E-text prepared by Al Haines
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 21671-h.htm or 21671-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/6/7/21671/21671-h/21671-h.htm)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/6/7/21671/21671-h.zip)
ARMY BOYS ON THE FIRING LINE
Or
Holding Back the German Drive
by
HOMER RANDALL
Author of "Army Boys in France," "Army Boys in the French Trenches,"
etc.
[Frontispiece: "America!" answered Frank, and hurled his revolver full
in the sentry's face.]
The World Syndicate Publishing Co.
Cleveland, O. ------ New York, N. Y.
Copyright, 1919, by
George Sully & Company
ARMY BOYS ON THE FIRING LINE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I FIGHTING AGAINST ODDS
II A PERILOUS JOURNEY
III AMONG THE MISSING
IV CAPTURED OR DEAD?
V NICK RABIG TURNS UP
VI THE COMING DRIVE
VII IN THE HANDS OF THE HUNS
VIII FRYING-PAN TO FIRE
IX THE CONFESSION
X A MIDNIGHT SWIM
XI GALLANT WORK
XII THE DRUGGED DETACHMENT
XIII A DEEPENING MYSTERY
XIV THE STORM OF WAR
XV FURRY RESCUERS
XVI CLOSING THE GAP
XVII THE MINED BRIDGE
XVIII A DESPERATE VENTURE
XIX THE JAWS OF DEATH
XX A TRAITOR UNMASKED
XXI CROSSING THE LINE
XXII A JOYOUS REUNION
XXIII CUTTING THEIR WAY OUT
XXIV WOUNDS AND TORTURE
XXV DRIVEN BACK
ARMY BOYS ON THE FIRING LINE
CHAPTER I
FIGHTING AGAINST ODDS
"The Huns are coming!" exclaimed Frank Sheldon, as from the American
front line his keen, gray eyes searched a broad belt of woodland three
hundred yards away.
"Bad habit they have," drawled his special chum and comrade, Bart
Raymond, running his finger along the edge of his bayonet. "We'll have
to try to cure them of it."
"I think they're getting over it to some extent," remarked Tom
Bradford, who stood at Frank's left. "The last time they tried to rush
us they went back in a bigger hurry than they came. What we did to
them was a shame!"
"They certainly left a lot of dead men hanging on our wires," put in
Billy Waldon. "But there are plenty of them ready to take their
places, and the Kaiser's willing to fight to the last man, though you
notice he keeps his own precious skin out of the line of fire."
"I think Frank's getting us on a string," chaffed Tom, when some
minutes had passed in grim waiting. "I don't see any Heinies. Trot
out your Huns, Frank, and let's have a look at them."
"You'll see them soon enough," retorted Frank. "I saw the flash of
bayonets in that fringe of woods and I'm sure they're massing."
"Do you remember that little thrilly feeling that used to go up and
down our spines when we were green at the war game?" grinned Bart. "I
feel it now to some extent, but nothing to what I did at first."
"That's because we've tackled the boches and taken their measure,"
commented Frank. "We know now that man for man when conditions are
equal we can lick them. The world had been so fed up with stories
about Prussian discipline that it seemed as though the Germans must be
supermen. But a bullet or a bayonet can get them just like any one
else, and when it comes to close quarters, the American eagle can pick
the pin feathers out of any Prussian bird."
"It isn't but what they're brave enough," remarked Bart. "When they're
fighting in heavy masses they're a tough proposition. But they've got
to feel somebody else's shoulder against theirs to be at their best.
Turn a hundred of them loose in a ten-acre lot against the same number
of Americans, where each man had to pick out his own opponent, and see
what would happen to them."
"They wouldn't be in it," agreed Tom with conviction. "Put a Heinie in
a strange position where he has to think quickly without an officer to
help him, and he's up in the air. Take his map away from him and he's
lost."
"Even when you talk of his mass fighting being so good, perhaps you're
giving him too much credit," said Billy grudgingly. "He goes into
battle with his officer's revolver trained on him, and he knows that if
he flinches he'll be shot. He's got a chance if he goes ahead and no
chance at all if he doesn't. And you remember at the battle of the
Somme how the gun crews were chained to their cannon so that they
couldn't run away. You'll notice that we don't use chains or revolvers
for that purpose in the American army."
"I heard Captain Baker tell the colonel the other day that what he
needed was a brake instead of a spur in handling his bunch of
doughboys," chuckled Tom.
"Quit your chinning," commanded Frank suddenly. "Here they come! Now
will you boobs tell me that my eyesight's no good?"
"You win," agreed Bart, as a sharp word of command came down the line.
"They're coming for fair!"
From the thick woods beyond, a huge force of enemy troops were coming,
marching shoulder to shoulder as stiffly and precisely as though they
were on parade or were passing in review before the Kaiser himself.
Their artillery, which had been keeping up a steady fire, now redoubled
in volume, and a protecting barrage was laid down, in the shelter of
which they steadily advanced.
But now the American guns opened up with a roar that shook the ground.
The guns were served with the precision that has made American gunnery
the envy of the world, and great gaps were torn in the dense masses of
the enemy troops. But the lanes filled up instantly, and with hardly a
moment of faltering the advance continued.
As the troops drew nearer, it could be seen that all the men were clad
in brand-new uniforms as though for a festive occasion.
"Getting ready to celebrate in advance," murmured Bart. "They must
feel pretty sure of themselves."
