They cut across an enormous field of wheat. On their right lay a French plane, apparently none the worse for its adventure. To the left lay a big German plane. Beside it were the bodies of two men—the pilot and the gunner.
“Here they come!” shouted Sergeant Bowers suddenly.
Hal looked ahead and saw a column of men—Germans—marching toward the Americans four abreast.
Apparently there was no end to that column. At least twenty officers were at the head of it. They appeared to be the happiest men in sight, and well they might be, for for them the days of war were over. They were prisoners.
The marines moved forward again.
They passed a line of batteries, famous French “75’s,” pounding, pounding. Over the country ahead, Hal counted five hangars, or what had been aeroplane hangars. Now they were grotesquely twisted steel skeletons, deserted by the enemy. The troops passed through a small village, into another wheat field, formed for attack, and halted.
They occupied a knoll. On the slope below was a line of queer looking dots. In the hollow proper were three “75” batteries. Up to the left were still more batteries. Hal searched the landscape with his eyes carefully. Ahead he saw his target.
It was on the farthest hill. The last rays of the sun outlined it clearly. It was the long line of tanks, which the Huns had brought into the fight as substitutes, their artillery having been captured. When Hal first sighted them they were spitting fire from their one-pounders and they were moving.
Half an hour later, under the fire from Americans and French, they were in ruins, and through glasses Hal and Chester saw the German infantry retiring past them. The French and American batteries rested.
“Now,” said Hal to Chester, “if you ask me, here is where we should continue our advance.”