Almost before the panting breath of the tired soldiers had been throttled down to normal came the order:
"Dig in!"
It was expected, but it was none too welcome. Nevertheless, they all knew the necessity of doing as they were told. At any moment the Germans might bring up reserves and make a counter-attack. This must be guarded against.
And so the weary Sammies had to scratch holes in the ground, like veritable animals, to obtain shelter. Still no one murmured. They knew their very lives might depend on this rude shelter.
But as night settled down it began to be evident that the Boche had had enough. He was not going to make a counter-attack—at least not until his scattered forces were collected.
And then came a rest period, when such food as was available was eaten. It was not much—merely the emergency rations, but the soldiers were glad enough to eat them. They had advanced so far that it was impossible to bring up the kitchens in time.
"Where are you going, Jimmy?" asked Roger, as, after the hasty meal, he saw the young sergeant get up and move about.
"I'm going to see if I can get any word of Franz," was the answer. "You say he was with you fellows until just before you met me."
"Yes," said Bob. "He was with us when we were going to attack the house where the machine guns were. One of our shells saved us the trouble. Then we all went on and got into a sort of little gully. Right after that I missed Franz."
"I didn't see him after that, either," added Roger. "I hope he—I hope he's all right," he faltered.