The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Boy Allies with Pershing in France, by Clair W. (Clair Wallace) Hayes

Hal acted quickly. “Sergeant Bowers!” he called sharply. “Take a dozen men and capture that house!”

The Boy Allies

With Pershing In France

OR

Over the Top at Chateau Thierry

By CLAIR W. HAYES

AUTHOR OF

“The Boy Allies With the Army Series”

A. L. BURT COMPANY

NEW YORK

THE BOY ALLIES

(Registered in the United States Patent Office)

WITH THE ARMY SERIES

By Clair W. Hayes

The Boy Allies at Liege or, Through Lines of Steel

The Boy Allies on the Firing Line or, Twelve Days Battle along the Marne

The Boy Allies with the Cossacks or, A Wild Dash over the Carpathians

The Boy Allies in the Trenches or, Midst Shot and Shell along the Aisne

The Boy Allies in Great Peril or, With the Italian Army in the Alps

The Boy Allies in the Balkan Campaign or, The Struggle to Save a Nation

The Boy Allies on the Somme or, Courage and Bravery Rewarded

The Boy Allies at Verdun or, Saving France from the Enemy

The Boy Allies under the Stars and Stripes or, Leading the American Troops to the Firing Line

The Boy Allies with Haig in Flanders or, The Fighting Canadians of Vimy Ridge

The Boy Allies with Pershing in France or, Over the Top at Chateau-Thierry

The Boy Allies with the Great Advance or, Driving the Enemy through France and Belgium

The Boy Allies with Marshal Foch or, The Closing Days of The Great World War.

Copyright, 1919

By A. L. Burt Company

THE BOY ALLIES WITH PERSHING IN FRANCE

CHAPTER I
IN NO MAN’S LAND

Hal Paine and Chester Crawford crouched low in a shell hole in No Man’s Land. All morning they had been there and the day had worn on now into the afternoon.

Two hundred yards west of their refuge were the American lines. Sprinters such as Hal and Chester could easily have covered the distance in half a minute; and it was not for want of courage that so far they had failed to make the effort. It was plain common sense that kept them in their present position.

On all sides of them—between the American lines and the most advanced German positions less than two hundred yards from the spot where the opening of this story finds the two boys—the ground was dotted with shell holes similar to the ones in which Hal and Chester found themselves.

Less than fifty yards due north of Hal and Chester was a second inhabited shell hole. From this four German infantrymen had amused themselves during the day by taking occasional shots at the two lads when either exposed himself over the top of their refuge. This was the reason that Hal and Chester, once in the comparative safety of the shell hole, had elected to remain there rather than to risk a dash toward the American lines.

The same reasoning kept the Germans in their refuge. They were not willing to risk a shot from their adversaries by a dash toward the German positions.

It was the twentieth day of March, 1918. Although neither Hal nor Chester knew it then, it was the eve of what was to prove Germany’s second grand attempt to sweep back the Allied and American troops and march triumphantly into Paris.

A warm afternoon sun shone down into the shell hole where Hal and Chester were awaiting the coming of darkness, when, they had decided, they would make an effort to reach their own lines.

“Guess the Boches are not enjoying themselves any better than we are,” Hal said, as he pulled his cap farther down over his eyes.

“I imagine they’re fretting a bit worse,” agreed Chester. “You know the Hun doesn’t bear up very well under adversity.”

“Adversity?” grinned Hal. “It’s the sun they are trying to bear up under now.”

“Well, whatever it is,” declared Chester, somewhat nettled, “I don’t believe they like it very well.”

“I don’t like it either, but what am I going to do about it?” Hal wanted to know.

“You might try a little sprint,” Chester suggested.

“Not much. I feel reasonably secure here and I think I’ll stick awhile. The thing that mystifies me, though, is why the Germans haven’t sent relief to our friends in the next hole.”

“On the same reasoning,” said Chester, “why hasn’t Captain O’Neil made an effort to reach us?”

Hal shrugged his shoulders.

“Guess he is playing for the safety of the greatest number,” was his reply. “If he tried to rescue us the Germans also would probably advance and that would mean a battle. My idea is that Captain O’Neil has been ordered to avoid that right now!”

“All the same,” said Chester, “they are bound to know we’re here, and it seems to me they could do something for us.”

“Don’t croak,” said Hal. “We’re not running this war, you know, and I guess it’s a good thing. Anyhow, we’ve just as much chance to get out alive as those fellows over there,” and he waved an arm in the direction of the shell hole occupied by the Germans.

This act of indiscretion almost proved costly. When Hal’s arm showed above the top of the shell hole a German rifle cracked in the distance. Hal heard the whine of the bullet as it passed within a fraction of an inch of his hand.

“Guess I’d better hug down inside here,” he said calmly. “Fritz almost nicked me that time.”

The boys became silent. Every moment or two, one or the other, exercising extreme caution, peered toward the enemy, for they did not wish to be caught napping, should the Germans, knowing that the odds were two to one in their favor, decide to rush them.

Chester looked at his watch.

“Almost five o’clock,” he said. “It’ll be dark soon and then we can get away from here.”

“Guess Fritz will be as glad as we will,” Hal commented.

As it developed, however, the lads were not to get back to their own lines so easily.

The particular section of the great battle zone in which the lads found themselves when this story opens was perhaps ten miles south and west of St. Quentin, at that time in German hands. The river Oise flowed some five miles to the east and also was held by the enemy.

Darkness now drew on apace and Hal and Chester, making sure that their rifles and side arms were in perfect condition, prepared to quit their refuge.

“Better wait a few minutes,” said Chester. “It’s not quite dark. We would still make pretty fair targets on level ground.”

“It won’t be dark enough to cover us anyhow,” Hal replied. “See the moon.”

Chester gazed aloft.

“By Jove! That’s what I call pretty tough luck,” he said. “Well, we’ll just have to make the most of it; that’s all.”

“The sooner we start, then, the sooner we’ll get there,” declared Hal. “Guns ready?”

“Ready,” was Chester’s brief response.

“Then let’s be moving. Follow me.”

Hal got to his feet, but, with a cry, as suddenly dropped down again.

“Hit, Hal?” cried Chester, as he stooped over his chum.

“No,” replied Hal.

“What’s the matter then?”

“Stick out your nose and have a look,” returned Hal.

Chester did so, and what he saw was this:

Twenty-five yards away, and advancing rapidly, were the four Germans who so recently had occupied the neighboring shell hole. They were firing as they advanced and a bullet sped close to Chester.

“Quick with your rifle, Hal!” the boy cried, and bringing his own weapon to his shoulder regardless of his exposed position, he pulled the trigger.

One of the approaching foes staggered slightly, but he did not fall. The advancing Germans pumped rifle bullets the faster.

“We’ll have to stop them or we are done for,” muttered Hal, as he stood erect in the shell hole.

Despite the hail of bullets that flew about him, Hal was untouched as he took careful aim and fired at the nearest German.

The man stumbled, threw up his arms and flung his rifle a dozen yards away; then, with a cry, he pitched forward on his face.

“One,” said Hal quietly.

A bullet brushed the boy’s cheek, leaving a stream of red in its wake, but Hal did not quail.

Again his rifle spoke and a second German went to the ground.

“Odds even now,” Hal called to Chester. “Let’s get these other two.”

Without waiting for a reply, he leaped from the shell hole and dashed forward.

Chester, who had been unfortunate in his marksmanship and so far had not accounted for one of the enemy, followed Hal closely.

The two remaining Germans, now realizing that they had lost the advantage of two-to-one odds, halted in their impetuous dash forward, turned and ran. By this time Hal and Chester were close behind them and the former shouted:

“Surrender!”

For answer the Germans only ran the faster.

“Well,” Hal muttered to himself, “if you won’t, you won’t.”

Again he raised his rifle and fired.

A third German dropped to the ground.

Chester, close behind the remaining foe, also cried a command to surrender, but the man ran on.

Loath to shoot the man from behind, Chester sprinted and caught up with him. With his rifle in his right hand, he laid his left on the German’s shoulder.

“Halt!” he cried.

The German needed no further urging. He came to an abrupt stop and raised his hands.

“We might as well take this fellow back with us,” said Hal, as he approached at that moment.

“Right you are,” agreed Chester. “We can’t return without some kind of a memento of our trip. A live souvenir is about the best thing I can think of.”

“You’ve got me,” mumbled the German at this juncture, “but I want to tell you that before another twenty-four hours have passed, my loss will be repaid with interest.”

“Wonder if he knows anything, Hal?” questioned Chester.

“Guess he’s not so big that the German high command is tipping him off to all their plans,” said Hal. “He’s angry and wants to talk. That’s about all.”

