Men were seen to stagger and fall, but their places were taken by others and the Germans continued to come on. But that stream of fire kept up remorselessly, and at last the wave of attackers faltered, broke and fled.
“They’re running!” cried Billy exultantly.
“A lot of them will never run again,” said Tom grimly, as he continued feeding the gun that Frank was aiming.
“They’ll be back,” prophesied Frank, for he could see the enemy in the shelter of the woods trying to reform. “This place is too important to give it up without another try. How’s the ammunition holding out?”
“Plenty yet,” replied Billy. “There must be a thousand rounds. And the best of it is that they’re German bullets out of a German gun that we’re feeding to Fritz.”
“Shows how honest we are,” chuckled Tom. “We’re giving him all that belongs to him. And we’re giving it to him too with compound interest.”
Once more the Germans came on, only to be mowed down like corn before the reaper. The boys had thrown off all their upper garments now and were stripped to the waist, for the confined quarters of the tank and the heat of the firing were causing the perspiration to run down their faces and bodies in streams.
Suddenly Tom gave a cry of alarm.
“The gun’s getting too hot!” he exclaimed. “It blisters you when you touch it. We’ll have to give it a rest and let it cool off.”
“Rest nothing,” declared Frank, as he saw that the Germans were trying to advance. “They’d be on us before we’d be ready to fire again. Quick, you fellows, get your canteens and pour the water into the cooler of the gun. That’ll keep it going so that we can use it.”