The boy, Chester took it, was McHugh. He could not have been more than twenty.
“He has a grand voice,” the German continued. “If he will sing us a song we will let the man in the shell hole oud there go back.”
At the same time the voice from No Man’s Land cried a third time:
“Help! Help!”
Chester took counsel with Hal.
“Well,” he said, “shall we take Fritz at his word?”
It should be explained here that incidents such as this were not uncommon in the trenches where friend and foe were so close together. More than once British and American soldiers had shared their tobacco and other luxuries with the less fortunate Germans. Sometimes, conversations like this were carried on for hours at a time.
“Trouble is,” Hal answered Chester, “you can’t trust them. It’s likely to be a ruse to get the man into the open so they can take a shot at him.”
“And it may be they’re acting in good faith this time.”
“Oh, it may be, of course.” Hal turned to the private. “What do you say, McHugh, will you sing for Fritz?”