“Right you are, sir. I don’t hear any kicking.”
Hal smiled in spite of himself.
After a brief rest, the marines resumed their journey. They struck out along a quieter road. They hiked and hiked till their shoes quit squeaking. The road gradually became deserted. Soon the marching marines were the only men in sight.
The men zig-zagged from side to side, ducking trees cut off by big shells. Suddenly the vanguard was confronted by a gesticulating Frenchman, who waved his hands for them to stop. Hal halted his company and rode forward.
“What’s the matter?” he demanded in French.
The Frenchman pointed dramatically along the road.
“Boche!”
“What?” queried Hal. “Com bien kilometers?” (How many kilometers?)
“Non. Non!” returned the Frenchman. “Kilometer!”
Hal thanked the Frenchman and discreetly ordered his men into a woods. The withdrawal was assisted by five German shells that burst on both sides of the road.