CHAPTER XI
A STRANGE RESCUE
Stunned by the concussion, half choked by the clouds of dust and smoke, terribly jarred when they had been felled by the force of the explosion just outside the mill, our five heroes lay, for several seconds, totally unable to stir. Had there been a rush of Huns on them at that moment, or had some following explosion endangered the mill, they would not have been able to move to save themselves.
But, for a time, there was no further explosion, so that the Khaki Boys had a chance to recover their breath, and, what was more important in their perilous situation, gather their no less scattered wits.
"What—what in the name of the great Attila himself was that?" gasped
Roger.
"I think it was yet a gun what went off," mildly said Iggy.
"A gun? Say, it must have been the grandfather of all the cannon the
Huns ever made," declared Jimmy. "Are any of you alive?"
"Guess we're all alive," answered Bob, as he slowly arose and shook some of the dust from him. For the dust was thick all over, in clouds and scattered about. Some of it was flour dust and other was the lime and mortar that had held together the front wall which had collapsed and slid outward. The whole front of the mill was open.
There was no doubt about their all being alive, but, for a time, even this had been in doubt. They were still stunned, but they managed to gather in a knot about Jimmy. They were hardly able to breathe, partly because of the shock and partly because of the choking dust.
"There goes our defense," said Bob, gloomily, pointing to where the machine-gun stood—the one they had decided to use against their enemies. It had been crushed by the falling wall.
"Lucky we had the rations in the back room," commented Roger, "Else we'd go hungry."
"We may yet," returned Jimmy, grimly.
"What do you mean!" asked Bob, anxiously.
"Well, I don't believe that was a chance shot," went on the young sergeant. "If they see the mill still standing they may try another, and that may take off the roof. And then——"
"Whoa! Hold on a minute! A little at a time!" protested Bob. "This is enough. Don't give us any more."
"We've got to know where we're at!" declared Jimmy, and there was a new quality to his voice. "If this mill is within range of the German guns, and, unquestionably, it is, we've got to get out."
"Or go down cellar," added Roger.
"I don't believe any cellar, unless it was double bomb proof, would be safe if another shell like that came over," said Franz.
"Was it a German shell or one of ours?" asked Bob. "That would be interesting to know. I don't suppose, though," he went on, "that it really makes much difference, after you're dead, whether you're killed by an enemy shell, or by one fired in mistake by one of your friends. At the same time if the American guns have come up it may mean that the Germans will have to retreat and we'll be safe."
"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," declared Jimmy. "It will mean a big battle, anyhow, if the Americans and some of the French and British have come up. And that may mean we'll have a chance to join our friends. But, in the meantime, maybe we can tell whether that was a Hun shell, sent to blow this mill off the earth, or whether it was from the good old United States."
Cautiously they advanced across the floor, toward what had been the front of the mill. Caution was necessary, for with the collapse of the front wall and part of the sides, the floor supports were weakened.
"No telling where that shell landed," declared Bob. "It's buried deep, and about ten tons of mortar and bricks are on top of it. If we had seen it coming——"
"Look out—duck!" suddenly yelled Franz, as he grabbed Jimmy, who was nearest him and darted toward the rear of the structure.
"What's the matter?" cried Bob.
"Another shell coming!" shouted Franz, and, even as he spoke there was that horrid screeching sound. "Duck!"
Together they ran to the farthest corner of the old mill. Whether it would have been better to have tried to get out none of them stopped to think. They were in a panic.
And then came the explosion, but so distant that it caused no more than a mere rumble of the ground, and a faintly-felt concussion of the now tottery building.
"Missed us that time," declared Roger. "But they're getting our range."
"No, they didn't fire at us," declared Franz. "If they had they would have hit us, for undoubtedly the gunners know the effect of that first shot. The Huns aren't shooting at us purposely."
"Do you mean that shell came from a German battery?" asked Bob.
"It did," affirmed Franz. "I saw the puff of smoke from a battery on the hill where the Germans are grouped. Then I knew they were firing in our direction. But of course I couldn't see the shell, and I didn't know where it would land. But I didn't want to take a chance. That either went over or fell short. But there's no question, now, as to where the firing is coming from—it's from the German lines."
"Then there's no chance for us," said Roger, gloomily.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," declared Franz. "They don't know we're here, and they evidently aren't firing directly at this mill. They may be using it to get the range, and that's why they dropped the first shell here. But we still have a chance."
"I don't see it!" declared Bob. "We can't get out—surrounded as we are by the enemy, and if we stay here another chance shell may wreck the place."
"Better as we noathing do, maybe; eh?" suggested the Polish lad.
"I guess you've struck it," assented Jimmy. "There isn't very much we can do. We might take a chance and sneak out, but I think very likely, the Germans are well supplied with glasses. They are, most certainly, watching this mill, if for no other reason than that it's so conspicuous. If we run out they'll be sure to spot us, and it would mean capture sure."
"Then what do you, advise, Blazes!" asked Roger.
"That we see if there's a chance of getting down in the cellar and staying there. Some of these old mills had very thick foundation walls. I don't know just how long this one will stand up if many more such shells as the first one came over, but we can try it. In fact, it seems to be our only chance."
