A NIGHT PATROL
Every one who saw the heavy steel hat so neatly pierced by the swift bullet was impressed by the object lesson, as the lieutenant had intended all of them should be. But, somehow or other, Bob Baker seemed more fascinated than either of his chums, and, indeed, more than any other member of that particular relief squad.
“Did a Hun bullet do that?” asked Bob, as he picked up the head protector and looked at the hole.
“That’s what it did, my boy,” answered the officer. “And that’s what will happen to you, or any one else, if you stick your head up above the trench.”
“And the Huns did that!” murmured Bob, who seemed not to be able to efface from his mind the picture of the punctured, spinning helmet. “Then we’re right within range of their fire.”
“Considerably so,” answered the lieutenant. “In places the German trenches are only six hundred feet away, and that’s nothing for the modern rifle. It can kill at over a mile.” 89
“So, Chunky,” observed Jerry, “you’ve been under fire now.”
“Yes,” said Bob, and his voice was sober, “we’ve been under fire.”
“Of course this isn’t anything!” the lieutenant exclaimed with a laugh, as he kicked aside the bullet-punctured helmet Bob had dropped. “This is just a little byplay. You’ll be under heavier fire than this, but don’t worry. It takes a good many bullets to get a man. However, don’t think of that. Do your duty. That’s what you’re here for!”
The lieutenant looked somewhat anxiously into the faces of the relief squad he was to command. Every officer likes to know that he has the bravest of men in the army, and this young officer was no exception. The firing line where the Motor Boys now were—the front-line trenches—was no place for cowards.
But the faces that looked back into the young lieutenant’s gave no reflection of fear. And at this he breathed in relief. There was puzzled wonder on the countenance of some, and grim determination on others, and this last was what counted.
And then began for the Motor Boys and their chums a life of the utmost tension, strenuousness, and danger, although theirs was a comparatively quiet sector at that particular stage of the war, 90 and they were holding the trenches more to guard against a surprise attack than anything else.
“Well, there’s one comfort,” remarked Jerry, as he was placed in his station in the trench, with Bob on one side and Ned on the other, both within talking distance.
“What?” asked Bob. “Do we get better eats here?”
“Eats, you heathen!” exclaimed Ned. “Can’t you forget that once in a while? What are you going to do if the Germans make you a prisoner? They won’t feed you at all!”
“Then I won’t be a prisoner!” declared Bob. “But what were you going to say about comfort, Jerry?”
“We don’t have to drill,” was the answer.
And this was true. All the life of the camp was now done away with, even the training camp of France, where the boys had finished their war education, so to speak. But if they did not have to drill there was plenty else to occupy them.
While on duty in the trench they had constantly to be on the alert, and this not to guard against the unexpected approach of some friendly officer, bent on determining how his sentries were performing their duty, but to be on the watch against the approach of a deadly enemy. There must be no sleeping—not even dozing—on post.
Then, too, there was work to do. There was 91 food and water to bring up, and fire wood to scurry for when the chance offered, for it was not often possible to bring up hot rations to the front lines, and the boys heated their own as best they could, in discarded tin cans with a few twigs for fuel.
There were lines of trenches to cut, dugouts to repair after they had been blown to bits by the German guns, and there was barbed wire to replace under cover of darkness when it had been severed by the rain of steel and lead from the enemy’s guns.
So the three chums and their comrades found no lack of things to keep them busy in the trenches. They had their hours off, of course, when they were permitted to go back to the dugout, and there, in comparative safety, they might try to sleep. This was not easy, for though in a manner they became used to the constant roaring and blasting of the big guns, there was always an under-current of disturbances of other kinds. They were on the firing line, and the enemy did not let them forget it.
Every day the aeroplanes went over the lines, and more than once there was a battle in mid-air above where Ned, Bob and Jerry were on duty. Once a Hun plane came down in flames, so near they could hear the thud as it struck.
