THE TRIP THROUGH A GERMAN TRENCH
It was the sergeant who led the way. He and his detail moved,
except at special times, in a fan-shaped formation with the
noncommissioned officer ahead, three men on either side of him
formed lines obliquely back.
In the center, within these oblique flanks were the French lieutenant
and Captain Prescott.
It was a compact formation, useful in keeping all hands together
and in instant touch, yet likely to prove highly dangerous should
the enemy open on them with rifle or machine-gun fire.
In the center of No Man's Land was a wide, deep shell crater,
caused by the explosion at that point of one of the largest shells
used by the Germans.
Crawling down between friendly and hostile lines, the sergeant
made for this shell-hole. When still several feet away he held
up a hand, whereupon Lieutenant De Verne gripped Prescott's leg.
Leaving the others behind the noncommissioned officer moved silently
forward. It was his task to make sure that an enemy party had
not been first to reach the crater.
Only eyes trained to see in that darkness could make out the fact
that the sergeant had held up a hand once more. This was the
signal to advance. Now, as the men moved forward, the formation
was not kept. Each for himself reached the crater in his own
way and time. Down in this basin men could crouch without fear
of being seen should the night become lighted up.
When the others had entered, Prescott, being further from the
rim, signed to the French lieutenant to precede him. De Verne
had just gained the hole when---Click! Not far away something
was shot up into the air; then it broke, throwing down a beam
of light. Other clicks could be heard, until the land within
two hundred feet of the crater became at least half as bright
as daylight would have made it.
Dick Prescott was outside the crater! At the instant of hearing
the first click he found himself in a shallow furrow in the dirt.
To have sprung into the crater would have been to betray the
presence of the party to the enemy. While German machine-gun
fire could not reach the French men below him Dick knew that a
shell could reach them readily enough.
So he flattened himself in the furrow, his heart beating faster
than usual. There followed moments of tight suspense. Would
this flattened figure be espied by any enemy observer?
Even when the flares died down Dick did not move. He knew that
more flares might be sent up instantly.
A quarter of a mile down the line he could hear a machine gun
rouse itself into sudden fury, though none of the missiles came
his way.
"I've a chance yet," Dick thought grimly. Yet when blackness
came down over the scene again he did not move. No matter what
happened to himself he did not intend that harm should come to
his French comrades through any act of his.
As Dick still lay there a pebble touched the dirt lightly just
before his face. Raising his head a couple of inches he saw a
hand, dimly outlined at the edge of the crater, beckoning.
"That means that I'm to go ahead," Dick told himself. "I'll follow
instructions."
He took considerable time about it, moving an inch or two at a
time. This, however, soon brought him to the edge of the basin-like
depression. In going down the inside he moved a bit more rapidly,
but did not rise until he found himself among the others. Then
he rose to his knees in the middle of the group.
"You are wonderful!" whispered the French lieutenant, placing
his lips at Prescott's ear. "You Americans must have learned
your stealth from your own Indians. We are clumsy when we try
to equal you in moving without noise."
One of the soldiers had taken station at the edge of the crater
nearest the German line. Here, with helmet off, and showing not
a fraction of an inch more of his head above ground than was necessary,
this sentry watched in the dark.
Again De Verne's lips sought Dick's ear as he whispered:
"What we would like most to do is to find out what is going on
in the Hun trenches. Next to that, the thing we like best is
to ambush a German patrol, capture or kill the men, and get back
with our prisoners."
"French patrols must often be captured, also," Dick whispered
cautiously.
"But yes!" replied the French lieutenant, with a shrug of his
shoulders. "It is a game of give-and-take, and all the luck cannot
be ours."
Still nearer the enemy's wire defenses lay a smaller shell-hole.
By creeping up beside the sentry Prescott was able to see it.
He remained where he was while a soldier of the French party,
holding a bomb in his right hand, crept out of the crater, moving
noiselessly ahead.
Arrived at the edge of the smaller shell-hole the soldier sent
back a hand signal, then crept down into concealment.
Up out of the crater started the sergeant without delay. As he
passed Prescott the noncommissioned officer gripped him, pointing
backward. There knelt De Verne, signaling to the American to
accompany the sergeant. Side by side the pair made the smaller
shell-hole, which proved of just sufficient size to screen three
men.
For three or four minutes the trio crouched here, listening intently,
though no sounds came from the nearby German trench.
After waiting, as he thought, long enough, the French sergeant
made an expressive gesture or two before the face of the soldier
with him, who, after examining his bombs, crept out and forward,
toward the barbed wire defenses of the enemy.
