As they passed through the wood, which stretched longitudinally for a considerable distance, but was comparatively shallow in depth, they saw scores of Germans and not a few of their own men, most of them dead, others mortally wounded and dying, others temporarily incapacitated but not so seriously hurt, trying to staunch their own wounds and hobble back to first aid stations.
It was a sight that struck to the very heart of the lads, but looking backward for an instant they saw the second wave of indomitable men approaching, and scattered through the occasional breaches in their lines they saw that emblem of tender care and mercy, the Red Cross.
Where the Germans previously had dug in, just behind the line of the wood, was now a havoc of wreck and ruin, the whole earth thereabouts having been churned and plowed and furrowed by the terrific artillery fire which the Americans had poured in preliminary to the advance.
From where they had swung round the eastern end of the miniature forest, hundreds of tanks were now bobbing up and down like great, clumsy, fire-spitting beetles, as they lumbered across this chaos of mounds and gullies, paving the way for the renewed infantry attack that would open with the arrival of the second wave of shock troops.
Actual fighting had been going on little more than an hour, and yet the Americans had progressed more than a mile beyond where the first German line had been encountered, had taken what the Boche had regarded as an almost impregnable wood, peopled as it was with sharp-shooters and hundreds of machine gun nests, and by the sheer courage and determination of their attack had struck fear to the heart of the Hun.
Losses had been heavy, but they were slight as compared with the casualties of the Germans. It had been a fearful ordeal, and the attack really had but just begun. The men were begrimed, powder-stained and most of them crusted with mud. But they were as invincible now as when they started—and more anxious to continue.
Major Sweeney, his own left hand roughly bound in a handkerchief betokening a wound of some sort, dashed up for a hurried word as he passed along the line.
“Brave work!” he shouted. “You are doing no less than was expected of you, but much remains yet to be done. Make good use of your short breathing spell. The next half mile ought to be comparatively easy but beyond that it will be more difficult. No one of us, however, can have doubt of the result. Civilization never will forget what sacrifices you are making for it today. We must not weaken for a moment now.
“The enemy already is upon the verge of an utter rout. We must make it complete. He will stop a little further on to marshal his forces and make a desperate and determined stand. So far as possible we must prevent him from succeeding in that aim. We must keep him moving so fast that he will be unable again to reorganize his forces for effective resistance.
“All reports indicate that we are obtaining our objectives at every point along the line. Upon you men devolves the responsibility of taking Thiaucourt—Thiaucourt at all costs.”