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. 117
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!” 118
“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 119 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!” 120
“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 121 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 122 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?”