And still it wasn’t all; and had the lads had the foresight to report the words of their prisoner, action might have been taken that would have nipped the second German offensive in the bud.

With no further word to their prisoner, the lads made off in the semi-darkness for the American lines. These they reached in safety.

But hardly had they passed within the lines when a violent cannonading broke out from the German front.

“Sounds as though they were going to start something,” said Chester. “Maybe our prisoner knows something after all.”

“Oh, I guess not,” replied Hal, and once again passed by an opportunity.

Half an hour later, their prisoner having been turned over to Captain O’Neil, the lads sought their own little dugout and much-needed repose.

CHAPTER II
ENTOMBED

Hal Paine and Chester Crawford, in spite of the fact that the United States had not declared war on Germany until April of 1917, already had seen virtually four years of fighting in Europe.

They had been in Berlin when the European conflagration broke out and had been with the Allied armies almost from the first.

The lads had seen active service with the Belgian, British, French, Italian and Russian armies and, through their courage and bravery, had won captaincies in the British army.

When the United States entered the war, Hal and Chester were among the officers sent back to America to help train the young men in the various officers’ training camps. When they returned again to the fighting front with the first contingent of American troops to join the Allies, it was as first lieutenants, U. S. A.

Through their courage and resourcefulness, both lads had won the praise of Marshal Joffre, commander of the French forces, in the early days of the war, and of Sir Douglas Haig, the British commander-in-chief. They had also rendered invaluable service to the Allied cause upon the request of General Pershing, in command of the American Expeditionary Forces.

Times had changed greatly since the first campaign, when the German armies advanced to the very doors of Paris soon after war was declared. With America sending thousands of men each month to reinforce the armies of France and Great Britain, it appeared that the Allies soon would have the necessary numerical superiority to drive the enemy out of France and Belgium for all time, and to strike a decisive blow in the war.

So far, while battles of such magnitude as had never been seen before were fought almost daily, there had been nothing in the nature of a conflict that would indicate an ultimate decision. True, the Germans and Austrians, their allies, had staggered the Allies with a crushing drive in Italy; but, through the prompt action of the British and French, they had been driven back again.

It appeared, at this moment, that the next great blow would be delivered by the Allies; that, with her numerical superiority overcome, her output of munitions of war surpassed, Germany from this time on must remain on the defensive in an effort to retain what ground she had won in the early days of the war and to keep her enemies off German soil.

On the twentieth day of March the great battle line extended, roughly, from Ostend on the North Sea south to within a few miles of Ypres, thence to Bailleul and Lens. Here it was pushed slightly east, touching Bapaume and Peronne. In the Soissons region the Germans were in possession of Chauny and Laon. The battle line continued south to the river Aisne, and then followed that stream east into Alsace-Lorraine.

Everywhere, up to this time—that is, since the early days of the war—success had seemed to crown the efforts of the Allies on the Western front. On the Eastern front, however, it was different. Through German intrigue, Russia had been removed as a belligerent and more than a million and a half of German troops had been released to reinforce the hard-pressed Germans on the west.

Though the loss of Russia’s aid in the war was a severe blow to the Allies, it was more than offset by the entrance of the United States into the conflict. American soldiers were being rushed to Europe with all possible dispatch and were taking their places on the firing line. Already they had covered themselves with glory. So far, however, they had taken part only in what the official dispatches called “skirmishes,” although, compared to battles of previous wars, they could be classed as engagements of more than passing importance.

But the time was coming, and coming soon, when the Yankee troops would go “over the top” under command of General Pershing in such force and with such courage that the Germans could not stand before them.

Through the decision of an Allied war council, in which the United States participated, General Foch had been made the supreme commander of the Allied forces—British, American and Italian included. It was believed that through this unity of command greater success would be achieved than had yet been manifest.

And the time for Marshal Foch to prove his mettle was at hand.

Under the personal direction of General von Hindenburg, the greatest military genius that the war had yet produced, the German forces had been massed for their second effort to break through to Paris. Although Marshal Foch had some slight inkling of the impending attack, he had been unable to tell just where it would be made. True, his air scouts had flown time and again over the enemy lines, but so far they had failed to learn where the foe would strike.

As it developed, the first thrust was made in the north, with Ypres as the apparent objective; although after the first few days of the drive it became apparent that Hindenburg’s real plan was to get behind Paris from the north, after driving a wedge between the French and British armies. This, through the ablest of strategy, Field Marshal Haig was able to prevent.

Bailleul, Lens and other important railroad centers fell to the Germans in the second great enemy drive of the war. Suddenly, when apparently checked in the north, the enemy struck farther south, capturing Bapaume, Albert, Peronne and other important towns and villages.

When the Allied line at last held there, the attack was pressed against Ypres.

But this second drive was to fail as had all others, with a terrible loss to the Germans in manpower. Marshal Foch sacrificed ground to save lives, while, on the other hand, the German high command threw their men forward with an utter disregard for loss of life.

To Hal and Chester, after their return from No Man’s Land on the night before the opening of the German advance, it seemed that they had just closed their eyes when they were awakened by a sudden loud detonation apparently in their very ears.

As both lads jumped to their feet they were borne down by an avalanche of dirt and concrete. Although neither lad knew at that moment what had happened, a German bomb had burst squarely over their dugout, shattering the little place.

The boys slept in improvised bunks close to each other, and in jumping to their feet, they came closer together. They lay on the floor face down as the debris continued to rain on them. For the moment neither was able to speak.

At last the shower of debris ceased, and Hal made an effort to rise. He dropped down to the floor again suddenly with an exclamation.

“What’s the matter?” asked Chester, sitting up.

“Matter is,” said Hal, “that I bumped my head. Seems like the roof has fallen in.”

Chester now made an effort to rise. He got to his feet more cautiously, however, and so did not hurt himself. Nevertheless, the lad gave an exclamation of alarm.

“Bump your head, too?” asked Hal.

“No,” was the reply.

“What’s the trouble then?”

“Trouble is,” said Chester, “that we seem to be buried in here.”

“Oh, I guess it’s not as bad as that,” said Hal hopefully, and, getting to his feet cautiously, he began to explore.

The dugout, before the explosion, had been a small building, possibly fifteen feet wide and as many feet long. It was entirely covered by a roof of wood. This, Hal found by exploration, seemed to have come down to within five feet of the floor and to be wedged down by a heavy weight outside.

“We’re buried, all right,” said Hal at last, “but I guess we can get out. We’ll have to dig.”

“All right,” said Chester. “Let’s begin. I’ve got a knife here.”

Hal also produced a knife and the lads fell to work upon the roof at one end. After half an hour of strenuous work Hal sat down and wiped a moist brow.

“Don’t seem to be accomplishing much,” he said.

“I should say not,” said Chester as he sat down beside his chum.

“I’ll tell you,” said Hal after a pause, “I don’t think we’ll ever dig our way out with these tools,” and he tapped his knife.

“Well, what then?” asked Chester. “We can’t stay here forever. We’ll suffocate. In fact, the air is already getting bad.”

“I noticed that,” Hal declared, “which is the reason that I say we can’t get out by digging. We might eventually dig our way out, if given time; but the poisonous air will overcome us long before then.”

“We’ve got to do something, Hal,” said Chester. “We can’t perish here like rats in a trap without making an effort to save ourselves.”

“Right. Then I’ve a suggestion to offer.”

“Let’s have it.”

“It’s dangerous,” said Hal quietly, “and may mean only a quicker death.”

“Anything is better than this inaction,” Chester declared.

“Well,” said Hal, “near my bunk are two hand grenades. My idea is this! Place them close to the fallen roof where we have been digging, come back here and pot them with our revolvers. The explosion should blow the roof off.”

“Or bury us a little deeper,” said Chester grimly.

“Of course,” said Hal. “However, it’s the only chance I see. What do you say?”

“Try it, of course,” said Chester promptly. “It’s the only way. Get out your bombs.”

Hal did so, and a moment later he had placed them to his satisfaction.

“Guess I can hit one in the dark,” he said. “Hug down close, Chester.”

Chester did so and Hal made himself as small as possible. A moment later there was a sharp report, followed by a heavy explosion.

CHAPTER III
NEW FRIENDS

Hal’s last conscious moment was filled with the roar that followed his shot aimed at the hand grenades in the far corner of his underground tomb. When again he was able to realize that he still lived his first thought was of Chester, who had been near when he pressed the trigger of his automatic in his desperate attempt to escape.

The lad was very dizzy as he staggered to his feet. First he felt himself over carefully. He found he uninjured except from shock.

“Chester,” he called.

