During the following day the band hid themselves in a copse and slept. It was nearly dark when Max aroused them and told them they must go on.
"We've been travelling a good many miles, lad," remarked Shaw carelessly. "Where are we now?"
"In Germany," replied Max.
"Germany!" cried the Corporal, his carelessness vanishing. "Why—what d'ye mean? D'ye think we want to find a good safe prison?"
"No. Your men insist on one more attack on the Germans, as a reprisal for the burning of the village. Well, we cannot do anything in Belgium, for it would only mean another village burned. If we make the attack in Germany it will be different. They can hardly burn down their own villages."
Corporal Shaw held out his hand. "Well done, lad!" he cried heartily, and the other men within ear-shot echoed his words. "That's a stroke of genius, and we are with you to a man. What are you going to attack—nothing less than Metz, of course?"
Max smiled and shook his head. "Something a little less ambitious will have to do, I think. After another night march we shall be on the spot, and can get to work."
"What are you going to do, lad?"
Max hesitated a moment. Should he keep the men ignorant of the nature of the enterprise until the hour for it had struck? It was hardly worth while—in forty-eight hours or so it would be all over.
"To block the main line between Aix and Liége," he answered simply.