“He says if there had only been a few more of us we could have stopped them.”
“Here is one who insists that Paris is doomed, and all is lost. But, you see, his companion was killed by his side.”
The officers moved rapidly away and then, almost suddenly, there was an end of the retreating French. The ambulances also had ceased in their errands of mercy over the ground ahead. A strange hush fell upon everything but the forces of nature. The breeze toyed with the wheat. Birds sang blithely; across the fields a cow was lowing, a poor creature, perhaps that a farmer who had suddenly vacated his home before the oncoming Huns, had failed to drive along toward the west.
The lieutenant passed along the line again, speaking to his men. He was a young man, tall, with fine square shoulders, a firm jaw and a pleasant voice—every inch a soldier. He paused a moment and said to Clem:
“Your arm is better now? Well, try to think it is. You’ll need it. I hope it won’t interfere with your sleep tonight.” Then to the sergeant, in answer to a question: “Yes, they’re coming; re-forming first. There are enough of them to make us sit up and take notice. Three divisions to our one and a half. I don’t think any of us will take a nap during the next hour or so. But, remember, we’ve got to give them all there is in us! Keep cautioning your men to shoot low, to keep their heads, see their hind-sights, and try to hit what they aim at. It will be just like target practice, boys; only more so. Every time you score means that’s one less chance of your being scored on.”
Anticipation often goes reality “one better,” to use a betting phrase. The waiting for the expected battle was most irksome—nerve-racking to some. It cannot be a joyful thing to contemplate the killing of human beings, even though they are bent on killing. Upon such occasions minutes drag by like hours. It is an actual relief when the end of the suspense is at hand.
Clem glanced at his wrist watch—it was 4:45. The enemy could be seen now in the distance, advancing steadily. They were coming on in mass formation straight across the waving wheat that the retreating French had avoided trampling down. The Huns gloried in this destruction. They were going to make this place a shambles with dying and dead when they should occupy this region. They would turn it into a desert of burned homes, felled trees, girdled orchards, ruined villages and looted factories—as all the territory they had thus far occupied had been desolated.
“Cut loose, boys! The range is nearly flat. Don’t fire too high. Now, then, every man for himself!” Thus ran the orders along the line and the crack of the rifles this time meant more to the advancing Germans than ever before. The French subaltern, sent to observe the behavior of the Americans went into ecstasies after the manner of his race. With eyes sticking out so far that there was danger of his butting into something and knocking them off, he watched the “Leathernecks” in long-range rifle action awhile; then he hurried back to his staff. Shortly he was back again with some higher officers of the French supporting line, and their enthusiasm was unbounded. The subaltern translated liberally:
“Voila! Your men shoot! Sacre! They are deliberate! They see their sights! They hit the mark! The Huns stop—they waver! Ah, they come on again! True they are brave men! And they obey their officers—also brave men! But behold again! The front rank is down, gone! What say you? Yes, wiped out! And still they come again? Ah now, it is too much. They lose all if they remain. Behold, they break! They retreat! They hide in the wheat! They creep away!”
“Cut that wheat all to pieces, boys! Don’t let any of them get away!” ordered the lieutenant, repeating a common order and it was just what the marines were doing.