I chuckled to think how the artillerymen would like that.
It was enough to make them try a shot at us.
But a minute later a shell ripped right through the trees that camouflaged the battery, tearing a big gash in the concealment.
“Bull’s eye!” I shot out into the air from my key. “Give’m hell!”
With that Larkin started us for home with the archeys spitting their rage but ineffectually.
But just the same something did happen that made all a blackness for me until I woke up in a clearing-station hospital just behind our lines.
Brave, old Larkin was the cause. He had held his nerve and strength and never did he falter until we were home and within twenty feet of the ground when he suddenly lurched forward and was “out.” We crashed to the ground and I also was “out.”
There wasn’t much the matter with me. I was only pea green from bruises for a week. But Larkin, poor chap, had two ribs and a leg broken in addition to having suffered the shrapnel wounds on his face.