A "GUEST" IN PRISON CAMP
In the terrific din of the barrage-fire the men of the first German
wave came on like so many silent specters.
They did not run forward, but moved at a fast walk. It was necessary
that they save their breath to use in the hand-to-hand struggle
that must follow.
Suddenly a French bomb left the trench, striking the ground just
in advance of the oncoming Germans. The pink flash of the explosion
lighted the set faces of three or four men of the enemy, one of
whom went to earth as a fragment from the bomb struck him.
Then bombs fell fast, all along the line. Prescott, singling
out an enemy while the flash lasted, let drive at him with a shot
from his automatic.
Though several of the Huns fell, the advancing line continued
unhesitatingly. The last few steps, past what was left of the
barbed wire, the Germans hurled themselves at greater speed.
Then invaders and defenders clashed. German bayonets thrust viciously
down into the trench, while French bayonets reached up to dispute
them.
Dick had backed away from the fire step. His back against the
further wall he was using his automatic pistol to the best advantage.
The first German to leap into the trench landed almost at the
feet of Captain Greg Holmes, who had crouched to receive him.
Rising, in one of his best old-time football tackles, Greg threw
the Hun backward with fearful force, then sat on his chest.
"You're my prisoner!" Holmes shouted at the prostrate. "Try to
rise if you dare!"
So hot had been the reception of the first wave that those of
the Germans who did not manage to leap down into the trenches,
recoiled in dismay.
Then the second wave of raiders came up, only to find that the
French had recovered their second wind. Great as the odds were
the French held their own, thrusting, shooting and clubbing with
rifle butts.
From his position on his prisoner Greg fired coolly as often as
he could do so without endangering a French comrade. He longed
to rush in closer, but did not intend to let his prisoner get
away. Only one German got close enough to thrust at Holmes, who
shot him through the heart before the bayonet lunge could be made.
What was left of the first and second waves was being beaten back.
Major Wells, Prescott and Noll Terry leaped to the parapet with
two French soldiers in their section to beat back the foe.
Just then a third wave arrived. The fighting became brisker.
Dick Prescott felt a weight against his head. He staggered dizzily,
felt arms clutch at him, and had only a hazy notion of what followed.
The Germans went back, carrying a few prisoners with them. A
minute later the enemy barrage lifted.
"You may get up now," Greg admonished his captive, as he leaped
to his feet.
"You've accounted for one of the enemy," smiled Captain Ribaut,
as he came up.
"Captured him at the first pop out of the box," Holmes declared
proudly. "I told him to lie still, and he surely did. I'd have
hurt him if he had tried to get away."
"How did you take him?" Ribaut asked, kneeling beside the still man.
"Threw him with an old football tackle."
"The Hun's neck is broken," reported the French captain, raising
the enemy's head and letting it fall.
"What's that?" Greg demanded astonished. "Say, you're right,
aren't you? And to think of all the good fighting I missed through
holding on to that 'prisoner'! Dick will tease the life out of
me! By the way, where is he?"
"I thought he went this way," Ribaut answered. "We must find
him. I hope he wasn't hurt."
Thoroughly alarmed Greg wheeled and darted along the trench, looking
for his chum. Then he raced back, going off in the opposite direction.
"Prescott isn't here!" he gasped, and sprang up at the parapet.
"Here! Don't do that," Major Wells called to him, in a low voice.
But there was no stopping Holmes. Bending low he raced along in
front of the trench, looking for the body, dead or alive, of his chum.
Dick, however, was not to be found. Greg continued the search
desperately.
Had the Germans sent up flares just then, and turned on their
machine guns, Greg would have made an inevitable mark.
Captain Ribaut, more practical, sent a French corporal through
the nearby sections for word of Captain Prescott.
"Captain Holmes, return to the trench," Major Wells ordered, in
a hoarse whisper.
So Greg obeyed, in time almost to bump into Captain Ribaut.
"Four men from this platoon are missing, and presumably were captured
by the enemy," said that officer. "I much fear that Captain Prescott
was also taken away by the enemy."
"What? Captured by the Huns?" Greg demanded, divided between
amazement and consternation. "Dick captured? Let me lead a force
over to the enemy line to bring him back!"
"Only the division commander could sanction that," replied Captain
Ribaut, with grave sympathy. "And it is never done, Captain."
"Oh, I wish I had B company at my back, with A company thrown
in for good measure!" quivered Greg. "But say, can't there be
a mistake? Didn't Prescott go back wounded?"
"No; I have sent to the dressing station, and he was not seen
there," Captain Ribaut replied.
At first Greg couldn't believe that his chum had been captured.
When the probability of it did dawn on him nothing but his position
as an officer kept him from sitting down on the fire step and
sobbing.
"I'd sooner know he was killed than that he had fallen into Hun
hands," Holmes sputtered. "But, if they have got him, then I'll
make a business of mistreating Germans after this!"
Capture was precisely what had happened to Dick Prescott. It
was not for long that he had remained dazed. Two German soldiers
fairly dragged him across No Man's Land, his heels bumping over
the rough ground.
Dick vaguely knew when the same men lifted him slightly and dropped
him, feet first, into the German trench. He fell forward to his
knees, and a German non-com raised him to his feet.
"What place is this?" Dick demanded. But he knew as soon as he
heard laughing German voices around him.
"Well, if I'm captured, I gave a good account of myself first,"
Prescott muttered as he shook himself together, "I first captured
two German spies and a German colonel and turned them over to
the French. But poor old Greg! I'd almost sooner be in my present
boots than in his, for he'll be frantic when he finds this out."
