Whether it was because of some information acquired by the signal corps men or in arrangement with a previous plan did not develop, but soon after the two Bixtons and their comrades had hastened up toward the front lines the order came for a general advance.
And then came a forward rush—a smashing through the German lines as they stretched through the woods. Strictly speaking, there was hardly a line, as one thinks of it as represented by trenches; but there were machine gun nests here and there—deadly nests they were, too—and there were hiding places sheltering grim German fighters. Big guns there were—blasting guns that wrought fearful havoc. And for each shot the Boches fired the Sammies sent two in return, so that slowly but surely they advanced.
Then came a forward rush over a nasty bit of ground. There was a fusillade of rifle fire, as well as a hail of bullets from the machine guns.
"Come on! Come on!" cried Jimmy.
"I'm with you!" yelled Roger.
"Seen Iggy and Bob?" asked Jimmy, as his chum leaped over the dead body of a German to advance with the sergeant.
"Yes, they're coming. Look! There's a party of Huns trying to get that machine gun to play on us! Let's tackle 'em!"
"Go ahead!"
Almost before they knew it Jimmy and Roger had distanced their immediate companions, and together they rushed on six Germans who were working over two machine guns. Two of the Huns were shot and another was bayoneted. The rest turned and fled.
"So far, so good!" cried Jimmy, wiping off some blood that was running down his face. "But what's happened? We seem to have the whole place to ourselves."