There was no answer.

Again and again Hal called to his friend, meanwhile moving through the debris that littered the ground, until at last he came upon the unconscious form of Chester fully a hundred yards from the spot where he himself had come to life.

Quickly Hal bent over and raised Chester’s head to his knee. He still breathed and as the lad glanced around he noted a pool of stagnant water.

Laying Chester down on the ground carefully, Hal hurried to the pool. There he soaked his handkerchief and hurried back to his friend.

After some effort on Hal’s part Chester showed signs of returning consciousness as the cold water began to have its effect. Then Chester sat up.

“Where am I?” he asked, moving his head feebly in a vain attempt to pierce the darkness with his eyes.

Hal was forced to smile at this remark.

“I guess you are not in such bad shape after all,” he said. “Anybody that can wake up and start off with a question like that is not going to die for some time to come.”

Chester struggled from Hal’s arms and got to his feet. He surveyed the ruins of the erstwhile dugout in the darkness and then said:

“You’re getting to be a pretty fair shot with that gun of yours, Hal.”

“Thanks,” said Hal dryly. “You were so still and quiet when I found you, though, that I had begun to think I had done a pretty bad job.”

“Well,” said Chester, “we’re on the outside again, at all events. I don’t feel as well as I might, either, and I vote that we get away from here. I’d like to lay my hands on the Boche who is responsible for interrupting my sleep like this. I’d show him a thing or two.”

“Not in your present condition, I guess,” was Hal’s rejoinder.

“Oh, I’m still alive and kicking,” returned Chester. “But listen to the guns.”

Indeed, it seemed that the roar of heavy artillery from both the Allied and German lines exceeded in ferocity anything that either lad had heard in their fours years of fighting.

“You can bet there is something of importance going on,” was Hal’s comment. “But I agree with you, Chester, we’ve time enough later to learn what it’s all about. It’s time now to find a place where we can bunk for the rest of the night. Let’s be moving.”

Together the lads walked away in the darkness toward the section of the American encampment where a glimmer of light showed in the distant dugout.

“We’ll wake these fellows up and see if they’ll let us spend the night with them,” said Hal, as they approached the dugout.

“Suits me,” Chester agreed; “and if they have any objections to our company, I’m in favor of dispossessing them.”

“That might be rather a large order, in our present shape,” said Hal. “However, we’ll see what they have to say.”

They approached the dugout and tapped lightly on the door. There was no answer to their knock. Hal tried again, but with the same result.

“If there is anybody there, they are good sleepers,” declared Hal. “If I don’t get an answer this time, we’ll go in regardless.”

“Suits me,” was Chester’s response.

Again Hal knocked on the door and waited a moment. There was no response from within.

“Well, here goes,” the lad declared.

With that he threw open the door.

Inside the lads surveyed the dugout. There was no one there.

“We’re in luck,” said Hal. “We’ll just make ourselves at home, and if the owner objects we’ll get out again, or put up an argument. That’s all.”

“In that event,” said Chester, “me for the first bunk.”

He turned in at once. Hal followed suit, making himself as comfortable as possible in a bunk across the little room.

Outside the heavy cannonading continued without cessation.

Two hours later—it may have been 4 o’clock in the morning—Hal was awakened by a rough hand on his shoulder and the sound of a rough voice.

“Come up out of there,” said the voice. “This war has reached a pretty pass when a man can’t go out for a few minutes without somebody stealing his bunk.”

Hal, still half asleep, sat up.

“What’s the row?” he wanted to know.

“What’s the row?” repeated the man who stood above him. “I like that. I come back to my own little bunk, find it occupied and the occupant wants to know what’s the row. Why shouldn’t there be a row, I’d like to know?”

Hal got slowly to his feet and gazed at the man who had thus rudely disturbed his slumber.

“A marine, eh?” he said.

“Right,” was the reply. “Lieutenant Ulysses Smith, of the —th division. I’m obliged to you for keeping my bed warm, but if it’s all the same to you, I’m ready to climb in myself.”

“Well, Smith,” said Hal, “it’s your bed. Hop in.”

The marine eyed the lad closely.

“First tell me who you are and what you are doing here,” he said.

In a few words Hal recounted the adventure he and Chester had gone through.

“Well,” said the marine, “I guess I don’t want that bed after all. You need it worse than I do. Help yourself. I’ll bunk on the floor here.”

“Oh, no,” was Hal’s reply. “The floor is plenty good enough for me. It’s your bed, you know.”

“True enough,” said Smith, “but at the same time, I’ve been out on a little frolic and don’t need it half as bad as you do. So you’re a lieutenant in the regulars, eh?”

“Right,” said Hal.

“Haven’t much to do yet, eh?”

“Oh, yes,” was Hal’s rejoinder. “You see, I put in almost three years in this war before Uncle Sam decided to get in.”

The marine officer looked his astonishment.

“Yes,” Hal continued, “my friend and I”—he indicated Chester, who continued to sleep through the conversation—“have seen active service with most of the Allied forces.”

Smith held out a hand.

“I’m a veteran myself,” he said. “I’ve campaigned in the Philippines and in some of the South American troubles. Of course, I’ve never been mixed up in a scrap like this and I’ve a lot to learn. I’ll appreciate anything you can tell me.”

“It’s a little early in the morning for a talkfest,” said Hal with a smile, “but I’ve no doubt that when the sun comes up and we’ve had sleep a plenty and some good grub that I can entertain you a bit.”

“I’ll be all ears, as my friend Jenkins would say,” replied Smith. “Jenkins,” he explained, “is my bunkie—Lieutenant Jenkins, by the way.”

“Guess he’ll be back hunting his bed before long,” said Hal.

“Shouldn’t be surprised. Guess that’s him now,” he added, as footsteps approached without.

A moment later a second officer in Uncle Sam’s marine corps uniform entered the dugout.

“Meet my friend Lieutenant Paine, Jenkins,” said Smith. “He dropped in rather suddenly, Fritz having put his own bunk house out of business. I’ve invited him and his friend to spend the night with us. It won’t be the first time we have slept two in a bunk.”

“Guess it won’t be the last, either,” was Jenkins’ reply; “at least, not if this war lasts as long as I figure it will. You’re a lieutenant in the regulars, I see,” he added. “I’m afraid you’ll get a chance sooner than we will.”

“Oh, you’ll be in it, too,” said Hal, smiling. “Uncle Sam is going to need every man he has over here, and all he can send, to finish this job.”

“Well, we’ll finish it, all right,” declared Jenkins. “I’d be willing to cut ten years off my life to get a chance at these Huns.”

“You’ll get it, never fear,” replied Hal.

“If I don’t,” said Jenkins, “I’ll start a little war of my own.”

“Don’t pay any attention to him, Paine,” laughed Smith. “He’s not half as bloodthirsty as he would have you believe. But come, let’s turn in. Tomorrow is another day.”

“Right,” said Jenkins. “I’m with you.”

Ten minutes later the dugout was in darkness and only the heavy breathing of the four sleepers proclaimed that it was inhabited.

CHAPTER IV
THE “DEVIL DOGS”

“So you are a couple of ‘Devil Dogs,’ eh?”

The speaker was Chester. It was morning again and Hal had just introduced his chum to his newly found friends.

Lieutenant Jenkins smiled.

“I wouldn’t say that,” was his reply. “Smith and I haven’t earned the right yet to be called that. But we are marine officers, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s just what I mean,” said Chester. “To tell you the truth, I never have found out just where the marines won that name, but I know it wasn’t bestowed without reason.”

“The name is the result of the first encounter between American marines and Germans in the Soissons region,” returned Lieutenant Jenkins. “I don’t know the details of that scrap, but from all accounts it must have been a warm one. There were only a few of our fellows in that engagement—only the fraction of a division. They were flanked right and left by French and British.

“The enemy came on recklessly in the face of a heavy artillery fire. Under a rain of shells from the German lines, the right and left wings—the French and British—gave ground slightly. But the marines held, and more. In the face of what seemed utter annihilation, our fellows suddenly dashed forward. To the enemy it must have appeared the wildest folly. Perhaps it was. But it saved the day.

“So great was the enemy’s astonishment that for a moment his fire slackened. In that moment our fellows were upon the Germans with the bayonet. The enemy broke and fled, the marines in hot pursuit. At this juncture the wings rallied and came to our support. The Germans were driven back to their own trenches with heavy losses.”

“But the name,” said Chester; “who was responsible for the name, the ‘Devil Dogs’?”

“Oh, the name,” repeated Jenkins. “I believe the Germans themselves were responsible for that. After the battle, as I understand it, the German soldiers told one another that we were ‘devils’ and ‘dogs.’ I guess someone joined the words.”

