"No, no," protested the Russian. "That is not what I meant. Your work is best performed on your own front when the climatic conditions permit of your return. Here, while you are on Russian soil, it is our duty to take good care of you. Nevertheless, should you wish to see how your Russian brothers-in-arms can fight the Huns——?"
"Assuredly," replied Blake.
Within five minutes a swift motor-car was in readiness. Accompanied by two Russian officers, Blake, Athol and Dick were soon speeding over an excellent road that had only recently been completed—one of the vast network of communications made by the Russians during the winter of 1915-16, and which enabled them to move their troops with the same facilities as did their highly-organised foes.
"This is as far as I dare take you, gentlemen," announced one of the Russian officers, as the car came to a standstill in the rear of a slightly-rising ridge. "His Excellency Colonel Dvouski has impressed upon me the necessity of caution. It will be fairly safe to walk to the summit of this hill. From it we can see much of the operations."
The party alighted and accompanied their guide. The view at first sight was distinctly monotonous. Both the Russian and the German triple lines of trenches were completely invisible, the zigzag lines of clay being garbed in a verdant cloak of wavy grass interspersed with gay-coloured flowers. But, although the trenches were concealed from direct view the Russian gunners had the range of the hostile guns to a nicety, thanks to the efficient aid given by their observing aeroplanes.
As far as the eye could reach the German lines were being subjected to a terrific bombardment. Clouds of dust and smoke, mingled with flying timbers, sandbags, human bodies and limbs testified to the stupendous power of the high-explosive shells which Russia's erstwhile foe was now lavishly pouring into her new ally's magazines.
Two miles beyond the German third line trenches another deluge of shells was falling, forming a "barrage" or impassable zone of fire in order to prevent the enemy's reserves from being rushed up to assist the already demoralised front line defenders.
The Russian officer consulted his watch.
"In seven and a half minutes from now," he announced laconically and as calmly as if he were stating the time of departure of a train.
Breathlessly Athol and Dick watched the bursting shells, mentally comparing the hail of friendly projectiles with the state of affairs when they were "foot-slogging" in the Flanders trenches. Then they were in the unenviable position of being subjected to a heavy "strafing" with the disconcerting knowledge that the Huns were sending three shells to the British one. Now, thanks to energetic measures to provide munitions, it was the other way about. The sight that the lads witnessed near Riga was but a part of a similar and concerted plan of action stretching between the Baltic and the Carpathians on the Eastern Front; from the North Sea to the Swiss frontier on the Western, and in no less a degree against the Austrians on the Italian border.