Strictly speaking there was at that time no American front. That did not come until later, for the American soldiers, as was proper, were brigaded with the French and British, to enable our troops, who were unused to European war conditions, to become acquainted with the needful measures to meet and overcome the brutality of the Huns.
But even with this brigading of the United States' troops with the seasoned veterans, which, in plain language, meant a mingling of the two forces, there was much that was strictly American among the new arrivals.
Not only were the khaki-clad soldiers real Americans to the backbone, but their equipment and the supplies that had come over with them in the transports were such as might be seen at any army camp in this country, as distinguished from a French or a British camp.
“Well, the boys are here all right,” remarked Jack, as he and Tom made their way toward the headquarters at which they were to report.
“Yes, and it makes me feel good to see them!” said Tom. “This is the beginning of the end of Kaiserism, if I'm any judge.”
“Oh, it isn't going to be so easy as all that,” returned Jack. “We'll see some hard fighting. Germany isn't licked yet by any means; but those, are the boys that can bring the thing to a finish,” and he pointed to a company of the lean, stem, brown figures that were swinging along with characteristic stride.
The place at which Tom and Jack had been ordered to report was an interior city of France, not far from the port at which the first transport from America had arrived. A first glance at the scenes on every hand would have given a person not familiar with war a belief that hopeless confusion existed. Wagons, carts, mule teams and motor trucks-“lorries,” the English call them—were dashing to and fro. Men were marching, countermarching, unloading some vehicles, loading others. Soldiers were being marched into the interior to be billeted, others were being directed to their respective French or English units. Officers were shouting commands, and privates were carrying them out to the best of their ability.
But though it all seemed chaos, out of it order was coming. There was a system, though a civilian would not have understood it.
“Well, let's find out where we're at,” suggested Torn, to his chum.
“Right O, my pickled grapefruit!” agreed Jack with a laugh. “Let's get into the game.”