"And they've got plenty of other lines behind that one," commented Tom, as he sat on a trench step cleaning and oiling his rifle.
"Slathers of them," assented Billy. "I suppose they stretch all the way back to the Rhine."
"It will be some job to root them out of them if we have to storm each one of them in turn," remarked Bart.
"We don't have to count on that," said Frank confidently. "The Allies gained twenty-five miles at a clip when they drove Hindenburg back from the Somme. The Huns may stand out a long while, but when the time comes they may collapse all at once like the deacon's 'one-hoss shay.'"
The Americans in the meantime had thoroughly reorganized the captured positions and had held them against a number of strong counter-attacks. But these became fewer as they failed to produce results, and although the artillery still kept on growling and barking, the wearied infantry had a chance to get some of the rest they so sorely needed after their herculean efforts.
"Nothing to do till to-morrow," yawned Billy, as after performing their turn of trench duty they found themselves with an hour or two on their hands.
"Let's take a little hike back of the lines and see what's doing," suggested Bart.
"I think there's something in the wind connected with the tanks," remarked Frank. "They say there's a bunch of them coming up from all parts of the front and getting together just back of our division."
"They're hot playthings, all right," commented Tom. "They certainly keep the Huns on the jump. If we only had enough of them we might roll right into Berlin."
They passed some of the field batteries where the men, stripped to the waist, were serving the guns, running the shells in and discharging their weapons with marvelous smoothness, speed and precision.