Yes, there was no doubt about it in any man’s mind. They were going to attack on September 12th.
And so, with this almost definite assurance in mind, the preparations went forward with even renewed vigor and anticipation. No need to urge the men. They worked as boys would for a holiday. The rain, which continued with only slight and infrequent abatement, was no annoyance, was hardly even noticed now.
The big work for which they had prepared for months—first in America, then in England, and finally behind the lines in France—was now at hand. Their mettle was to be tested against the Boche. Their numbers, their ability, their courage were to be thrown into the world contest of Liberty against Autocracy.
“Do you remember how you used to feel just before we went into a game against an eleven that we knew to be at least our own weight?” Ollie breathed to Tom and George, as the three of them were completing the last essentials to a critical inspection.
“Sure do,” replied Tom, the biggest and heaviest of the three, “and I never put on a head-piece with greater anticipation than I do this,” and he clamped his heavy helmet on as though the battle already were under way.
In a muffled voice Harper wanted to know how his gas mask became him, and if really, after all, he wasn’t the long-sought missing link.
There is a cheerfulness about men about to go into battle that only those who have been through it can understand—a thrilling of every nerve that makes one jest, even though death may be stalking only a few yards or a few hours ahead—a forgetfulness of all else but the determined will to fight to the last, and to win.
Suddenly from far to the east there came the muffled thunder of heavy cannonading which brought all three men upright. For a moment they thought that real hostilities were on; but the illusion was not for long. The sporadic reply of their own batteries told them as clearly as words could that it was just “one of those messages from Fritz and Heinie” which of course required a reply, but did not after all amount to very much. It was a sort of exchange of compliments, the lads in the trenches termed it.
Nevertheless every man was on edge, and when a simultaneous shout of warning and expectancy went up from two or three alert fellows who had been gazing skyward, a thousand heads went up, to witness one of those most daring and spectacular exhibitions of the entire war—a battle in the air.
The three Brighton boys—for as such they were known to all their companions—rushed for an elevation already occupied by half a dozen others, and from which a wider sweep of the skyline was to be had.