Just who was responsible for this no one seemed to know, but soon after the talk circulated it was noticed that there was great activity around the brigade headquarters. Messengers hurried to and fro, and several American aeroplanes were observed fluttering over the German lines.
"Well, fighting is what we're here for," said Bob to Iggy, as they started for the traverse where they were to be on duty about half the night—unless an attack should come.
"Yes, it is better to have a fight and get with it through than to be waiting all the times," said the Polish lad.
It was rather a nervous strain for many sentries that night as they stood on the firing step, gazing across No Man's Land toward the barbed-wire entanglements of the Germans. Would the Sammies get the order to charge across there, after a barrage had been laid down? Or would the gray hordes leap out and try to thrust back the soldiers of Uncle Sam who were slowly but surely smashing the Hun lines? This might be known to the staff officers in the headquarters back of the American lines, or the answer might be made by the Boche generals.
So it was nervous waiting, and Bob, in common with the others, felt it as they stood on duty through the long hours of the dark night.
It was nearing three o'clock, and it would be dawn in another hour, when platoon officers began moving along the trenches, and as they passed group after group of the Sammies the officers whispered:
"Be ready! We attack at four o'clock!"
Those who had wrist watches looked at them, the radium-illuminated dials showing the approximate time.
"An hour to wait!" mused Bob, as he answered the officer who notified him. "A lot will be happening an hour from now."
And the same thought was with all of them.