"FRIED HOLES"
Ned, Bob, and Jerry were stationed in a sector which was alternately
defending the lines against the Germans and attacking them in that
part of the country where the trend of the war eventually led up to
the terrific battles of St. Mihiel and the Argonne Forest. But, up to
this time, no one had guessed that the whole nature of the war would
be so quickly changed with the advent of the Americans, nor was it
suspected what terrible fighting would have to be undertaken by our
boys; though, of course, they were ready for the worst.
So that the battle in which the Motor Boys and their comrades were now
about to engage was merely what was termed a local engagement.
Nevertheless, it meant everything--life and death--to those engaged in
it, though there was never a thought of death in the hearts of any of
the brave men who went over the top as the big guns ceased thundering
and the shrill whistles gave the signal.
"Come on, boys!" yelled Jerry, as he led Bob and Ned forward,
followed by the others in the particular squad of which Jerry had
charge. "Come on!"
"Yi! Yi! Yip!" screamed a young giant from the South, as he leaped
ahead of some of his chums to the side of Jerry. "Show the Fritzies
how we fight!"
And together he and Jerry rushed on, followed by Ned and Bob--a
quartette acting as one man.
It was the first really big battle in which the Cresville chums had
taken part. They had been out on skirmish work and on night patrol,
and they had come in conflict with parties of Germans, but no large
bodies. They had even each been wounded slightly, but never before, in
all their lives, had they had a part in such a hailstorm of death,
such a turmoil of blood, mud, smoke, gas and flying bullets as now. On
and over the rough shell-pitted ground they rushed toward the German
trenches. On they rushed in the gray dawn of the morning, firing as
they ran, hardly stopping to take aim, for they could see the gray,
indefinite mass before them, and knew they were the German troops who
had rushed out of their trenches to meet the onslaught.
At first the attack had been a surprise--a surprise so great that the
Germans could not, at the beginning, reply even with adequate rifle
fire, to say nothing of artillery and machine guns.
But, in a moment, seemingly, all this was changed. Tongues and slivers
of fire began to spit out from the gray ranks opposing the Americans.
There was a snarl of the lighter artillery guns, the spiteful bark of
the rifles and the wicked rat-a-tat-tat of the machine guns, which the
Germans depended on, more than on anything else, to stop a rush of our
infantry.
Half way across No Man's Land rushed Ned, Bob, and Jerry, with their
cheering, madly yelling comrades, and then the toll of death began. It
was the fortune of war. Those that lived by rifles and bayonets must
perish by them, and for the deaths that they exacted of the Huns their
lives were exacted in return.
Jerry, who with grim-set face and blazing eyes rushed on at the side
of the tall Southern giant, heard a dull thud. Then came a sort of
gasping, choking cry that was audible even above the horrid din of
battle. Jerry, in a glance, saw his big comrade crumple up in a heap,
the whole front of his body torn away by a piece of shell. And for one
terrible instant Jerry felt that he, himself, must fall there, too, so
terrible was the sight. But he nerved himself to go on, and a backward
glance showed that Bob had to leap over the dead body of the lad who
but a moment before was yelling encouragement to others.
But it was war, and it had to be.
On and on they rushed. Now they were at the first line of the German
barbed wire. Some of it had been cut by the swift firing of shrapnel
before the troops came from their trenches. But enough remained to be
a hindrance, and quickly the men with cutters surged forward to open
the way.
It was while the Americans were held up here that the Germans took
fearful and heavy toll of them with their machine guns, which were now
sputtering with terrific firing. Scores of brave men went down, some
never to rise again. Others, only slightly wounded, staggered for a
minute, paused behind some dead comrade's body to adjust a bandage,
and then went on.
Forward they rushed. Through the barbed wire now, trampling down the
cruel strands, never heeding the bleeding wounds it tore in them,
never heeding the storm of bullets, minding not the burst of shrapnel
or high explosive.
On and on they went, yelling and shouting; maddened with righteous
anger against a ruthless foe. Forward once more. Somehow, though how
they did it they never knew, Ned, Bob, and Jerry stuck close to one
another. Since the death of the Southerner the three chums were in
line together, and stormed on. Their rifles were hot in their hands,
but still they fired.
"The first-line trenches!" yelled Ned, as he pointed through the
smoke.
And there, indeed, they were. They had passed over No Man's Land
through a storm of death which held many back. They had mastered the
barrier of the wire, and now were at the first line of the German
defense. And so fierce and terrible had been the rush of the Americans
the Germans had fallen back, so that, save for lifeless gray bodies,
the trenches were unoccupied.
"Forward! Forward! Don't stop! Go on!" yelled the officers.
