And Germany was ready to strike that blow. The Reds’ shameful peace at Brest-Litovsk enabled her to mass armies in the west. She had there Von Hindenburg and Ludendorff and six million soldiers. And having the inner lines, she could concentrate troops and outnumber the Allies two or three to one in every attack, although they had eight million men.
Late in March, the great German offensive began.
The first drive was on a fifty-mile front. It swept onward with terrible force, capturing vast numbers of prisoners and guns. The monster guns in the St. Gobain Forest dropped shells on a church in the heart of Paris. Late in April, that drive was checked, but the Germans had thrust forward thirty-four miles on their way to the French capital.
Before that first drive was halted, the second drive began in Flanders; its purpose was to reach the Channel ports and to cut off the British Army from the French and Americans. The British held their broken ranks and stood “with their backs to the wall.� The Germans were again checked, but they had advanced ten long, hard-fought miles.
The Village received with growing dismay the tidings from the battle front. Months ago the older men had offered themselves for war service and formed a company, and now they drilled regularly on Court-house Green. They might as well be ready, in case they were needed, said Red Mayo Osborne.
Black Mayo Osborne did not join the company. Nor did he enter the army as he had said months before he was going to do. He spent a great deal of his time wandering about the countryside, with baskets of pigeons, seemingly unconscious of the sneers at his expense—that came most frequently and openly from men who were leaving no stone of political influence unturned, to keep themselves and their sons and brothers out of the army.
One of Black Mayo’s favorite walks was toward the high bridge, eight miles from The Village, where frequent trains bearing soldiers and supplies crawled across the long, high trestle far above the river and the lowlands.
One day as he was sauntering near the bridge, he saw a man and boy who were following a by-path through the woods. Circling through a pine thicket, he came near enough to hear part of their conversation.
The man was not speaking English, but Black Mayo understood what he was saying: “Not train time. You walk the bridge and�—there Black Mayo missed some words.
“No,� the boy said curtly.