The same two German soldiers who had dragged him across No Man's
Land were now permitted the honor of piloting their distinguished
captive back from the line. Leading him into a communication
trench, they started with him for the rear.
Though he still felt dizzy, Dick found his head clearing as he
moved along. He was able to judge that he had walked half a mile
through the communication trench, then at least another half-mile
along a road before he was halted at a hole in the ground.
"Go down here," said one of the men in German, and pushed Dick
down a long flight of steps, leading to a large, electrically
lighted dug-out at least twenty-five feet below the earth's surface.
"Only prisoners of rank received here, without orders," said a
sergeant near the foot of the stairs.
"But this man is a captain," returned one of the captors.
"Of what army?"
"The American."
"Bring the prisoner here!" ordered a voice from the further end
of the underground room.
Dick was hustled along, bringing up at last in front of a long
table, behind which sat three German officers.
"You are an American?" asked the officer who sat between the other
two. He spoke in English.
"Yes," Dick admitted.
"Of what regiment?" demanded the questioner.
"Infantry regiment," Dick replied.
"Yes, but how is your regiment known?"
"As an infantry regiment," Dick answered, though he knew well what
was wanted of him.
"Are your American regiments numbered?"
"Oh, yes."
"How is yours numbered?"
"Numbered among the best, I believe," Dick returned, with a smile.
"You are a captain?"
"Yes."
"Then you know what I mean to ask, and you must not try to trifle
with me. How is your regiment numbered? What is the number of
your regiment?"
"Numbered among the best, as I told you."
"How long have you been in France?"
"Long enough to like its people, meaning those who belong here, not
those who have come into France by force of arms."
"Captain, is your regiment on the line yet?"
"It's a line regiment, of course," Prescott replied dumbly.
"Captain," spoke the questioner angrily, "you must not try to
make game of us! If you do not answer our questions you will
regret it."
"And if I did answer them I'd feel ashamed of myself," Dick smiled
blandly. "I'm going to take the liberty of asking you a question.
If you were captured and questioned, how much would you tell that
would injure Germany?"
"I'd tell nothing," replied the German officer stiffly.
"Same here," Dick went on smilingly. "I'm as strong for my country
as you are for yours."
"But, Captain, you will have to tell us your name and rank, also
the designation of your organization. That has to be entered
on our records."
"I am Captain Richard Prescott, captain of infantry, United States
Army," Dick returned, in a business-like way. "But when you go
further, and ask me for information about the American Army, you
need expect no sensible answers."
"Take this man to the temporary prisoners' camp, and see that
he is put in the officers' section," said the questioner to the
two guards who had brought Dick in.
So Dick was led out again, and once more escorted along a road.
He judged that the walk from dug-out to camp must have been at
least two miles in length. The "prison" to which he found himself
taken consisted of a high barbed wire enclosure, with a small
wooden building at one end, and another end of the enclosure fenced
off for officers.
Into the building Dick was taken first. It contained only one
room and was evidently used as a booking and record office.
Again he was asked his name by an officer behind a desk. As before
Prescott refused to state anything further than that his name was
Richard Prescott, and that he was a captain of infantry in the
American Army.
"But you will have to tell us more than that," objected the German
officer blandly.
"I'll answer any questions you may put to me," promised Dick,
"but I won't agree, in advance, to answer them truthfully."
Another bald effort was made to force him to answer questions,
but Dick gave evasive replies that carried no information.
"Take the fellow to the officers' section," ordered the man at
the desk, at last.
So through a dark yard Prescott was led between rows of prisoners
sleeping on the ground. Some of them, too cold and miserable
to sleep, stirred uneasily as the newcomers passed by.
It was the same in the officers' section. Though the night was
cold, all prisoners were sleeping on bare ground in the open.
There were some four hundred prisoners in this lot, all French
except Prescott.
In the officers' section he found some twenty men, also all French.
Two of them sat up as Dick entered.
"Hola!" cried one of them in his own tongue. "You are an American?"
"Yes," Prescott admitted.
"Come and join us. We have the best bed in this camp."
"It looks as if it might be hard," smiled Dick, glancing down
at the men.
"Hard, but not so bad, after all," replied the other officer.
"See, we have removed our overcoats and spread them on the ground.
And we have two blankets over us. Come under the blankets with
us, and we shall all be warmer."
Dick hesitated. He wondered if he wouldn't be crowding them out
of their none too good protection against the night air.
"If you get in with us," urged the first, "it will make us all
warmer."
On the face of it that looked reasonable, provided he did not
crowd either out under the edge of the blankets.
"Oh, there will be plenty of room," one of them assured him.
"We can lie very close together. And you have no blanket if you
sleep by yourself."
So Dick allowed himself to be persuaded. Then, to his surprise,
they insisted that he get in the middle between them. This, too,
he finally accepted, but repaid them in part by taking off his
trench coat and spreading it over the blankets in such a way that
all three gained added warmth from it.
"How long have you been here?" Dick asked.
"Two weeks," replied one of the pair. "It is a wretched life. Had
I known how bad it was I would have forced my captors to kill me."
That was cheering news, indeed!
"We must sleep now," spoke the other officer. "There is little
sleep be to had here in the daytime, and then we can talk."
Dick lay awake a long time. A prisoner in the hands of the Huns!
All he had heard of the wretched treatment accorded prisoners
by the Germans came back to him. At least he had the satisfaction
of knowing that he was not a prisoner through any act of his own.