The position is one to consider for a moment. How had this trio of retreats affected the Allies, and what success had it brought to the Germans? In the case of the former it had caused losses, it had secured country, it had devastated fertile areas, and it had rendered homeless thousands of hapless French people. Moreover, it had brought the Germans within easier striking distance of Paris, on which at least three of their long-range guns had for some weeks now been casting shells. But it had not broken Britain and her allies. Those losses had already been made good, and now, instead of some three or four hundred thousand Americans standing shoulder to shoulder with Britain and France and Italy and Portugal and Belgium, there were a million Americans, with more swarming on ships to cross the Atlantic and come to our assistance.
What then of the Germans? What was in the first place the ultimate aim and object of that first offensive, which, successful enough, we admit, had yet caused them stupendous losses? What was the net result of these three successful attempts, all accompanied by losses, which, if published broadcast and fully known, might well stagger the people of Germany? Ground had been won, prisoners had been taken, but the effort was a failure—a ghastly failure—because its main object had been to smash and drive a wedge in between the British forces to the north and the French troops farther south—a position which would have been pressed to the fullest and which would have enabled the Kaiser to have thrown the whole of his forces upon the British and so overwhelm them.
That had not eventuated; that was the main object of the German High Command, and its failure spelt failure in all directions. Those three offensives had taken time—valuable days had slipped by, valuable weeks had gone, and during those weeks, running into some three months, America, stimulated by the danger, had made good the gaps in the fighting-line of the Allies, and had sent her troops to France in unprecedented manner.
What then of the future? There stood now in France a solid wall of British and French and American troops, with Italians, Portuguese, and Belgians, a wall growing stouter every day as American troops arrived. On the other side of the line there stood a German host, staggered in spite of itself by its losses, shaken by the stupendous task still before it, doubtful of the future, hesitating as to the course it should pursue.
As to the other theatres of war: in Italy another blow was given to the German Alliance, for the Austrians, having staked their all on an offensive, were hopelessly defeated, and Italy was advancing her line across the Piave. Thus July arrived, and with it the crisis of this world-wide conflict.
What of Bill and his friends? What, too, of Heinrich Hilker, the German spy whom they had seen whisked off in an aeroplane, obviously with the intention of landing behind the Allied line, there to mingle with the American soldiers?
"It's—it's——" spluttered Bill, as the machine took the air and went off. "I—we——"
"You shut up," Larry commanded, still gripping him by the arm and beginning to lead him away. "Sakes! D'you want every one of the Germans outside to hear you—to see that something's happened? Come over here! Stuff that into your mouth! Smoke, man! Now, Jim, sit down; we'll have a talk. Nobby, you come across here. Of course you don't understand. Well, sit down; now listen!"
"See here!" said Jim, tapping the huge Nobby on the knee as he sat in front of him, for Larry was now engaged in talking sternly to Bill. "This here is a real drama: our Bill—our young Bill, him as we've been along with these weeks now—was a chum of ours out west in America. There was Germans there, Nobby; you know as I'm speakin' of times when America wasn't at war with Germany. Them Germans was up to all sorts of stunts—dirty stunts; you get me?"
Nobby nodded. He opened a capacious mouth and popped in the tip of a tiny cigarette, looking almost as though he would swallow it.