“At all events,” laughed Hal, “you fellows have some reputation to live up to.”

“And we’ll live up to it, never fear,” declared Jenkins.

“I hope so,” interposed Lieutenant Smith. “It has often been said that the morale of the American marines is the best in the world, and it is said with reason. Gathered as they are from all parts of the country, and chiefly from the rougher element, it is only natural that they should be fighters par excellence. The slogan that you have seen on thousands of billboards, ‘The first to fight,’ has had its appeal. To the true marine a fight is the salt of life.”

“So I have always understood,” said Chester. “I know that in times of peace the marine was considered a bad customer. Now that he has come into his own he is bound to give a good account of himself.”

“He has always done that, no matter in what part of the world he has been called into action,” said Hal. “Take the troubles in Nicaragua, San Domingo, and even at Vera Cruz, when it seemed that we must wage war upon that country. The marines were always first on the job, and from all accounts they cleaned things up wonderfully well.”

“Well,” said Chester, “we have talked to you fellows too long now. We’ve work to do, and I suppose you have also. It’s time, Hal, that we reported to Captain O’Neil. He may have something in sight for us. We’ll see you fellows again soon, I hope.”

“Thanks,” replied Lieutenant Smith. “I am sure we hope so, too.”

The four shook hands all around and Hal and Chester a few moments later, learned to what extent the German general staff appeared willing to go in their efforts to drive a wedge between the French and British lines and then execute a flanking movement upon the French capital itself.

“We’ve our work cut out for us the next few days, and possibly weeks,” the American captain told the two lads. “Just listen to the roar of those guns. You boys have been in this war almost four years, but I’ll venture to say you have never heard the like before.”

It was true. Never, so far as Hal and Chester could remember, had the fire of the heavy German batteries been so terrific. The very earth quivered under their feet from the shock. While the Allied artillery was returning the German fire, the guns had not been concentrated upon the foe’s positions; but the activity of the French, British and American artillery was soon to equal that of the enemy and the two, combined, were speedily engaged in what was to prove the greatest artillery action in history.

All day long and into the night the great guns pounded on without cessation. Hastily, under the personal direction of divisional commanders, American, British and French troops strengthened their positions that they might be better able to repel the foe when the infantry advanced to the attack under cover of the heavy German barrage.

All day long and far into the night Hal and Chester rushed hither and thither within the lines with orders. Now, an hour after midnight, they found themselves for the first time with nothing to do.

“Whew!” said Hal, as he sat down on the edge of the dugout to which they had been assigned. “This has been the busiest day I have put in in months.”

“Here, too,” Chester agreed, “and I’ll bet a hat that to-morrow and the days to follow will be just as bad.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” declared Hal. “It’s only a matter of hours now until the Germans advance to the attack.”

“Well,” said Chester, “we’re prepared for them. They’ll know they’ve been in a battle before they break through here.”

“Right. The thing that I am trying to figure out is just about how many men von Hindenburg is willing to sacrifice in what I believe will be the last enemy offensive on a large scale.”

“It will cost him a terrible toll to come through here,” declared Chester grimly.

“Of course. But if he really means to break through, and the movement is not a feint to cover an advance elsewhere, he won’t worry about the sacrifice in human lives. He will attempt to break through, cost what it may. If successful, he’ll probably swing south toward Paris.”

“Well, he won’t get there.”

“I don’t think he will, either. But all those possibilities must be taken into consideration.”

“We don’t have to worry about them,” said Chester. “I guess Marshal Foch and his staff haven’t overlooked any such possibilities. All we’ve got to do is what we’re told.”

“Right you are, Chester. Nevertheless, we’re free to speculate if we feel so disposed.”

As Hal had predicted, the German attack came soon. Under cover of the semi-darkness of early morning, the gray-clad hosts advanced to the attack. For miles along the long battle line, Germans streamed from their trenches and marched slowly toward the Allied positions only a few hundred yards away.

The enemy came on calmly and with no appearance of haste. Machine guns from British, French and American positions poured a hail of bullets into the advancing ranks; but the gaps made by this fire were immediately filled and the Germans still moved forward, firing with monotonous regularity as they did so.

Now they reached the first-line American trenches and poured in. Desperately the Yankee troops fought to drive them out. But, outnumbered as they were by the enemy, they eventually were forced to retire. This retirement was ordered primarily so that the Americans might be kept in contact with the French, to the north, who were forced to give ground under the impetuous advance of the foe.

All day the battle raged, first at close quarters, and when the Allies retired farther, the big German guns resumed the bombardment. At nightfall of the second day it became clear to every man in the battle that the German objective, primarily at least, was Ypres, one of the most important towns at the front still in possession of the Allies.

Still the Allies gave ground as the enemy advanced. So, at the close of the fourth day of fighting, the Germans had gained miles of territory and seemed in imminent danger of encircling the city of Ypres.

But the German advance had been made at terrible cost. Thousands upon thousands of German dead strewed the field. In these few days of fighting the German losses had been greater than in any battle of the war. The losses of the Allies were comparatively light.

And still Marshal Foch withdrew his troops slowly.

It now became apparent that the commander-in-chief of the Allied forces was ready to sacrifice ground if he could conserve lives. Each day the enemy advanced in the face of the terrible Allied fire his manpower grew weaker. If these tactics were continued, it was plain to the Allied general staff that the enemy must slow down if for no other reason than sheer exhaustion; at least he must slow down until his divisions could be reorganized and return to the fray.

Each day territory won by the Germans grew less; and then the British line before Ypres held. It became apparent that Marshal Foch had yielded as much ground in that section as he intended to give up. Immediately von Hindenburg changed his tactics and struck farther south, apparently hoping to catch the French there by surprise. But after an initial advance of a few miles the first day, the French line also braced and checked the foe.

Again the German commander hurled his tired troops against the British at Ypres, but this time he failed even to dent the line. Gradually the fighting grew less and less and soon the opposing armies settled down quietly and only the voices of the big guns, with occasional infantry raids, indicated that the war was still in progress on the West front.

The German gains in territory in this battle had been large, but so had their losses. Marshal Foch had conserved his own man-power with a genius more than rivaling that of von Hindenburg’s strategy, so it appeared that the advantage was with the Allies.

Thus the second attempt of the German emperor to carry the war to the gates of Paris had failed. A feeling of absolute confidence ran through the Allied army. The Germans had showed the best they had and it was not good enough to win through. Americans, British and French now eagerly awaited the word that would open an offensive by the Allies.

CHAPTER V
A RAID

South of the city of Ypres itself and less than six miles east flows the river Orcuq. The crossing of the river and the capture of the town of Dun by the American troops will rank as one of the most gallant feats of the operations in the Ypres sector.

In this action Hal and Chester played important roles. The troops which accomplished this work may well rank as heroes, for their work in crossing the stream was a strategic move of unusual daring.

The crossing involved the forcing of a way over a 160-foot stream, a half-mile stretch of mud and a 60-foot canal in the face of a frightful enemy fire.

The Germans held the east side of the river, hastily dug trenches less than 100 yards from the shore making a crossing by the Allies a seemingly impossible task.

The order to cross the river came at mid-afternoon, two days after the German offensive at Ypres had been definitely checked. Hal and Chester carried the order themselves. It was signed by General Pershing, who was at the front at that moment, and was directed to Major General Lawrence, in command of the —st division.

The troops received their instructions under a sun which was shining for the first time in days. The men knew almost as well as their commanders the difficulty of the task and realized how well-nigh impossible its accomplishment would be. Yet they never doubted or hesitated.

The orders were to send over one brigade first—and if it failed, to send another—and others, one after the other—if it became necessary. It was with the dash that is traditional in the American army that the Yankee troops tackled the problem. Theoretically they had the choice of crossing anywhere for five miles. Actually they were limited to one point, where two-thirds of a mile of mud lay between the river itself and the canal that roughly parallels the river.

The Germans were too firmly intrenched at all other points. They had not protected themselves with trenches here because they never dreamed the Americans would be so daring as to try to force the passage. This was a short distance north of Velliers.

First came the call for swimmers from the first brigade. Not a man who could swim a stroke failed to stand out when the call came. Those whom their officers thought fit were put in the van.

With these went Hal and Chester.

It was intended to attack in this way on the theory that the swimmers were less likely to be hit by the Germans, owing to the fact that they would be nearly submerged. On the other hand, they would carry with them ropes and other paraphernalia for assisting men across who were unable to swim.