"Just Prussian bluff," growled Tom. "They think it will brace up
Fritz, and that we'll think it's all over but the shouting and lighting
out for home."
"They'll have to take those uniforms to the tailors when we get through
with them," muttered Billy, as he took a tighter grasp on the stock of
his rifle.
"They'll do well enough for shrouds," added Frank grimly.
The advancing troops were now not more than a hundred yards away, and
though their losses had been severe there were so many left that it was
evident it would come to a hand-to-hand fight. The enemy cannon had
torn big rents in the barbed wire entanglements that stretched before
the American position so that it would be possible to get through.
Now the American machine guns began sputtering, and their shrill treble
blended with the deep bass of the heavier field guns. A moment more,
and from the rifles of the American infantry a withering blast of flame
sprang out and the enemy went down in heaps.
There were signs of confusion in the German ranks and the American
commander gave the signal to charge.
Out from their shallow trenches leaped the Army Boys, the light of
battle in their eyes, and fell like an avalanche upon the advancing
hosts.
In an instant there was a welter of fearful fighting. The force of the
enemy had been largely spent by their march over that field of death,
while the Americans were fresh and their vigor unimpaired.
For a brief space the Germans were pressed back, but they had
concentrated their forces on that section of the line so that they
outnumbered the Americans by two or three to one, and little by little,
by sheer weight, they pressed their opponents back. And behind those
immediately engaged, fresh forces could be seen emerging from the woods
and coming to the help of their comrades.
But Americans never show to such advantage as when they are fighting
against odds, and the battle line swayed back and forth, first one and
then the other side seeming to have a temporary advantage.
Frank and his comrades were in the very thick of the fight, shooting,
stabbing, using now the bayonet and again the butts of their rifles as
the occasion demanded. There was a red mist before their eyes and
their blood was pounding in their veins and drumming in their ears from
their tremendous exertions.
Slowly but surely, the fierce determination of the Americans began to
tell. The solid enemy front was broken up into groups, and the gaps
grew wider and wider as their men were pushed back further and further
over the ground that lay between the lines. In the center the
Americans were winning.
But suddenly a new danger threatened. A fresh body of German troops
had worked its way to a position where it could attack the American
right flank, which was but thinly held because for the time being the
bulk of the forces were engaged in pressing the advantage gained at the
center. If the enemy could turn that flank and throw it back in
confusion on the main body, it might lead to serious disaster.
At the point where Frank and his comrades were fighting, there was a
nest of machine guns that commanded the space over which the new enemy
forces were bearing down on the threatened flank. Several of the gun
crews had fallen, and the guns were temporarily unserved.
There was no time to wait for orders. Another minute and the guns
would be in the enemy's hands.
"Quick, Bart! Come along, Billy and Tom!" shouted Frank, as he rushed
toward the guns.
His chums were on his heels in an instant. Quick as a flash, the guns
were aimed, and streams of bullets cut the front ranks of the attacking
force to ribbons. Volley after volley followed, until the guns were so
hot that the hands of the young soldiers were blistered.
But the hardest part of their work was done, for now fresh guns had
been brought into position and the flank was strengthened beyond the
power of the enemy to break. Frank's quick thought and instant action
had averted what might have been a calamity that would have decided the
fortune of the day.
"Good work, old man!" panted Bart, when in a momentary lull he could
gain breath enough to speak.
"Yours as well as mine!" gasped Frank, as he dashed the perspiration
from his forehead. "If you fellows hadn't been right on the job, I
couldn't have done anything worth while."
Regular crews had now been assigned to take their places, and resuming
their positions in the ranks the young soldiers plunged once more into
the hand-to-hand work at which they were masters.
The issue was no longer in doubt. The scale had turned against the
Germans and they were retreating. But they went back stubbornly,
giving ground only inch by inch, and in certain scattered groups the
fighting was as furious as ever.
As far as might be, they kept together, but as the swirl of the battle
tore them apart, Tom and Billy were lost sight of by Bart and Frank,
who were laying about them right and left among the enemy.
A sharp exclamation from Bart caused Frank to turn his eyes toward him
for a second.
"Hurt, Bart?" he queried anxiously.
"Bullet ridged my shoulder," responded Bart. "Doesn't amount to
anything, though. Look out, Frank!" he yelled, his voice rising almost
to a scream. Frank turned to see two burly Germans bearing down upon
him with fixed bayonets.
Bart sought to engage one of them, but was caught up in a mass of
combatants and Frank was left to meet the onset alone.
Quick as a cat, he sidestepped one of them, and putting out his foot
tripped him as he plunged past. He went down with a crash, and his
rifle flew from his hands.
The remaining German made a savage lunge, but Frank deftly caught the
blade upon his own, and the next instant they were engaged in a deadly
bayonet duel.
It was fierce but also brief. A thrust, a parry, and Frank drove his
weapon through the shoulder of his opponent. The latter reeled and
fell. Frank strove to pull out his weapon, but it stuck fast, and just
then a pair of sinewy hands fastened on his throat and he looked into
the reddened eyes of the antagonist whom he had tripped.
With a quick wrench Frank tore himself away, and the next instant he
had grappled with his opponent and they swayed back and forth, each
putting forth every ounce of his strength in the effort to master the
other.
Panting, straining, gasping, neither one of them saw that the struggle
had brought them to the edge of a deep shell crater. A moment more and
they fell with a crash to the bottom of the hole.