"All right—to the cellar!" cried Bob. "And don't forget to take with us what food and water we can. Maybe we'll be held there some time. If there's a big battle it may last several days, though if our boys drive back the Huns we'll take the opportunity to slip out and join our friends."
"That's right," agreed Jimmy. "Just think, fellows, what's happening to us now may have happened to poor Maxwell. Maybe that's why he hasn't been heard from. If we don't come back they'll list us as missing, and no one will know whether we've run away, been killed or captured. So we'll have to suspend judgment on the man that's got our thousand dollars."
"That's so," agreed Franz. "I never looked at it in just that way. We never thought this would happen to us, any more than I thought I'd be captured."
They were gathering up such food as remained to them, and Bob was looking for something in which to carry some water to the cellar, when there came again that nerve-racking screech, followed by a roar and bang that seemed to knock the very bottom out of the world itself.
And this time the boys were conscious, for a brief instant at least, that the old mill was gone. It seemed to fall apart, to disintegrate, to crumble like some time-worn structure. And then all five of the lads lost consciousness and seemed to be slipping down into everlasting blackness, while all about them fell and rattled and banged stones, bricks, mortar-dust and dirt, mingled with cracked and splintered wood.
It was Iggy who first recovered his senses. Whether he was less shocked, or whether his nerves were in such a state from his recent experience as to make his unconsciousness of shorter duration, does not matter. The fact is he opened his eyes. And he was at once conscious that he was held down by the weight of much debris. It was on his legs and on his body, but his arms and head were free.
"Ach! Back again am I in de shell hole! It was a dream, yes, that I was taken out!" exclaimed the poor Polish lad. "It a dream must of been! I shall sleep again!"
But as he was closing his eyes, for he really, as he said later, thought that he was back in the shell hole, he saw Jimmy, who was half buried near him, moving slightly.
"Oh, Jimmy Blazes! And dey kill you, too!" sighed Iggy. "How sorry I am we both deat are alretty!"
"Who's dead?" asked Jimmy, in a faint voice. "I'm not, anyhow, but blamed near it. Is that you, Iggy?"
"Yes, I it is. But I know not if I am deader or aliver."
"Take my word for it—you're alive so far, though how long you'll be that way—or me, either—I can't say," said Jimmy. "What happened, anyhow?"
To Iggy's relief Jimmy managed to scramble out of the pile of dirt and stones that half buried him. And then, from another corner of what seemed to be the cellar, a third voice said:
"They sent over a proper shell, that time." It was Franz.
"A proper shell? Most improper, I call it!" came from Roger. "It blew the mill to pieces!"
"And us along with it," added Bob. "Are we in the cellar?"
"Sub-cellar, basement—anything you like to call it!" put in Jimmy.
"But is it possible that none of us is seriously hurt?"
He walked over a pile of masonry and beams. He saw Bob crawling out of a hole and Franz swinging himself down from what appeared to be a ledge. Roger picked himself up from a corner. Only Iggy seemed to be seriously hurt, but it was demonstrated, a few moments later, that he was not. For he scrambled out, scattering the dust in a cloud, and stood with his chums.
They were a sorry sight—covered with dust and streaks of blood, for the wounds they had bound up had opened again, and they had many fresh scratches and cuts.
"It's very evident what happened," declared Jimmy. "They must have dropped a shell on the roof, and it blew the mill right down into the ground, and us with it. We're in the cellar—or what was once the cellar."
"And the next question is, how to get out," added Bob.
"Hark!" exclaimed Jimmy, holding up a warning hand.
There was silence, broken by a faint, crackling noise.
"Do you think you hear the German guns, or ours!" cried Bob.
"Neither one," said Jimmy, and there was a curious note in his voice. "What I hear—and what you'll all hear, soon—is the crackling of flames. The old mill—or what's left of it, boys—is on fire!"
"Then let's get out!" yelled Roger.
Jimmy looked about him, without moving. Above them there seemed to be a solid mass of torn beams and jumbled masonry. On either side there were stone walls—cracked walls, it is true, but, nevertheless, too solid to admit the passage of the Khaki Boys. And only on one side was there an opening, but this was so choked with debris as to make it seemingly impossible to make egress that way. And, as the young soldiers stood there, trapped under the collapsed mill, the sound of the crackling flames became more plain. They could smell, now, the smoke of burning wood.
"We've got to get out! We've got to get out!" yelled Bob.
He rushed to a place where, through a crisscross of beams and planks, he could see daylight. Yet, though there were openings, none of them was large enough to permit the passage of the smallest of the five Brothers. And the wooden beams and planks were all of extraordinary thickness.
"We're trapped! Trapped! And the fire coming nearer!" half sobbed Bob.
And then he saw through the crisscross of beams, coming toward the burning mill, a man who seemed to be an American officer. And yet he wore no such uniform as Bob had ever seen before.
"Steady, boys!" cried this strange rescuer, as he glimpsed them. "I'll soon have you out! Wait! Don't bring the ruins down on top of you!"