Captain Lowden had given orders to his men to cease advancing a little before darkness set in and to hold the ground they had gained against counter-assaults, a plan carried out by the 77th Division wherever the fighting was so severe as to show that the Germans equaled or exceeded the Americans in numbers and were most bitterly contesting the ground.
About twenty men of a depleted platoon were now with the Captain and operating directly under him. With the setting of the sun they began to prepare a hasty camp, putting up a few small tents, all used for the temporary relief of the wounded. A messenger had been sent after stretcher bearers and several men had been detailed to roughly clear an old roadway that led out to the nearest approach for ambulances.
But although there was much hustle and bustle about the camp, it really bore a remarkable contrast to the daytime scenes of men in action and of those supporting and aiding them in every way. In a little while the activities quieted down and the men began to seek places of rest, a few pickets being sent forward, as usual, and others detailed to remain on guard against an attack of the enemy. Captain Lowden went back to the hospital tents.
Needing sleep more than anything else, Lieutenants Whitcomb and Richards selected ponchos and rolled up on beds of leaves, dropping off instantly into perfect oblivion. Don meant to ask something about Gill, who had suddenly acted as though ill and had been sent to the rear, but the question died before the boy could frame the words. He would not have got a reply had he spoken.
The hours dragged on for those awake. Private Neeley had been hit in the hand; so slight a wound that he did not report it. But now it commenced to hurt and gaining his corporal’s consent he went to the rear to have the wound dressed. That done, he returned, coming alone through the short stretch of woods between the camp and the abri. It was not very dark and now and then distant flares brightened the surroundings a little, even slightly penetrating the forest.
Neeley paused to rub his paining wrist; he looked off among the trees quite absent-mindedly, and an object that ordinarily he would have taken for a stump seemed to move slightly. The soldier gazed at it curiously; the thing moved again.
The Yank was without his gun; he had placed it against a tree, calling the corporal’s attention to it. Neeley had his automatic, but while no coward, he was cautious; it would hardly do, with only a pistol, to challenge a possible enemy scout. Better pretend not to have noticed the object and then to watch it.
Therefore, Neeley calmly walked on slowly and when he knew he was out of sight of the thing, if it were human, he silently doubled back and crouching within the gloom of a big spruce, kept his eyes sharply directed toward the spot where the moving object had been.
Was it possible, he wondered, for a Hun to sneak so far through the American lines and would one dare to do it? The Yank’s query was answered very soon. There was not one, but fully thirty men slowly advancing, still for half a minute, then moving forward for a few seconds, all together as in drilling. They were strung out like sheep, though far apart, and they came along this unoccupied stretch of woodland from the densely grown hilltop above the late fortified position of the lost squad. That great thicketed patch was surely Hun territory, up to the present time, at least.
If these were Yanks, they would not come among their friends in this manner, but the enemy would do just so. Surely an error had been made in not picketing the slope below the rocks. And now the little bunch of Yanks separated from the rest of the company, would soon face, in a night assault made upon them, superior numbers, with the advantage of surprise.