A DESPERATE CHANCE
Disappointment rendered the three chums incapable of action for the
moment. They just stood and looked at the place where their little
store of wood had been hidden. Now it was gone, and with it the hope
of a hot supper from that particular source.
"What are we going to do?" asked Bob blankly.
"We ought to go down to the post where that sneak is and get the wood
back," declared Ned. "And tell his chums what sort of fellow they have
bunking with 'em!"
"No, don't do that," advised Jerry, who had cooled down after his
first passionate outburst. "That will make trouble. Noddy would only
laugh at us, and some of the others might. It isn't the first time
wood has been taken."
"I was just hungry for something hot," sighed Bob, as he thought of
the cold rations.
"So was I," added Ned. "Isn't there anything we can do?" he went on.
Jerry looked about. Here and there about the dugout their comrades
were eating as best they could, no one, it appeared, having anything
hot. It was at a critical period during the fighting, and the
commissary and transportation departments were suffering from a
temporary breakdown. Still the men had enough to eat, such as it was.
"Well, we might as well have grub now--even if it is cold," said
Jerry, after considering matters. "No telling when we'll have to stand
off a Hun raid or go into one ourselves, and then we won't have time
to eat."
"That's so!" agreed Bob, more cheerfully. "It would be fierce if we
didn't have anything to chew on at all. But when I catch that Noddy
Nixon--well, he'd better watch his step, that's all."
"He's a coward, and lazy!" declared Ned. "Else he'd rustle his own
wood. I had hard work to get that bunch. There was a German sniper who
had a pretty fine bead on the place where I saw the sticks, but I went
down the trench a way, and began firing at him from there."
"Did you hit him?" asked Bob eagerly.
"No, I didn't expect to. But I drew his attention to that particular
spot. He thought a sharpshooter was there, and he laid his plans to
get him. That took his attention off the pile of wood, and I sneaked
out and got it. Now Noddy Nixon has it!"
"I hope he burns his tongue on the hot soup or coffee or whatever he
heats with it," was the most charitable thing Jerry said. And the
others echoed this. Their nerves were on edge from the constant
fighting and danger they were in, and they were in no mood to be
trifled with. And at such times trifles that otherwise would be
laughed at assumed large proportions.
However, there was no help for it. The three chums, as did their
comrades in the trenches, ate their supper cold, and then, cleaning
themselves as best they could from the wet, sticky mud, they prepared
to get what sleep they might until it was their turn to go on duty
again.
The dugout was as comfortable as any of its kind, but it was not like
home, of course, and its accommodations were far short of even the
worst camps the Motor Boys had put up at during their many journeys.
Still there was not a word of complaint. It was war--war for
freedom--and discomforts were laughed at.
"Name of a name, how it rains! as our friends the French say,"
exclaimed Jerry, as he came into the dugout prepared to turn in, for
he had been sent on a message by an officer after supper.
"Hard?" asked Ned, who, like Bob, was in a sort of bunk.
"Hard? I should say so. Look; my tin hat is dented from the drops!"
and Jerry took it off and pretended to point out indentations made by
the rain drops. He shook his slicker, and a spray of moisture flew
about.
"Here! Quit that!" called a tall, lanky soldier from the bunk across
from Jerry. "If you want to give a moving picture of a Newfoundland
dog go outside! I'm just getting dry."
"Beg your pardon, old man!" exclaimed Jerry. "I didn't realize how wet
I was."
He took off some of his garments, hanging them where they might
possibly get partly dry by morning, and then turned in. Whether he and
his chums would get a peaceful night's sleep or not, depended on the
Huns across No Man's Land. If an attack was started it meant that the
soldiers in the dugouts, as well as those on guard in the trenches,
would have to jump into the fight. With this end in view, every one on
turning in for the night had his weapons ready, and few did more than
make an apology for undressing. That was left until they went on rest
billet. Guns, grenades and gas masks were in readiness for instant
use.
But the night passed undisturbed.
"Oh, for some hot coffee!" exclaimed Bob, as he tumbled out the next
morning in answer to the call to duty.
"Dry up!" ordered Jerry. "You ought to be glad to get it cold!"
"Well, I'll try to be," assented Bob. "Where's Ned?"
"Said he was going to see if he could get a bit of wood for a fire.
But if he finds any, which isn't likely, it'll be as wet as a sponge
after this rain. Suffering hand grenades! will it ever let up?" cried
Jerry, for it was still pouring.
Simple preparations were going on for breakfast. There was no sign yet
of any of the carriers with big kettles of hot coffee or soup, and it
was evident that the commissary had not yet been reorganized since the
last breakdown.
Afterward the boys learned that the reason for the failure of their
supplies to arrive was due to the fact that their sector was
temporarily cut off by an attempted flanking movement on the part of
the Germans. The Americans were in greater danger than they knew, but,
at the time, all they thought of was the lack of hot rations.
"Ned ought to come back," remarked Jerry, as he and Bob prepared to
eat. "He'll be reported late, and this isn't any time for that. I
guess----"
But Jerry did not finish, for just then came a tremendous explosion,
so close that for a moment he and Bob thought a Hun shell had been
dropped in the dugout near which they were sitting under an improvised
shelter.
Instantly the trench was a scene of feverish activity. Everyone
expected a raid, and breakfast was hastily set aside, while the
soldiers caught up their guns.
"It's all right," an officer called. "Fritz just took a pot shot at
one of our trucks out on the road."
"Did he get it, Sir?" asked Jerry.
"I should say so! Look here!"
A curve in the road passed close by this line of trenches. It was a
road used to take supplies to another part of the American battleline,
and vehicles passed along it only at night, as it was within range of
some of the German guns, though fairly well camouflaged. But this auto
truck, returning in the early hours of the morning after having
delivered a load of ammunition, had been caught by a shell. Afterward
it was learned that the truck had broken down on the return trip and
that the driver had been delayed in repairing it, so that he had to
pass the danger point in daylight.
Whether or not the German battery was on the lookout for just such a
chance as this, or whether it was a mere fortuitous opportunity of
which advantage was taken, could not be learned. But a shell
containing high explosive, though, fortunately for the driver, not a
large one, landed near the automobile and shattered it.
This was the detonation which had so startled Jerry and Bob, and now,
with others, they looked over the top of the trench at the ruins of
the truck. It was blown apart, and the wooden body and wheels were
scattered about while the engine was a mere mass of twisted and fused
metal.
"Look! They didn't get the driver!" cried Bob, for as he spoke the man
in charge of the truck picked himself up from a clump of bushes where
he had been tossed, and limped toward the American line. He had
escaped death by a miracle.
Then something else attracted the attention of Bob, Jerry, and the
others. It was the sight of Ned Slade creeping along toward a pile of
splintered wood--all that was left of the demolished truck.
"Who's that? What is he doing?" cried the officer in charge of that
part of the trench. "Does he hope to rescue the driver? Can't he see
that the man is safe and is coming in? Who is he?"
"Private Slade, Sir," replied Jerry.
"But what is he doing? That's a foolhardy piece of business, trying to
reach that truck. It's under the fire of the German trench, as well as
within range of their battery. What is he trying to do?"