. The American batteries were at it in
earnest. With one accord the Sammies leaped to the fire step and peered
over the top of the parapet. It was too glorious a display of fireworks
to miss. The Fritzies were getting a real "strafing" and the Khaki Boys
proposed to see all that there was to be seen.
Undoubtedly the Fritzies were amazed to discover that their trap had
been neatly sprung on them. Very soon, however, their own guns began
to send over shells, causing the fire-step audience to get down into
the trenches again. Boche shells began to hit the American fire trench,
shattering portions of its parapet and dealing out death to the men
behind it. The fight was on in earnest.
One shell landed just behind a parados, killing five men and causing
the dirt to spout upward like a fountain. Another ripped away a section
of parapet, wiping out half a dozen brave fellows.
Yet for every one shell the enemy sent over, the Sammy batteries had
five with which to meet it. So heavy and concentrated was the fire of
the American guns that it seemed as though the German front-line trench
must soon be utterly demolished by it.
In the glaring light made by exploding shells, enemy forms could be
plainly seen through the gaps rent in their parapet.
American machine guns, trained on these gaps, sent forth a raking fire
of bullets. Though the Sammies were having a hard enough time of it,
the Boches were faring far worse.
For two hours the bombardment continued unceasingly on both sides.
Toward daylight the German batteries put up a heavy barrage fire,
which indicated that they intended to come over despite the frightful
casualties they must have clicked.
The night had seen many Sammies fall to rise no more, and in the
American fire trench the stretcher-bearers were constantly traveling up
and down, bearing away the wounded.
The dead had to lie in the trench. Not until later would the rushed
first-aid men have time to take them away.
Still the fire step was lined with intrepid Khaki Boys, who proposed to
sell their lives dearly when at close grip with their hated antagonists.
Just at daybreak the German barrage fire suddenly lifted. Down
the American line the order was passed to be ready. It was a
never-to-be-forgotten moment for the Khaki Boys when they heard the man
at the periscope shout:
"The Boches are coming over!"
Mounted on the fire step, rifles ready, the Khaki Boys saw wave upon
wave of grayish-green-clad figures leaving their trenches to charge
across No Man's Land, shooting from the hip as they trotted doggedly
forward, driven like cattle by their officers. A German officer never
leads his men.
Before they had traversed a dozen yards of No Man's Land an advanced
American battery opened fire on that moving gray mass. Other American
batteries began to speak and Sammy machine guns and rifles mowed them
down with a merciless hail of bullets.
Completely demoralized by the wholesale slaughter of their comrades
many of the Boches threw down their guns and ran for the American
trenches to give themselves up. They could never have lived to get back
to their own trenches. They had started across to take prisoners. Now
they were glad to become prisoners.
Thus ended the Boche raid which, thanks to Franz Schnitzel, had been
so effectively checked. The raid having failed utterly, the German
guns suddenly slackened their fire. Gradually the American batteries
ceased. Soon quiet settled down upon that scene of carnage; a stillness
that was almost uncanny after the terrible racket that had made night
hideous.
Details of Sammies herded their prisoners together and marched them off
through the American trenches. What might have been a dreadful defeat
to Uncle Sam's Boys had turned into a glorious victory. And all because
of one man, who, perhaps, was long since beyond knowledge of the great
service he had rendered his country.