Short though the distance was, the man was gone more than five
minutes. Prescott, who at first could see the soldier as he moved,
was not so sure of it later. It was strange how that sky-blue
uniform of the poilu merged into the dark shades of the night.
At last the soldier came back, reporting to his sergeant, though
using only the language of hand signs.
With a nudge for Prescott the sergeant crept out of the hole,
Dick following. There was no thought of haste, yet at last they
reached the first of the wire obstructions. Now Dick was able
to guess the meaning of the soldier's recent hand signs. He had
discovered that the Huns had left narrow passages through their
own wires, presumably for the use of German patrols.
This time it was the sergeant who went forward first. Dick thrilled
with admiration when he saw the French non-com pass the last of
the barbed wire and creep up to the top of the German parapet,
flattening himself and peering over and down.
Following closely Dick and the French soldier at his side saw
the sergeant kick up slightly with one foot, a signal that caused
the soldier to move to the top of the parapet; Prescott, therefore
did the same thing.
It was his first look down into a German trench! Not that there
was much to be seen. On the contrary there was nothing to be
seen save the trench itself. Dick had heard that often the German
first-line trenches are deserted during parts of quiet nights
on the front.
A slight sense of motion caused Prescott to look around. He was
in time to see the French private wriggling backward. The sergeant
withdrew his head to a point below the outer edge of the parapet,
seeing which the American captain followed suit.
Minutes passed before the departed soldier returned with Lieutenant
De Verne and the remainder of the patrol. Only a glance did the
French lieutenant take down into the trench. Next he quietly
let himself down into the enemy ditch, followed by the others.
Moving softly the patrol examined that length of trench, also
the traverses at either end. Still no German had been encountered.
"We will go further," announced Lieutenant De Verne. "Sergeant,
you will take three men and go west until you come in contact
with the enemy. Then return with your report. The rest of us
will go east."
Carrying a bomb in his right hand, a pistol in his left the young
French officer led the way. Just behind him was one of his own
infantrymen, Prescott coming third and carrying his automatic
pistol ready for instant use.
Counting the number of trench sections and traverses through which
they passed Dick estimated that they moved east fully two hundred
yards. In all that distance they did not encounter a German soldier.
"The Huns who sent up the flares," De Verne paused to whisper
to Dick, "must have been the last of the enemy in these trenches.
It made them appear to be on guard, and vigilantly so, and right
after sending up the flares they withdrew to lines at the rear.
It is, I suspect, an old trick of theirs when they wish to leave
the front to rest or feed. I shall so report it."
At last the lieutenant halted his men. He had penetrated as far
as he deemed necessary.
"We will go back and pick up the sergeant," he said. "But first
I shall send a man down one of the communication trenches to learn
if the enemy are numerous in the second-line trenches."
"How long will that take?" Dick whispered.
"At least ten minutes."
"Then may I try to penetrate a little further east along this line?"
"Why not?"
"I will try to be back soon," Dick promised. Even in the darkness
these Allied officers exchanged salutes smartly. Then, gripping
his automatic tightly, and realizing that he was now "on his
own," as the British Tommies put it, he disappeared into the nearest
traverse.
Prescott did not hurry. He had nothing to expect from his own little
prowl, and his purpose in going alone had been to develop his
knowledge of this new kind of soldier's work.
Sixty or seventy yards Dick had progressed when, in a traverse,
he thought he heard low voices ahead.
"The enemy, if any one!" he thought, with a start, halting quickly.
Straining his ears, he listened. Undoubtedly there were voices
somewhere ahead, though he could distinguish no word that was
spoken.
"As I haven't seen an enemy yet, I'm going to do so if I can," the
young captain instantly resolved.
Stepping to the end of the traverse, he peered around the jog.
That next length of trench appeared to be deserted, yet certainly
the voices sounded nearer.
"I've got to have that look!" Dick told himself, exulting in the
chance.
Softly he strode forward, then halted all in a flash. And no
wonder! For he found himself standing close to the entrance to
a frontline dug-out that sloped down into the earth. And the
voices came from this dug-out.
Inside, as Dick peered down, he made out two figures. Yet he
pinched himself with his unoccupied hand, so certain did it seem
that he must be dreaming.
Of the pair below, while the older man wore the uniform of a German
colonel of infantry, the younger man wore the garb of a French
sub-lieutenant of the same arm. What could this infernal mystery
mean?