A perfect rain of fire from the Germans met these first Americans, as, under command of Captain Donaldson, Hal and Chester, they waded into the stream. The enemy had ensconced himself up the east bank with carefully selected machine gun positions, which raked every point of the bank where efforts to land could be enfiladed or met with direct fire.

Some men were killed in the water. More were drowned after having been wounded, for no unwounded man dared stop to rescue a comrade if the maneuver were to be successful.

Captain Donaldson made no effort to keep his men in formation as they swam rapidly across the river. There would be time enough for formation when they were safely ashore. Each man, when he waded into the water, struck out for himself, his chief aim being to reach the opposite shore as quickly as possible.

No bullet touched Hal or Chester as they swam at the head of their men. Bullets kicked up the water all about them, but both lads seemed to bear charmed lives.

Suddenly a German bullet pierced the forehead of Captain Donaldson, and the brave officer threw up his hands and sank without a word. Instantly, realizing that there must be a single head to the party, Hal assumed command.

“Faster, men!” he called. “We’re almost there!”

The troops exerted themselves to further efforts. Men sank every moment, hit by the enemy fire, but the others swam on apparently utterly oblivious to the danger that faced them.

Notwithstanding their losses and the fact that the swimmers could not fight back, nor even defend themselves, the bulk of the first expedition reached the east bank of the river with lines that were drawn taut across the stream. Others floated on rafts and collapsible boats. These men had less success than the swimmers, for they were better targets for the enemy’s fire, and the boats could be easily sunk by bullets even if the occupants were not hit.

Close to where the swimmers had crossed, engineers, who had been drawn across, now began to throw over pontoon bridges and a tiny foot bridge. The pontoons crumbled under the German fire, but the foot bridge remained intact and added materially to the constantly increasing number of men on the east bank. Soon after dark the first brigade was across the first barrier and more men were ready to make the journey.

After the swimmers headed by Hal and Chester had crossed the river, they waited eagerly until their comrades arrived with rifles, ammunition and side arms. Then they moved forward to the second phase of the perilous undertaking. This was the crossing of the kilometer of mud stretching between the river and the canal beyond, which, though it was under enemy fire, was not held by infantry. The Americans stumbled across the mud under a withering fire, firing as they advanced. From the rear the American lines were being constantly increased, so that now instead of the handful of men who had forced the crossing, there were enough American troops to offer a formidable fighting front.

Their feet sank into the mud as they advanced and soon the pace of the men was slowed down to a laborious walk. But there was no hesitancy in the ranks—no faltering. The men were too anxious to come to close quarters with the foe for that. The German guns played terrible havoc with the Yankees, but the rest pushed through.

Now came the third phase of the advance. This constituted the crossing of the canal, with its sheer sides and the Germans almost at the top of the eastern bank.

Here again the party, led by Hal and Chester, threw aside their arms and plunged into the water.

“Forward men!” cried Chester, as he plunged into the canal.

The men took up the cry with cheers, and swam rapidly after him.

Hal kept close to Chester’s side. Soon they reached the opposite shore, where lines were again drawn taut and other men were pulled across on rafts and in boats.

Once more the engineers got busy and almost as if by magic, bridges appeared.

Troops crossed them at the double. The bridges stood the enemy fire bravely and troops hurried across by hundreds.

Soaking wet, and with water dripping from every garment, immediately he set foot ashore and weapons were thrust in his hands by eager men behind, Hal, thinking to cover the landing of those still to come, ordered an advance.

Nothing loath, the first mere handful of men went forward at the double.

In vain the Germans, in their hastily entrenched positions, tried to stop them with rifle and machine-gun fire. The Americans were not to be stopped. They had undergone too strenuous a time getting across to be halted now.

Right for the German trenches they dashed and the enemy, his morale broken by the Yankee spirit, offered only a half-hearted resistance.

In vain the German officers tried to make their men fight. Blows from the flat of their swords and Teutonic imprecations failed to bring order out of chaos as the men from Yankeeland advanced with wild shouts and cries.

Into the trenches leaped the Americans, cutting down what few of the enemy offered resistance there. Apparently the Germans were too bewildered to fight with any idea of cohesion. Hundreds surrendered. Others dropped their weapons and fled.

From the west side of the canal and river fresh American troops advanced to the support of their comrades. General Lawrence himself crossed with them.

Despite the darkness, an advance was ordered and the American troops moved toward the village of Dun.

This little village, though exceedingly small before the war, was now an important railway center, and, realizing the results that could be attained if he followed up his initial success, General Lawrence determined to give the enemy no rest.

From the distance German artillery now had taken up the battle and shells dropped frequently in the newly-won American positions. Nevertheless, the Yankee troops reformed coolly enough and stood patiently under fire until the order at last came to advance.

Hal and Chester, now that their part of the task had been carried out successfully, personally reported to General Lawrence the death of Captain Donaldson, who had been in command of the first crossing party.

“It’s a pity,” General Lawrence took time to say. “He was a good officer and a brave man. I wish both of you young men would stay by me,” he added. “I watched you as you crossed and know that your courage cannot be questioned. Also, I have noticed your service stripes. My officers are few now, and I may have need of you.”

Hal and Chester clicked their heels, saluted and stood at attention.

General Lawrence gave his commands clearly and quickly.

The First and Second brigades were to move upon Dun, from the west, while the Third and Fourth, making a slight detour, were to attack from the north. General Lawrence aimed to launch his attack from both places simultaneously, and for this reason the Third and Fourth brigades moved an hour before the First and Second.

“Lieutenant Paine!” said General Lawrence.

Hal approached and saluted.

“My compliments to Colonel Adams and order him to move immediately with the Third and Fourth brigades. He will attack the village from the north an hour after daylight.”

Hal saluted again and hurried away.

“Lieutenant Crawford!”

Chester approached and saluted.

“My compliments to Colonel Gregory and order him to attack from the front an hour after daylight. Inform him that Colonel Adams will attack from the north simultaneously.”

Chester saluted and followed Hal from the general’s presence.

In the heart of each lad was a great impatience, for each longed for the action to commence. Nevertheless, outwardly, both were perfectly cool; for they had learned long ago and by hard experience that in the heat of battle the things that stood them in best stead were strong arms and cool heads.

CHAPTER VI
CAPTURE OF THE VILLAGE

While the First and Second Brigades under Colonel Gregory prepared for the early morning attack, the Third and Fourth, under command of Colonel Adams, marched immediately upon receiving the instructions that Hal carried. In the natural course of events Hal, his errand accomplished successfully, would have returned immediately to report to General Lawrence. In fact he had wheeled and was about to walk away when Colonel Adams stopped him.

“Lieutenant,” he said, “I shall move at once in accordance with instructions, but I would prefer that you remain here and that one of my men reported to General Lawrence in your stead.”

“Very well, sir,” was Hal’s reply, although he could not fathom the colonel’s reasons.

Colonel Adams explained:

“I lost most of my officers in the crossing of the canal. I can use you to great advantage. By the way, I don’t seem to recall your name.”

“Paine, sir.”

“Very good. Lieutenant, you will report at once to Captain Graham, of the —th marines.”

He saluted and walked away. He was somewhat surprised, for he did not know that a body of marines had crossed the river with the infantry so recently.

“I’ll bet a hat my friends Jenkins and Smith are around some place,” he told himself as he strode rapidly ahead.

He located the body of marines with little difficulty and reported at once to Captain Graham. As the lad had predicted to himself, Lieutenants Smith and Jenkins were there, and were almost the first to see him.

“Well, I see you’re on the job,” exclaimed Smith, stepping forward as Hal left Captain Graham after reporting and delivering his message from Colonel Adams.

“Right,” returned Hal, “and glad to be here, particularly so as we are about to march.”

“That so?” said Jenkins. “Where to?”

“Dun,” replied Hal. “General Lawrence has determined to push his advantage.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Jenkins. “Hear that, Smith? Didn’t I tell you that once we got started we would be kept on the jump?”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Lieutenant Smith, who appeared to be considerably more quiet and dignified than his companion. “When do we start, or do you know?”

“Immediately,” said Hal, “and if I am not mistaken, there is the signal now.”

A bugle sounded attention. The men sprang to their places and the ranks closed in the darkness. A moment later came the command to march.

A few moments later Hal found himself in command of a detachment at the extreme right of the advancing column, where Captain Graham had assigned him. Because of the unfortunate lack of higher officers, Hal would command this detachment during the impending engagement. A short distance to Hal’s left Lieutenant Jenkins strode with his men. Lieutenant Smith had been called to the detachment that made up the left wing.

Silently the American columns moved through the darkness. The order had been passed along the line that there must be no talking. It would be well to advance as close to the village as possible without being discovered by the enemy.

