"Oh, well, I should of worry haf dot it iss not mine head," said Iggy, with a smile.
And while the four, together with a vast army of Americans, were pressing on, the Germans were being driven back. It is no wonder that Jimmy had cried out that the Allies were smashing through.
For the spear-head had been bent back. No longer was it a menace, and, in their turn, the Americans were forcing one into the German line—a broader spear-head, with the consequent chance of dividing the foe's line and turning either flank.
"Come on, boys! Come on!" cried a lieutenant. "Let's finish the job. Only a few hundred more yards, and we'll have reached our objective!"
And on they rushed, some falling, destined never to see the final glory of the American arms, others staggering along, exhausted or wounded, but never slacking while they had life to move.
And finally, after a desperate struggle, the triumphant cry that Jimmy had raised was shouted all along the line:
"We're smashing through! We're smashing through!"
And, indeed, the German line was smashed at this particular sector. They were fleeing now—the Huns. Throwing aside their guns and equipment, there was a mad struggle to get away—anywhere for safety.
Back the Germans were pushed. They were in desperation, many of them. They feared the American guns, they feared the American infantry, and they feared the "Teufel Hunds"—the "devil dogs"—of Marines. And the fear was translated into flight.
"Cease firing!" came the whistled order, and it was with thankful hearts that Jimmy and his three Brothers dropped down on the shell-scarred earth, too exhausted to longer hold their guns or even to stack them. It had been a battle to the death, and death had been the portion of many.