Another brief silence. A 75 barked behind Hal and Chester. Then the battle seemed to start anew, one of the American batteries firing and then another; the contest seemed to be between two batteries of 75's.
Chester could never remember which battery fired last, but he heard, a few days later, that two second lieutenants of artillery were haled blushingly before a general and severely reprimanded for disregarding the rules of the armistice.
After the two batteries had ceased firing and the roar of the last cannon died out across the valley, there came a silence that was even more appalling than the first. It was something like the lull that follows a terrific thunderstorm, only this storm had been raging for nearly fifty-two months.
In the midst of this ghastly silence, a startling thing occurred. The sky line of the crest ahead of the American troops grew suddenly populous with dancing soldiers, and, down the slope, all the way to the barbed wire entanglements, straight for the Yankees, came the German troops.
For a moment there was confusion in the American ranks. It seemed that the enemy was launching his troops forward in a desperate charge. Yankee officers shouted hoarse commands. Gunners sprang to their batteries, and these were trained on the advancing foes.
But the excitement soon died out. No danger threatened.
The Germans came with outstretched hands, grins and souvenirs to trade for cigarettes, so well did they know the weakness of their foes.
But neither Hal nor Chester had time for the Germans. They were thinking of Sergeant Bowers, who still lay just beyond his funk hole, apparently badly wounded.
Hal hurried to his side. His face was chalky white, but his eyes were wide open. Chester also hurried to Sergeant Bowers' side. The sergeant recognized them immediately and greeted them with a faint smile. The lads smiled back at him.
"Is the war over?" he asked.