At times, after a period of comparative quiet, 92 the trenches on both sides of No Man’s Land would suddenly awaken into life. This would be caused by a fear, either on the part of the Germans or the troops from America, that one or the other was starting a raid. Then the machine guns would open fire, they would be augmented by the rifles of the men, and, if the shooting kept up long enough, the rival batteries would awaken and the big guns would speak.
It was one day, when the three chums had been on duty in the front-line trench about a week, that, as they were talking about the chance of seeing Professor Snodgrass and helping him in his search for the two girls, something spun past Ned’s head with a whine, and, with a vicious ping, imbedded itself in the trench wall behind him.
“What’s that?” exclaimed Bob.
“That sniper again,” answered Ned. “That’s the closest he’s come. We’d better move, fellows, or he may get one of us.”
“A sniper!” exclaimed Jerry. “Has he been taking pot shots at you?”
“Several of ’em. I’ve tried to get him, but I can’t figure out where he hides. Better move down the trench a bit. He seems to train his gun on this particular spot.”
“Gee!” gasped Bob.
Bob and Jerry had moved up from their own stations to where Ned was placed, as it was a 93 quiet period of the day, and it was while they were talking that the shot came.
“I’d like to have a try at him,” said Jerry. “It’s queer he can send a bullet down into this trench. It must come from above. A shot from the German trenches wouldn’t reach here over the top, unless it was fired up, and landed here as it came down.”
“Then it would be a spent ball,” argued Bob, “and it wouldn’t sing out the way that one did.”
“You’re right,” agreed Ned. “It was fired from above—you can tell that by the slant it took as it came in. But it didn’t come from an aeroplane. There hasn’t been any over the trench for a long while. No, it’s some German sniper, and he’s out there in the woods, I believe. Up a tree, most likely, where he can fire down into our trench. He must have a long-range rifle.”
“We ought to try to get him,” argued Jerry. “Have you, Ned?”
“Yes, I’ve tried to bait him, so I could find out where he shoots from and nip him in return, but I haven’t been able to.”
“Then I’m going to have a shot at him,” declared Jerry, who was rated as an expert in the use of the rifle, as his badge showed.
But his plan of getting revenge on the Hun, who had so nearly shot Ned, was not destined to be carried out at once. For just then the relief 94 of the boys came up, and they were marched back to the dugout for a rest period.
It was after they had enjoyed this, and were counting on again doing their turn in the trenches that their chance came to go out on night patrol, one of the most dangerous missions in the line of duty.
So far, since the Motor Boys had come up to the firing line, there had been no really serious fighting in their immediate sector. On either side of them there had been skirmishes, but a mile or so away, so they had had no chance to participate. Also there had been night raids, but Ned, Bob and Jerry had not been in them.
This does not mean that Ned, Bob and Jerry were in no danger, for, as has been shown, a bullet came near ending Ned’s career. And aside from this, there had been bombs dropped near them from Hun aeroplanes, and once a whole portion of the trench, just beyond where they were stationed, had been caved in by a shell from a German gun, and several brave lads had been killed, while others were terribly injured. But Ned, Bob and Jerry had come out unscathed.
Also there had been waves of gas—the ordinary chlorine gas, and again the more dangerous mustard variety. In fact, the Germans used their yellow-cross and their green-cross gases alternately against the sector where the Cresville chums were. 95 But prompt use of the protective masks prevented any casualties.
So, as has been said, when the three chums were resting in the dugout, wondering what their next duty would be, an officer came in, and, when he had returned the salutes, he said:
“Volunteers are wanted for a raiding party to-night. There’s a German dugout not far away, and the commander thinks we have a good chance to get some prisoners and thus learn a thing or two about what Fritz is up to in this section. There’s also a chance, as I needn’t mention, that none of us will come back. Now then, who wants to go?”
There was a moment of hesitation, and then, to the credit of the young soldiers, every one stepped forward.
“Um!” mused the officer. “I can’t use you all. Thank you, just the same. Now let’s see,” and he proceeded to pick out his squad.
To their delight Ned, Bob and Jerry were selected, and at once began to prepare for the dangerous mission. None of them gave more than a passing thought to the reflection that all might safely return or none of them come back.