From the distance the German artillery still hurled shells toward the American lines at infrequent intervals, but there was nothing now in the nature of a consistent cannonading.

Two hours’ march brought Colonel Adams’ column to the far edge of a small but dense wood. Beyond could be seen a few twinkling lights in the village of Dun.

Colonel Adams called a halt. Here the Americans would wait until an hour after daylight, at which time Colonel Gregory would advance to the attack from the west of the village.

The hours passed slowly and the men fidgeted. They would be cool enough when the time for action arrived, but resting quietly in the darkness and being allowed to utter no word, they grew restless.

Gradually it grew light and the men recovered their spirits. The hour of attack was approaching and the troops were anxious to be about their work.

Hal glanced at his watch in the half light.

“Must be about time,” he muttered.

The words had hardly left his mouth when the signal came, the shrill clear notes of a bugle sounding a charge.

A wild Yankee cheer followed the bugle call and the Americans dashed forward at the double.

In this particular section of the field there were no trenches to be won. The German positions had been fortified so recently that the enemy had had no time to dig himself in. But with the warning of the advance, the German commander rushed his men into formation and awaited the attack.

Machine guns were hurried forward and brought into play upon the men in khaki advancing across the open field.

Under the commands of their officers, the Americans broke their close formation and scattered out, thus making a more difficult target for the enemy. Nevertheless, the enemy rifle and machine-gun fire took a heavy toll in the advancing ranks.

To the far left of the German line, on Hal’s right, a machine gunner was doing fearful execution with a gun that was hidden in a clump of trees at that point.

“By Jove!” muttered Hal. “That fellow is tearing things up. We’ve got to stop him.”

To think with Hal was to act.

As his men dashed forward, he told off half a dozen and, turning over his command to Lieutenant Edgerton, led them sharply farther to the right. Thus they were able to approach the clump of trees without being exposed to the full force of the concealed machine-gun fire.

Bullets from other parts of the field fell among the little party, however, and three men dropped. Besides Hal, this now left three of the original party of seven.

The four were almost upon the little clump of trees before the German who was hidden there with his machine gun noticed their approach, so intent had he been upon his other foes. When he espied them, he turned his gun sharply.

A hail of bullets swept the field.

With a cry to his men, Hal had thrown himself flat upon the ground even before the German had turned his gun in their direction, and thus Hal escaped unscathed. Two of his men, however, were not so fortunate.

Besides Hal, there was now but one man able to fight. Together he and Hal sprang to their feet and dashed forward. Again they escaped what seemed almost certain death by hurling themselves to the ground. A moment later they were up and dashing forward again.

Hal sprang at the German machine gunner from the left, while the remaining marine attacked him from the right. Unable to fire effectively again, and caught between two fires, the German rose, stepped quickly back and produced a revolver.

He took a snapshot at Hal, but the bullet went wild.

Before he could fire again, the marine was upon him and sent him staggering back to escape a bayonet thrust.

Immediately the German dropped his revolver, raising both hands.

“Kamerad!” he cried.

Hal lowered a revolver which he had trained upon the Boche and the marine lowered his rifle.

As he did so, the German suddenly dropped his hand to his belt, drew a second revolver and fired point-blank at the marine. The latter side-stepped swiftly, but although he moved promptly enough he was not equal to the task of escaping the bullet altogether. The ball which the German had aimed at his heart pierced the man’s left arm.

Before the German could fire again and even before Hal could bring his own revolver to bear, the marine jumped forward with a roar.

“Treachery, eh!” he shouted. “I’ll show you!”

He dropped his rifle as he jumped and threw both arms around the German. With his right hand he pinioned the man’s left arm while he seized his opponent’s right wrist with strong fingers. Gradually the man’s arms described an arc until his own revolver was pointed at his head. There was a flash and a sharp report. The marine stepped back and the German crumbled up on the ground. The marine surveyed him disdainfully.

“Kamerad, eh!” he muttered. “Well, I guess you won’t fool anybody else.”

Hal looked at the marine in some amazement. The man was terribly angry and as Hal gazed at the powerful figure he could not keep thinking that there were few soldiers in the German army could stand against him.

“Come!” said Hal sharply. “Man the machine gun there. Wheel it about and open on the enemy to the left.”

“Very well, sir,” said the marine quietly, and followed instructions.

Unaware that Americans had approached so close in this section of the field, and probably placing reliance upon the machine gun that Hal and the marine had just captured, the Germans exposed themselves somewhat recklessly. Thus they were caught in a trap when their own weapon was turned against them.

With loud cries of alarm, the enemy ranks broke and the troops fled in utter rout. This confusion soon spread to other detachments and the enemy fell back upon the village.

From the west, meanwhile, Colonel Gregory had been pushing his attack as Colonel Adams’ columns advanced. Farther back, General Lawrence was hurrying supporting columns to the front. To the very streets of the village the Americans pursued the enemy, and then entered after them. From houses and from around corners the enemy fired upon the Yankee troops, who dashed forward with reckless courage.

Gradually, however, they retired from the village also, as their commanders realized that the American advance could not be stopped there.

At the very edge of the village Colonel Adams halted his men. On the western outskirts, Colonel Gregory did likewise. There they awaited orders before advancing farther.

Soon the orders came.

“Forward!” was the cry.

CHAPTER VII
IN A “BABY TANK”

So the American advance continued.

With the supporting columns of infantry that now came forward were several score of small armored tractors, commonly called “tanks.” Because of the fact that these small machines, unlike their larger counterparts, were capable of holding only two men—a gunner and a pilot—they were called “two-men tanks,” or more commonly, “baby tanks.”

As an engine of warfare, the “tank,” an American invention primarily, had made itself famous when General “Bingo” Byng led his British troops forward in the Cambrai battlefield, long before the United States entered the war. There were few tanks in the field in those days, but since their effectiveness was proven at Cambrai, thousands had been added to the Allied forces.

The “baby tanks” came later but proved quite as effective. They were able to penetrate places that were proof against their larger counter-parts, and now there was scarcely a division of British, French or American troops in the field that did not have its tank corps.

As the foremost American troops, among which was Hal, now pursued the enemy, the American “baby tanks” came waddling forward, their guns belching fire as they advanced.

A short distance beyond Dun the German general staff, realizing that the Americans could not be stopped in the village, had hastily thrown up a wandering system of trenches, and to these the enemy now retired.

Immediately General Lawrence ordered a halt, that he might better bring his own lines into cohesion.

The American and German artillery, hastily rushed up, continued the struggle at long distance.

An hour later, Hal, returning toward his own place in the line, accompanied by the marine who had killed the German machine gunner, came abreast of a “baby tank.” The tank appeared perfectly intact, but the lad knew at a glance that there was no crew within.

“I wonder why?” he muttered, and stopped to investigate.

The small door that served as an entrance was open. Hal peered in. The marine who was with him also stopped.

“Where’s the crew, sir?” he asked.

“You know as much about them as I do,” was Hal’s reply.

“Maybe they’ve gone after ‘gas,’” said the marine.

Hal climbed in and examined the petrol reservoir.

“Plenty of gas,” he said.

He examined the other mechanism carefully.

“Nothing wrong so far as I can see,” he declared. “However, it’s none of our business. We’ll be moving on.”

But at that moment came from General Lawrence’s portion of the field the call for a general advance. Hal glanced around quickly. He was still some distance from his own post, and he saw his men start forward under command of Lieutenant Edgerton. It was unlikely that he would be able to overtake them. He turned to the marine.

“What’s your name?” he demanded.

“Bowers, sir.”

“All right. Bowers. Do you know anything about these tanks?”

“Not much, sir. I can drive an automobile or an airplane, and I’ve watched these things work. Guess I could run one if I had to.”

“Well, you can work the gun, can’t you?” Hal wanted to know.

“You bet I can, sir, and I’ll guarantee not to miss very often. Are you thinking of boarding this craft, sir?”

“I am,” said Hal. “We seem to be out of the fight right now. It’s up to us to get into it again. Climb in, man.”

Bowers boarded the tank with alacrity and deposited himself beside the single machine gun. Hal perched himself in the pilot’s seat and opened the throttle. The tank moved forward.

In the distance, both to right and left, Hal saw other tanks waddling forward. They were all still too far from the enemy to do any great damage, but they were ambling forward as swiftly as their peculiar construction would permit, all anxious to approach within striking distance.

In front, the American infantry, with absolute disregard for the German artillery bombardment, dashed for the enemy trenches. They climbed in, and even from where Hal was the lad could see the signs of terrible combat within.

