A yell on their left caught the ears of Jerry and his chums. 150
“Are we giving way?” asked Ned, grimly despairing.
“No! It’s the tanks! Look!” screamed Bob.
And the tanks it was. A score of them, great lumbering giants, impervious to everything save heavy guns, on they crawled, smashing concrete machine-gun nests as though they were but collections of vipers’ eggs in a field.
These tanks turned the tide of battle at that particular point. For the Germans were putting up a stiff resistance, and were about to launch a counter-attack, as was learned later.
But with the tanks to protect them, to splatter death from their armored machine guns, to spread terror and fear among the Huns, the day was saved.
On rushed the Americans, Ned, Bob, and Jerry among them, while all about them thundered the big guns, rattled the rifles, adding their din to the tat-a-tat-tat of the machine guns.
And then the Germans, unable to withstand this withering fire and being inadequately supported by their artillery, broke in confusion and ran—ran to escape the terrible death that awaited them from the avengers of a world dishonored by the Boches.
Wave after wave of storming troops now surged over the positions lately occupied in force by the Germans. Up the wooded slopes they 151 swept, taking possession of dominant heights so long desired. The objective was more than won, and the American position much improved.
The fury of the fighting began to die away. But it was still terrific in spots, for there were many machine-gun nests left behind when the Huns retreated, and the holders of them were told to die at their posts. Many did.