A LOT MORE OF THE REAL THING
Through the orderly who answered, three staff officers were summoned.
To these the general gave his orders in undertones in a corner
of the room. As the three hastened out not one of them sent as
much as a glance in the direction of the unhappy Noyez.
Seating himself in his chair General Bazain, after courteously
excusing himself, closed his eyes as though to sleep. The arresting
party and Noyez withdrew to the adjoining room.
More than an hour passed ere the three staff officers returned
and hastened into the division commander's office. Fifteen minutes
after that Dick and his friends, with the prisoner, were again
summoned.
"It has been simpler than we thought," General Bazain announced
wearily. "Berger, when questioned and informed of Noyez's arrest,
confessed that Noyez was the superior spy under whom he worked."
"It is a lie, my general!" exclaimed Noyez, in a choking voice,
as he strode forward, only to be seized and thrust back.
"It is the truth!" retorted General Bazain, rising and glaring
at the accused man. "Berger not only confessed, but he told where,
in your dug-out, Noyez, could be found the secret compartment
in which you hid the book containing the key to the code you sometimes
employed in sending written reports to the enemy. And here is
the code book!"
General Bazain tossed the accusing little notebook on the desk.
At sight of that Noyez fell back three steps, then sank cowering
into a chair, covering his eyes with his hands.
"You comprehend that further lying will avail you nothing!" the
division commander went on sternly. "Lieutenant De Verne!"
"Here, sir!"
"Noyez, stand up. Lieutenant De Verne, I instruct you to remove
from the uniform of Noyez the insignia of his rank and every emblem
that stands for France! That done, you will next cut the buttons
from Noyez's tunic!"
Standing so weakly that it looked as if he must fall, Noyez submitted
to the indignity, silent save for the sobs that choked his voice.
"Call in the guard, and have the wretch removed from my sight!"
General Bazain ordered. "Yet, Noyez, I will say that it seems
to me incredible that any Frenchman could have been so ignoble
as you have proved yourself to he."
"A Frenchman?" repeated Noyez disdainfully. "No Frenchman am
I. Already I am condemned, so I no longer need even pretend that
I am French. No! Though I was born in Alsace, my father's name
was Bamberger. Twenty years ago he moved to Paris, to serve the
German Kaiser. He fooled even your boasted police into believing
him French, and his name Noyez. My father is dead, so I may tell
the truth, that he served the Kaiser like a loyal subject. And
he made a spy of me. I was called to the French colors, and I
went, under a French name, but a loyal German at heart! I became
a French sub-lieutenant, but I was still a German, and the Kaiser's
officers paid me, knew where to find me and how to use me. I
must die, but there are yet other agents of the Kaiser distributed
through your Army. The Fatherland shall still be served from
the French trenches. You will kill me? Bah! My work has already
killed at least a regiment of Frenchmen. And since Berger has
weakened and betrayed me, I will tell you that he, too, is and
always has been a German subject. Remember, there are many more
of us wearing the hated uniform of France."
"Noyez! Bamberger!" retorted General Bazain, "I can almost find
it in my heart to feel grateful to you, for you have told me that
you are not French. Since you are a German I can understand anything.
I thank you for assuring me that you are not French."
With a gesture General Bazain ordered the prisoner's removal. Then,
his eyes moist, the division commander turned to beckon Dick to him.
"Captain, I have to thank you for finding and helping to remove
two dangerous enemies from my command. You will find me
grateful---always!"
Once more outside Lieutenant De Verne turned to Dick to ask:
"You intend returning to the trenches?"
"By all means, for I feel as though the night had but begun,"
Dick cried. "It has gone well so far, and I am ready for whatever
the remaining hours can give me."
"I had hoped that, at the most, you would ask me to find you a
bunk in a dug-out where you might sleep," confessed De Verne.
"When you have been longer in the trenches, Captain, you will
be glad to sleep whenever the chance comes your way."
"But that will not be until I have learned more of the ways of
your trench life than I know yet," Dick rejoined. "At present
I would rather sleep during the daylight, for it appears to be
at night that the real things happen."
De Verne accompanied him back to the fire trench, where Dick was
glad to find Captain Ribaut with the other three American officers,
that party having returned from a trip down the line.
De Verne soon after took his leave, hastening rearward to begin
his rest.
Bang! sounded a field-piece back of the German line.
Between the French first-line and second-line trenches the shell
exploded. On the heels of the explosion came a furious burst
of discharging artillery.
"This must be what you have been expecting, Major," shouted Ribaut
over the racket. "A barrage!"
Down the line ran the noise of bombardment, the thing becoming
more furious every instant. Then some shells landed in first-line
trenches nearby.
"Take shelter!" shouted Captain Ribaut. "Now! At once!"
French soldiers were scurrying to dug-out shelters. Ribaut led
the officer party to a dugout reached by eight descending steps
cut in the earth. The apartment in which they found themselves
led out some fifteen feet under the barbed wire defenses.
"How long is this likely to last?" demanded Major Wells, eyeing
the Frenchman keenly by the light of the one slim candle that
burned in the dug-out.
"Perhaps fifteen minutes; maybe until after daylight," Ribaut
replied, with a shrug.
"What is the object?"
"Who can say? But a barrage fire is being laid down between our
first and second lines. That means that no reinforcements can
reach us from the support trenches. And our own trench is being
shelled furiously, to drive all into shelters. My friends, it
is likely that the Germans, enraged by the capture of Colonel
Pernim, who must be missed by now, are paying us back with a raid."
"More of your strenuous doings then, Dick," laughed Greg.
"At least a raid will be highly interesting," Dick retorted. "So
far we haven't been in one, and we're here for experience, you know."
"And you really hope that this turns out to be a German raid?"
asked Captain Ribaut.
"Yes; don't you, Captain?" challenged Major Wells.
"An, but we French have seen so many of these raids, and they
are dull, ugly affairs, sometimes with much killing. After you
have seen many you will not hunger for more."
It was not long before conversation was drowned out wholly by
the racket of exploding shells in and around the fire trenches.
Occasionally one of these drove a jet of sand down the stairs
of the dug-out, but this room was too far underground for the
dug-out roof to be driven in on them.
Half an hour later the shell-fire against the front-line trenches
abated, though the barrage fire still continued to fall between
the first and second lines.
Greg whistled softly, unable to hear a note that he emitted.
Noll Terry occasionally fingered one of the two gas-masks with
which he had been provided before entering the trenches. Major
Wells's attitude suggested that he had his ears set to note every
difference in sound that came from outside.
A French soldier shouted down the steps in his own tongue:
"Stand by! The Huns are coming!"
At a single bound Captain Ribaut gained the steps and darted up,
followed promptly by the American officers.
In the section in which they found themselves four French soldiers,
rifles resting over the parapet, stood awaiting the onslaught.
Two more men, equipped with hand bombs, stood awaiting the moment
to begin casting.
All the while the curtain of shell-fire, the barrage laid down
by the Germans between them and the second-line trenches, continued
to fall. It effectually prevented French reinforcements from
coming up to the first line.
His automatic pistol ready, Dick Prescott found elbow-room on
the fire step. Cautiously he looked over the parapet.
For a moment he could see nothing, save that German shell-fire
had blown the barbed wire defenses to pieces, clearing the way
for the German invaders to reach them.
In the near distance Dick made out the shadowy figures of the
men in the first wave of the German assault.
Rifle-fire began to roll out from the French soldiers. From somewhere
at the rear, perhaps from emplacements in or near the French support
trenches, the steady drumming of machine-gun fire began. The
air was filled with death.
Dick Prescott's blood thrilled with the realization that he was at
earnest grip with the Boches!