But the American charge had not been made in sufficient force. True, the Germans were driven from their improvised trenches, but the Yankee forces at the extreme front were numerically too small to pursue their advantage. They waited quietly for the arrival of reinforcements.

Straight into the erstwhile trenches the tank driven by Hal now nosed its way. Its appearance was received with cheers by the men. Then it waddled crazily forward in pursuit of the foe.

Hal was not given to unnecessary recklessness, and the fact that he advanced now while the bulk of the American troops remained beyond was not due to any spirit of foolishness. In passing, Hal was not aware of the fact that the most advanced troops were awaiting reinforcements. He thought that they would continue the pursuit at once. Therefore, in spite of the cries to stop that were raised behind, the tank ambled on.

Then, so suddenly that it seemed that a curtain of blackness had been thrown about them, a fog descended over the field.

In the advance of the tank, the German artillery and machine guns had been busy. A mine or two had exploded near the machine. Hal had been struck in the left hand by a tiny bit of shrapnel that found its way through one of the loopholes, but so slightly that the skin had only been bruised.

Hal put the snout of the tank over the edge of a hill in the fog, but stopped in time to keep from end-over-ending down. Then he felt his way carefully down hill by a roundabout road.

In the valley beyond there were machine gun nests and one seventy-seven field piece and some wandering trenches. In the hillside overhead were scores of burrow-like dugouts in which Germans had fortified themselves.

In this direction Hal still guided his tank, confident that the American forces also were advancing under cover of the fog.

Among the thousand shattering noises of battle, the approach of the tank had not been noticed. Suddenly the fog lifted, and for the first time Hal was conscious of the fact that his baby tank was unsupported by other tanks, or infantry, although the big American guns still sounded from behind. Nevertheless, Hal knew that the American advance was likely to be resumed at any minute.

In spite of the lifting of the fog, the approach of the tank was still unperceived by the enemy. It is a constant source of wonder to tank crews that this happens so often. Locked up in their steel chamber and with a hammering gun they feel their roaring progress must herald them afar. Yet it often happens that they creep upon the enemy as though their beast had been shod with velvet.

Hal saw the flare of the “77” and headed toward it. Bowers turned a stream of fire on it and the gun went out of action.

The tank lurched on toward a long windrow of rusted wire. The wire shone red in the sun that had come out to dispel the fog. In successive alterations of the defense, it had been made into a pile fifty feet long, by twenty broad, and four feet high.

“Looks like a machine-gun nest to me!” called Bowers.

But Hal still guided the machine toward the spot.

Suddenly a veritable hail of bullets poured upon the tank and rattled harmlessly off the steel sides.

Hal stopped the tank.

“You’re right,” he called to Bowers. “It’s a nest, all right.”

For the next ten minutes, as Hal expressed it later, “we just sat there and took it.”

An anti-tank rifle was brought into play by the Germans. This weapon was a monster indeed, fully seven feet long and forty pounds in weight—not, perhaps, a monster as compared with heavy siege guns and heavy artillery, but a mammoth for an anti-tank gun. But the anti-tank’s rifle bullets likewise failed to pierce the living-room of the tank, although they did cut through the running gear in one or two spots that were not vital.

Hal and Bowers ducked down so that they would not be struck by slivers should they come through the eye-slits in the tank.

“We’re in a tight place, sir,” called Bowers.

“Right,” Hal agreed. “We don’t want to take too many chances peeking through the eye-holes while those bullets are hitting around us like this. Great Scott! Listen! It sounds like someone was hitting the skin with a sledge hammer at the rate of fifty blows a second.”

A sliver suddenly spun through a porthole and struck Bowers on the hand. The wound was slight but painful. Bowers wrung his numbed hand in silence.

“Hurt much?” asked Hal.

“No, sir. I’ll be all right in a second.”

But the hand wasn’t all right in a second. It was still too numb to permit of handling the gun.

“There isn’t any use of our being here unless we can do some good,” Hal called. “I’m afraid you can’t work that gun any longer, Bowers.”

“I can drive,” was Bowers’ reply.

So the two changed places, Hal going into the gunners turret.

This to Hal was one of the worst moments of the battle, for tankers fit as closely into tanks as snails in their shells. It was with an effort that Hal and Bowers crawled past each other, for there were several painful moments when two bodies occupied the space that was a tight fit for one. But they managed it.

Bowers waggled the tank out into the open and headed for the nest of annoying gunners, and Hal will always have respect for these gunners.

In spite of their failure against the tank, the Prussians died with their hands on their guns. Others ran away and the tank was checked in its progress, while Hal poured volley after volley at the fleeing foes.

Suddenly Hal was arrested by a shout from Bowers.

“Hey! What’s that?” cried the marine.

Looking a trifle to the left, Hal saw four Germans wearing Red Cross uniforms, carrying something on a litter.

“That’s a mighty funny-looking stretcher,” said Bowers. “Have a shot at it.”

“Not a chance,” replied Hal. “They’re Red Cross workers.”

“That’s a funny-looking litter,” said Bowers, unconvinced. “Take my advice and shoot.”

Then, suddenly, without further words, Hal turned his gun on the four men, in spite of their Red Cross uniforms, and fired.

“And just in time!” muttered Bowers to himself.

CHAPTER VIII
THE ADVANCE CONTINUES

The queer-looking litter, as Bowers termed it, came suddenly to life.

The quartet of Germans tumbled in a sprawling, jerking heap. One sprang in the air, raising and overturning the litter as he did so. The gray blanket which had covered it fell off and Bowers’ suspicions were confirmed. It was a machine gun the “Red Cross” counterfeits had been carrying away.

“Good job there, sir,” Bowers called to Hal.

The lad nodded grimly to himself.

“So that’s the way they play the game, eh?” he said. “Well, I’ll be prepared for them when they try another trick like that.”

The tank jangled on.

Out of a hole in the ground, partially hidden by a tangle of old wire, suddenly popped a German boy in soldier’s uniform. His appearance was so unexpected that Bowers stopped the tank abruptly.

The German’s hands were raised high in the air.

“Kamerad!” he cried. “Kamerad!”

He was so near the tank that Hal could see the tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I haven’t got the heart to shoot him,” Bowers called to Hal. “Climb out, sir, and see what he has to say.”

Hal knew as well as any soldier in the Allied armies that tanks, British, French or American, were not expected to make prisoners unless the infantry was in immediate support, and for this reason he understood what Bowers meant when the marine said he couldn’t shoot the German boy down in cold blood.

The reason may be readily understood, for the crew of a baby tank is composed of only two men. Only now and then is it possible to shepherd prisoners ahead of a tank and it is always bad practice for either of the crew to leave his steel fortalice. In this case, however, Hal took into consideration the youth of the prisoner.

“Better be careful, sir,” Bowers called as Hal opened the door and crawled out. “Remember the Boche who called ‘Kamerad’ to me awhile back.”

“But this is only a boy,” replied Hal, “and he’s crying at that.”

“Can’t help that, sir. They’re all bad actors and none is to be trusted.”

“I guess I’m safe enough,” declared Hal, as he advanced.

“Got your gun?” called Bowers.

Hal shook his head.

“I don’t need any gun for this Boche,” said he.

“Maybe not,” grumbled Bowers to himself, “but I guess I’ll just crawl out after you.”

As Hal approached the boy, the German’s face changed. He saw that Hal was unarmed, while at his side hung a handsome Luger pistol. He stopped his cry of “Kamerad” and began jerking at the fastenings of his weapon. The flap of the American holster fastens with a leather button, which facilitates hasty action, while the German holster is buckled down.

Before the German could get the buckle unloosed, Hal had him by the throat. The German fought in despairing silence now, one hand plucking at the fingers that were choking him and the other still fumbling with the gun. At this juncture Bowers, also unarmed, closed in.

In spite of his youth, the German was of powerful build and he struggled so furiously that for a moment Hal and Bowers were unable to quiet him. In the struggle, Bowers caught sight of a long, thin stiletto which the German wore at his left side. His right hand shot out and clasped the handle. The weapon flashed aloft.

“Hold on!” cried Hal. “He’s only a kid!”

Bowers caught himself just in time. With a mumbled imprecation, he cast the stiletto away from him.

“Good thing you yelled,” he said to himself.

Hal had now possessed himself of both the German’s hands and his adversary was unable to fight further. Nevertheless, the struggle would have been at a deadlock had it not been for Bowers, who now approached and relieved the German of his pistol.

“All right, you can let him go now, sir,” the marine said.

Hal released his hold and stepped back, at the same time covering the German with the Luger.

“Sit down,” said Bowers.

It is doubtful if the young German understood Bowers’ words, but he certainly caught their import, for he sat down in front of the tank.

