But Herbert shook his head. “No, Gill, old chap, if only for your own good; they’d get you, too. And we can’t spare you now. They are making ready to hit us hard and we’ve got to fight, man; hold ’em off. There are no more of them than before, but they’ve got a field piece out there on the hill and shells probably. They’ll hammer us a bit and then rush us.”
It proved to be as Herbert foresaw; these tactics would be most effective and the Huns could not tolerate a nested enemy able to do much damage upon their immediate flank. Directed now by a gray-haired veteran just arrived on the scene, there was a precision of action that augured badly for the Yank squad. The first shell came over a few minutes after the raking machine-gun-fire that had killed the big mountaineer and the shot struck well up among the spruces, splintering a tree, throwing bits of wood and limbs down upon the men, the concussion throwing several of them to the ground. Then Herbert ordered all within the two stone shelters, except one who must risk going on watch, and he elected himself for this task, though some of the others strongly objected. The lieutenant crouched down close to the rocks and two of the boys reared some large stones about him as a shield; then the tired and hungry squad awaited results. And these results were a little beyond their most pessimistic estimates, if even one of the remaining ten could have taken anything but an optimistic view of the situation.
The second shell also landed among the spruces, but far back; the third, fourth and fifth struck outside of the stone breastwork and one was a “dud.” Then came the sixth, which squarely hit the side of one stone shelter, making the rock splinters fly and the explosion seemed as though it would tear down the heavy walls. Though the watcher was several yards away and protected in part, he was terribly affected by the concussion and his first thought was the fear of shell shock if this sort of thing was to continue. But what could the squad do, other than remain here, even though it meant annihilation or insanity?
Don Richards also, from nearest the doorway of the smallest shelter, saw clearly, as all of the squad must have seen, the inevitable; with him to determine was to act.
“That gun has got to be stopped! Two of us can do it. Who?”
“Me, me! Take me!” Gill held out his arms like a child begging a favor. “I wanted him to let me go, but he said we’d all be needed here.”
“So we will, later. They don’t know how many of us there are here and they won’t rush us yet a bit; we ought to get back before that, if at all. There’s no need of Lieutenant Whitcomb’s knowing; he’s too busy watching to take note of us. Now then, Gill, we’ll slide as soon as the next shell lands, if it doesn’t get us.”
The next shell didn’t get them; it struck, as most of the others had done, against the rock wall. With about one-half minute between each shot there was time and to spare for a get-away. Out under the shadows the two leaped, Don leading, and however agile the slim young mountaineer was, he was no quicker on his feet than the school athlete.
But long training in the woods and then the special course in fighting methods in the camps had made of the mountaineer an expert that no tyro, nor even few so drilled could hope to equal. Conscious of this, Don motioned that Gill now take the lead.