A certain objective had been set, and the commanders were fearful lest
the troops, thinking that to capture the first German trenches was
enough, would stop there.
But they need not have been apprehensive. The boys of Uncle Sam were
not of that sort. They wanted to come in closer contact with the
Boches. And they did.
On over the first-line trenches they rushed, but now the fighting
became hotter, for they were in the midst of machine-gun nests, placed
there for just such a contingency. Death was on every side
now--horrible death. A bullet clipped Jerry's ear, but he only
laughed--half madly and unconsciously, no doubt--and rushed on. A man
was killed in front of him, and, falling forward, tripped the tall
lad, so that, for one terrible instant Bob and Ned thought their chum
had been killed. But Jerry sprang up again, and, seeing a knot of
Germans just ahead of him, tossed a hand grenade among them. As a wisp
of fog shuts out a view, so the smoke of the grenade hid the group of
Huns for a moment. And when a swirl of the air lifted the smoke
curtain, a gray heap on the ground was all that remained. It was like
some vision of the night, constantly changing.
On and on they rushed, shouting and shooting, yelling and being yelled
at. They panted for breath, their tongues clove to their dry mouths,
they suffered horribly for water, but there was only blood about
them.
Forward they surged. So great was the first rush that they fairly were
carried--it did not seem that they took themselves--beyond the last of
that particular line of German trenches. Now they were actually on the
open ground beyond--the space where the Huns had their reserves, and
these were now quickly thrown into the battle.
Clip after clip of cartridges had been used by the boys, and they were
drawing on their reserve supply now. But the battle was not going with
the same rush. The Germans were holding even as a desperate eleven
holds when it is on its own goal line and the opponents are madly
striving to shove it over and out of the way, that a touchdown may be
made.
Following the instructions they had received, the Americans began to
look for what shelter they could find--a hole in the ground, a heap
of dirt, the body of some fallen man, a slain horse, a heap of
rubbish, a dismantled machine gun, anything that, for a time, would
fend off a bullet.
The first, or shock-wave, of troops had gotten as far as it was
advisable to go, and they must wait a moment for reinforcements and
for the artillery to come up. So it was that they threw themselves
flat, to escape the storm of bullets that drove into their very
faces.
There was no question, now, of surprising the enemy. He was fully
awake to his danger, and had rushed all his available troops into the
conflict. He had an unusually large number of machine guns, and on
these he depended more than on artillery or rifle fire to break up the
attack. And nothing more effectual could have been chosen. Only, the
Americans were determined not to be stopped.
Hastily they began entrenching, digging shallow ditches in which to
find shelter. It does not take much of a mound of earth to provide a
shield against rifle or machine-gun bullets, and in ten minutes an
advancing body of troops can provide themselves with temporary
protection, while in half an hour they can almost be in trenches,
though these are not as deep as the permanent ones.
While part of the advancing Americans still maintained a fusillade
from their rifles and from a few machine guns that had been rushed up,
others used the intrenching tools. Then, when all were under temporary
shelter, they began assaulting the Boches from their vantage places.
But now the Germans had begun to fight back with their artillery,
only, fortunately for Ned, Bob, and Jerry, and their comrades, the
range was not yet ascertained, so that the shots flew well over their
heads. The shells landed back of the American trenches which had been
abandoned when the order came to go over the top, and as this ground
was temporarily vacant no great harm was done.
"There go our guns again!" cried Ned into Jerry's ear, as he lay
stretched out beside his tall chum.
"Yes. They're trying to drive the Huns back so we can go on. We've got
to get farther than this."
The battle was now one of longer range, the first fierceness of the
infantry having spent itself. Indeed, the men were practically out of
ammunition, though a reserve stock was being rushed to them under the
cover of the American guns.
A considerable space, corresponding to No Man's Land, separated the
two lines, and over the heads of the prostrate men flew the shells of
their respective batteries. So, for the time being, except for stray
shooting of rifles and machine guns, the two confronting lines of
infantry were comparatively safe.
It was during this lull that Bob, looking back from where he was
sheltered by a little hill of earth and stones, uttered a cry.
"What's the matter?" asked Jerry quickly. "Are you hit, Chunky?"
"Hit? No! But look there! Fried holes! See 'em!"
For an instant both Ned and Jerry thought that Bob had been seriously
hurt, and was out of his head. But they looked to where he pointed and
saw a man in the uniform of the Salvation Army coming across the
ground over which the Americans had recently stormed. And the intrepid
noncombatant carried on either arm a big basket of a type well known
to our American fighters.
"Fried holes!" cried Bob. "Fried holes! Salvation Army doughnuts,
fellows! I'm going to get some!"