Meanwhile, all along the line in the sector where the American troops were stationed hard fighting was going on. On either flank were French and English forces, but the boys of Uncle Sam were holding up their end of the work exceedingly well.
“When can we get into it?” sighed Ned one evening, when reports came in of heavy fighting, during which certain American units had won distinction.
“Very soon, so I hear,” returned Jerry. “Our intensive training is nearly over. We may be moved up to the front any day now.”
“The sooner the quicker,” cried Bob. “Maybe the eats won’t be so good farther front, but we’ll see some action!”
Of course, there had been “action” in plenty at camp, but it was of the safe variety, and this did not appeal to the boys.
Then their chance came. One morning after drill emotion, like electricity, seemed to run through the camp.
“What’s up?” came the queries from all sides. 76
“We’re ordered to the firing line!” was the answer.
And then came cheers! Cheers that showed of what stuff America’s fighters were made.
The news proved true. That evening, under the cover of darkness, so that no lurking Hun planes might detect the movement, a considerable body of troops from the training camp was sent up toward the front, to relieve some battle-scarred units.