ON THE FIRING LINE
The training Ned, Bob and Jerry went through in the French camp,
though on a more intense scale and with greater attention to detail,
was much like that which they had obtained at Camp Dixton, and that
has been related at length in the volume preceding this.
There were the same drills to go through, only they were harder, and
in charge were men who had seen terrible fighting. Some of them were
American army officers, sent back from the front to instruct the new
recruits, and others were French and British officers, detailed to
teach the raw troops who, at first, were brigaded with the veterans.
It was rise early in the morning, drill hard all day, attend some
school of instruction in the evening, and then, after a brief visit
perhaps to the Y. M. C. A. hut or one of the other rest tents, go to
bed, to get up and do it all over again the next day.
But the boys never felt it monotonous, nor did they complain of the
hard work. They knew it was necessary, and here on the very fighting
ground itself--in wonderful France--there was a greater incentive to
apply oneself to the mastering of the lessons of the war.
Then, too, they saw or heard at first hand of the indescribable
cruelties and atrocities of the Huns. Ned, Bob, Jerry, and their
comrades saw with what fervor the French and British were proceeding
with the war, and their own spirits were inflamed.
No work was too hard for them, from learning to throw hand grenades,
taught by men who had had them thrown at them, to digging trenches
laid out after the fashion of those on either side of No Man's Land.
Then came small sham engagements, when, imagining the sample trenches
to be held by Germans, a company would storm them to drive out the
"enemy."
In fair and rainy weather this work went on, and it rained more often
than not, as Jerry wrote home to his mother. The chums could write,
but there was no telling when the missives would be delivered, nor
when they would get any in return, for there was such congestion that
the mail service broke down at times, and no wonder. So, though
eventually the home folks--and in them is included "the girls"--got
all the mail intended for them, there were days of anxious waiting.
Meanwhile the Motor Boys were perfecting themselves as soldiers, and
were winning the commendation of their officers. Jerry was promoted to
be first corporal, and in his squad of seven were Ned and Bob, much to
their delight.
"It's a pleasure to take orders from you, old man," said Ned.
"Well, I won't give any more than I have to," remarked the tall lad,
now taller and more bronzed than ever.
Professor Snodgrass had managed to find quarters in a village not far
from camp, and from there he came to see the boys occasionally. He was
getting his affairs in shape to proceed with the study of the matter
at present under his attention.
"Have you heard anything from Miss Petersen or Miss Gibbs?" asked
Jerry.
"No, not a word," was the answer. "I have sent several letters, and
made inquiries of the authorities here, but the latter give me very
little encouragement. That's bad, too; for I've just had word from
home that makes my share in that inheritance seem of more importance
than ever," and the professor gave a little sigh.
"Why, what's happened, Professor?" questioned Jerry, with quick
sympathy.
"I lent some money," explained Professor Snodgrass, "to one of my
friends--an old friend with whom I went through college--to help him
over a hard place. But he has not got over his troubles; in fact, his
affairs are growing worse, and it looks as if I would never get my
money back. And that will cripple me, cripple me badly, boys. Yes, I
need the money that Professor Petersen was good enough to leave me."
"Well, let's hope that you find those girls quickly, Professor, and
get that inheritance very soon," said Ned.
"But I am afraid I shall have to wait until you boys capture Germany,
and then I can go in and search."
"Us boys--with help," chuckled Jerry.
"Well, if it keeps up the way we've started we'll soon have the Hun on
the run!" declared Ned, and he spoke with some truth, for soon was to
be the beginning of the successful American advance.
Greatly to their relief the boys saw little of Noddy Nixon, for he was
housed in barracks at the opposite end of the camp from those in which
they were billeted. But they met him occasionally, and listened with
ill-concealed disgust to his boasts, and his talk of having tried in
vain to enlist before he was drafted.
"If they'd give me an aeroplane I'd go over the German lines and make
'em sit up and take notice!" boasted the bully.
"Why don't you send home for what's left of your '_Tin Fly_'?" asked
Ned, with a wink at his chums.
"Aw, you dry up!" commanded Noddy, for this airship, which he had once
built to compete in an exhibition, was a sore point with him, as it
had not justified its name.
Meanwhile, all along the line in the sector where the American troops
were stationed hard fighting was going on. On either flank were French
and English forces, but the boys of Uncle Sam were holding up their
end of the work exceedingly well.
"When can we get into it?" sighed Ned one evening, when reports came
in of heavy fighting, during which certain American units had won
distinction.
"Very soon, so I hear," returned Jerry. "Our intensive training is
nearly over. We may be moved up to the front any day now."
"The sooner the quicker," cried Bob. "Maybe the eats won't be so good
farther front, but we'll see some action!"
Of course, there had been "action" in plenty at camp, but it was of
the safe variety, and this did not appeal to the boys.
Then their chance came. One morning after drill emotion, like
electricity, seemed to run through the camp.
"What's up?" came the queries from all sides.
"We're ordered to the firing line!" was the answer.
And then came cheers! Cheers that showed of what stuff America's
fighters were made.
The news proved true. That evening, under the cover of darkness, so
that no lurking Hun planes might detect the movement, a considerable
body of troops from the training camp was sent up toward the front, to
relieve some battle-scarred units.
At first, as the three chums and their comrades marched along, there
was joking and laughing. Then this died away. The seriousness of the
situation began to be comprehended. It was not that any one was
afraid. The boys were realizing the gravity of the occasion, that was
all.
"Hark! what's that?" asked Bob, as he marched along with Ned, Jerry,
as corporal, being file leader. "Is it thunder?"
They stepped lightly so as to listen more intently.
"The guns!" explained a lieutenant hurrying past. "Those are the guns
on the firing line you hear. There must be a night attack."
The guns of the front! Fighting was actually very near, for, though
the boys in camp had often heard a distant rumble when there was a big
bombardment on, this was the first time they had heard so plainly the
hostile guns. It gave them a thrill, even as they felt the ground
tremble beneath them.
And so, in the darkness, they moved up to their new camp--a camp on
the very edge of the fighting; and from where they came to a halt, to
wait for morning before being assigned to the trenches, they could see
the lurid fires that flared across No Man's Land.
Tired and weary, but with an eagerness nothing could subdue, the chums
and their comrades awoke the next morning as the bugle called them. At
first they could not realize where they were, and then with a rush it
came to them.
"On the firing line!" cried Jerry. "Just where we wanted to be! Now
for some action!"
Hardly had he spoken when there sounded a terrific explosion, and the
boys were fairly blown off their feet, toppling to the ground.
There was action for them!