"IT'S A GREAT LIFE"
Toward noon a German battery woke up and amused itself by sending
shrapnel against the very communication trench which was being used
principally to carry the wounded back to the first-aid dugout in which
Bob had been briefly quartered. As a result, two stretcher men, as well
as several wounded Sammies, went West. Presently an American battery
got the range of the enemy battery and silenced it.
All day sharpshooters on both sides were busy picking off each other's
men as they labored at re-establishing their front-line defenses. As
the Sammies were by far the better marksmen, they did considerably
more damage. The Boche infantrymen are anything but good rifle shots.
It is generally conceded that the Americans have the best gunners and
sharpshooters in the world.
American machine guns also did good work through the day. So well did
their gunners succeed in harassing the Boches that when night at last
fell, they made little effort to go out onto No Man's Land to take in
their dead and wounded. Their losses had been too heavy to risk further
casualties. The constant sending up of American star shells warned them
that the Sammies were keeping a sharp look-out, ready to mow them down
at the first opportunity.
The night passed without any attempt by the Huns to renew the conflict.
Sammies detailed to listening post duty came back with reports that
Fritz was hard at work repairing his badly demolished fire trench.
They also reported that many wounded Germans still lay neglected
and suffering in No Man's Land. The all-glorious Fatherland was not
concerning itself over these helpless, bleeding husks.
For four more days the Khaki Boys continued on duty in the front-line
trench. During that time no more heavy bombardments were directed
against them by the Boches. Plenty of shrapnel shells continued to come
over. Most of them directed against the communication trenches, or
against points behind the American lines. A favorite sport of Fritz is
the shelling of ambulances, carrying wounded men to hospital.
Those days of blessed peace saw the fire trench completely restored and
everything running along again as smoothly as matters ever run in such
a danger spot. It was believed that the Germans were getting ready for
another big raid. Scouting aircraft reported the daily arrival of fresh
troops and large quantities of ammunition and supplies to the German
lines.
During this lull in hostilities, Bob, Ignace, Jimmy and Roger were
rarely idle long. As non-coms they always found plenty to do. The
vacancies in their squads had been filled by men who had lost squad
leaders and squad comrades in the recent bombardment.
All four were exceedingly gloomy over the loss of Schnitzel. The
uncertainty of his fate weighed heavily upon them. Jimmy continued to
maintain his belief that Schnitz was not dead. He had a fixed idea that
his bunkie was a prisoner. This in itself was signally depressing. The
four Brothers would far rather have believed Schnitzel to be dead.
On the evening of the eighth day came the news that the present
contingent of Khaki Boys occupying the front-line trench were to be
relieved by a seasoned American regiment under the command of a veteran
French general. The retiring troops were to start at eleven o'clock
that night for rest billets in a village well behind the lines. Here
they would remain for at least three weeks before returning to the
trenches.
Just before eleven o'clock the first relief detachment crept
stealthily into the fire trench. They had been hiding all day in a pine
woods just out of range of the German guns. Another detachment was
concealed in the ruined village through which the Khaki Boys had passed
on the way to the trenches. This detachment would not arrive at the
front until after midnight.
The departing Sammies were ordered to make an absolutely noiseless
retreat to rest billets. It was vitally important that the enemy should
not learn of the arrival of fresh troops to replace the men who had
completed their first trench detail.
Passing with his comrades through a communication trench on the
opposite from the one used on the night of entering the trenches, it
seemed to Jimmy Blaise a very long time since then. It was more like
eight years than eight days.
What a lot a fellow could stand in eight days and still live, was his
somber reflection as he stole along, six paces behind the man in front
of him. He had been under heavy fire twice. He had looked upon death in
its bloodiest form. He had slept and eaten with the shattered, lifeless
bodies of his comrades lying about him. He had waded through blood, so
to speak. He had been across No Man's Land and back. Men had died in
his arms. He had endured agonies of suspense as he searched among the
slain for his bunkies. Worst of all, he had lost a devoted friend and
Brother.
"It's a great life if you don't weaken." Jimmy smiled grimly to himself
as this expression, so prevalent among the Sammies, popped into his
mind. Back in Camp Sterling he, too, had been very prone to use it. He
was still of the opinion that, in spite of blood, mud, death, wounds,
noise, cooties and the hundred and one other vicissitudes of war, it
_was_ "a great life."
He hoped that he would be spared to do trench duty over and over again.
That was the only way a fellow could feel about it, he thought. He was
glad that he hated the Boches so hard. Back in Camp Sterling he had
often wondered how it would feel to be actually engaged in killing men.
Now he hoped that, for the sake of Franz Schnitzel, every bullet he had
sent speeding across No Man's Land had put a Hun out of business for
good and all.