It was bitter and sanguinary, and at last, with only two men left beside him, the lieutenant heard the rush of the relief guard. He was placed in charge, as he knew the lay of the land, and the party hurried to and fro, wiping up little knots of Germans here and there, until the main body encountered the squad having in charge the two air service boys.
“You began to think it was all up with you, didn't you?” asked the lieutenant, when they were all once more safely in the dugout.
“We certainly did!” admitted Tom.
“We had visions of watery soup and wheatless bread for the rest of the war,” observed Jack.
He and Tom were slightly wounded—mere scratches they dubbed the hurts—but they were sent to the rear to be looked over and bandaged, as were some of the others who were more severely hurt. There were some who could not be sent back—who were left in No Man's Land silent figures who would never take part in a battle again. They had paid their price toward making the world a better place to live in, and their names were on the Honor Roll.
“Well, what do you think about it?” asked Tom of Jack.
“I don't know what to think. It seems hardly possible that Harry can be so near to us, and yet we can't do a thing to help him.”
“I'm not so sure about that,” returned Tom. “That's what I want to talk about.”
It was a week after the patrol raid, and clear weather had succeeded the rain and mist, so that it was possible for the aeroplanes to operate. And their services were much needed.
There were preparations going on back of the German lines of which General Pershing and the Allied commanders needed to be informed. And only the “eyes” of the armies could see them and report—the eyes being the aeroplanes.