They dashed through "rest billets"—the towns behind the lines where the exhausted soldiers, who had served their term in the trenches, were sent back for a few days or weeks of rest while fresh troops took their places.
The roads became more congested with trucks carrying supplies and ammunition to the front. Ambulances came past in an endless stream, bearing their quota of wounded men. Hospitals were everywhere, marked with a Red Cross that bespoke their mission of mercy and healing.
And there were cemeteries too, with their endless rows of simple wooden crosses on which were inscribed the names and regimental numbers of those who slept beneath.
Cripples, too, there were, with missing legs or arms, and blinded ones, who had looked for the last time on scenes of warfare.
It was the seamy side of war that thrust itself upon their sight. But though it sobered, it did not daunt these eager young Americans who had come to do their part and "see it through." It only deepened their indignation at the merciless military power that had brought such woe and misery upon the world, and each breathed a vow to himself that he would not rest until that power was curbed and punished as it deserved to be.
"This looks like the real thing," remarked Frank.
"That's what!" agreed Bart. "You can see already that war is what Sherman said it was."
"This is nothing," put in Billy. "It's only the fringe. It's only when we get in the trenches that we'll know anything about it."
"Some of us may not know much then," put in Tom. "It all depends on how long we succeed in dodging the bullets."
"Yes," observed Billy. "Or our experience may be like that of the Tommy who said 'First, I 'ears a 'orrible noise and the next thing I 'ears the nurse sayin', "Sit up and drink this!"'"