Bowers turned to Hal.

“You see, they’re all alike, sir,” he said. “They’re not to be trusted.”

“So I see.” said Hal. “Well, I won’t be caught napping again. And this is the second one that has tried that ‘Kamerad’ trick on us in the same day.”

“Almost within the same hour, you might say,” replied Bowers. “But what are we going to do with him?”

“That’s a hard question,” was Hal’s reply. “We can’t make him prisoner and I’m not disposed to let him go scott-free in view of his actions. Guess we might as well tie him up and leave him here.”

“Suits me, sir.”

A few moments later the German was lying on the ground, his hands bound with portions of his own clothing.

“Guess he won’t bother about yelling ‘Kamerad’ again,” said Hal.

“Well, we’re all here,” said Bowers with a smile. “So where do we go from here, sir?”

At that moment, far back, came the crash of infantry fire. Turning, Hal and Bowers perceived the foremost line of advancing Americans in the distance.

“Wow!” cried Bowers, and his trench helmet went sailing high in the air. “Here they come, sir. Don’t they look fine?”

“You bet they do, Bowers,” Hal shouted, carried away by his own enthusiasm.

Indeed, it was an inspiring sight, the long line of khaki-clad figures which came sweeping forward at a slow run.

“They’ll come up to us presently. All we have to do is wait,” said Hal.

The long line came directly toward them. At the pace they were advancing they would reach Hal, Bowers and their tank in fifteen minutes. But suddenly the formation of the charging troops changed.

“Hey!” cried Bowers. “They’re not coming this way after all.”

It appeared to be true.

Still quite a distance away, the American infantry had wheeled sharply to the right.

“Flank attack,” said Hal briefly, “but it leaves us high and dry.”

“Well,” said Bowers, “I’ve heard that these contraptions,” referring to the tank, “carry signal flags.”

“We’ll hoist one,” said Hal briefly. “They may see it.”

He climbed back into the tank, reappearing shortly with a small flag which he ran up on the turret.

“Now all we can do is sit down and wait.”

“And pray that the Germans don’t arrive in force first,” Bowers added dryly.

The two sat down in the sunlight and followed the course of the battle in the distance. Gradually the American charge slowed down. From beyond, Hal could see the ranks of the gray-clad hosts as they emerged from the German lines farther back to charge the American infantry.

“They’ll get all the fight they want,” said Hal.

“And more,” agreed Bowers.

Directly Hal caught the roar of wings coming toward them. He glanced aloft. An American liaison plane was approaching.

Bowers let out a cheer.

The aeroplane approached close enough to see the signal on the turret of the tank, and signalled back that reinforcements would be sent. Then it flew away again.

“In which case,” said Hal, “we might as well get busy again.”

“My sentiments, sir,” agreed Bowers.

They re-entered the tank, leaving their prisoner still tied on the ground. The young German eyed them angrily as they disappeared within.

“Machine gun nest to the right, Bowers,” called Hal, who again manned the gun.

Without further words, Bowers headed the tank in that direction.

“They’re firing explosive bullets, sir,” called Bowers coolly a few moments later as the earth flew high to one side of the tank.

Previous to this, the use of explosive bullets against tanks had been questioned, but Hal was bound to believe the evidence of his own eyes. In the instance where the use of explosive bullets had been reported before, they had been effective in that they had set fire to gasoline in the travel tanks lashed to the machine’s sides. Hal, recalling the details of that battle, was thankful that there were no tanks of gasoline lashed to the tank in which he and Bowers were confined.

Now, it seemed to Hal and Bowers, they were in the center of a group of machine-gun nests. Hal fired as rapidly as he could bring his gun to bear.

But the Germans had developed wisdom. The machine gunners crouched down in their holes whenever the tanks were turned on them, and let gunners in other nests take up the fight. A surprising number of machine-guns were developed around the tank. Evidently the gunners had kept under cover during the previous activities of the tank and only popped up when it seemed safe.

It began to grow uncomfortably hot in the tank. The backplace which separated the engine compartment from the turret and steering room became almost red hot.

Hal’s eyes grew dim as he tried to bring the tank’s gun to bear on the enemy. He felt his senses leaving him, and his clothes began to scorch.

“Let’s go,” he called to Bowers. “I’m through.”

They jerked open the little door in the tank nose through which men rise in jack-in-the-box fashion and hurled themselves out. They struck the ground upon all fours, but picked themselves up and ran.

Through all the noise of battle that now was drawing closer to them they heard the machine-gun bullets twanging above their heads. In the distance was a bit of ruined wall. Directly they gained its shelter. Before leaving the tank they had seized their revolvers. These they now carried in their hands. The German infantry bore down on them.

“We’re in a bad way, Bowers,” said Hal quietly. “What shall we do?”

Bowers tapped his revolver, affectionately it seemed to Hal.

“We’ve got our gats!” he said.

CHAPTER IX
CHESTER TO THE RESCUE

Despite himself, Hal was forced to smile.

“‘Gats?’” he repeated.

“Well, that’s what we call ’em on the East Side in good old New York,” replied Bowers, also smiling. “But you can call ’em anything you want to. We ought to be good for a couple of Huns apiece before we go down.”

“They’ll know we’re here, at all events,” declared Hal grimly.

As the Germans bore down on them from the east, Hal glanced quickly over his shoulder and uttered a cry of joy.

“Here come the Yanks!” he shouted.

It was true. Half a mile behind them a long line of the boys in khaki advanced at the double, spread out in the battle formation which had its origination in the great war. Behind the first line came a second and then a third.

Hal estimated the distance with a practiced eye.

“Half a mile,” he said.

“Right,” said Bowers, “and the Germans are a quarter of a mile closer—but still not close enough for my little gun here. But if there is going to be a race for us, I’ll lay long odds on Fritz.”

“Looks like you’d win,” replied Hal. “There is the first messenger,” he added quietly, as a German bullet struck the wall behind which the two had taken refuge.

Bowers peered over the top of the wall, raised his automatic and would have fired had Hal not stayed his hand.

“Don’t waste your bullets,” said the lad. “Remember the watchword of the battle of Bunker Hill: ‘Wait until you see the whites of their eyes.’”

“Right,” said Bowers briefly.

Came a volley of bullets from the foremost Germans as Hal and the marine crouched down behind their refuge. The bullets flattened themselves against the stout wall, but did no other damage.

“Pure waste of ammunition,” was Hal’s cool comment.

“What do the fools want to shoot for?” demanded Bowers. “All they have to do is rush us. We’ll probably get a couple of them, but they are bound to get us in the end.”

It appeared that the German officers had reached the same conclusion, for the rifle fire of the advancing infantry ceased and the Germans came on with fixed bayonets.

“Here’s where the Marine Corps loses a private of the first class,” said Bowers, with something like a grin, as he made sure that his automatic was ready for business.

“Looks like a certain lieutenant was going along with you,” replied Hal, again glancing over his shoulder and calculating the distance to the approaching American forces. “Well, they’ve seen us anyhow,” he added.

There came a shout of encouragement from the Yankee line and the troops appeared to redouble their speed.

“Help on the way, sir,” said Bowers.

“And the Germans are here,” rejoined Hal. “Don’t waste a shot, Bowers.”

“I wear a marksman’s medal, sir,” replied Bowers simply.

The Germans still came forward with a rush. Hal and Bowers stood to the wall, their revolvers poked slightly above and beyond it.

In this position, both were exposed to rifle fire from the enemy, but if they intended to fight back and not be caught like rats in a trap there was no help for it.

“Crack!”

Hal’s revolver spoke first and a German toppled in his tracks.

Bowers’ automatic belched forth a stream of fire as he swept the German line. At this distance, a miss was practically impossible. Thus ten shots were hurled among the advancing foes and every bullet found its mark.

“Some shooting, Bowers,” said Hal quietly, as he emptied his revolver into the very faces of the enemy.

There was no time to reload.

Hal clubbed his revolver in his right hand and waited. Bowers did likewise. Neither thought of surrender. In fact, so inhuman and barbarous had been the action of the Germans in the past that it was doubtful whether they would be spared should they raise their hands high in the air.

“Here they come!” cried Bowers.

The first German to poke his head around the wall from the left tumbled back again as the butt of Bowers’ revolver crashed down on his skull.

Fortunately for the two, the granite wall, at the extreme right, touched a steep hill, thus preventing a surrounding movement by the enemy. Nevertheless, it was possible that the enemy might climb the hill and pick Hal and Bowers off with revolver or rifle at will. On the other hand, there was little likelihood that they would have time for such a maneuver before the American troops reached the spot. Besides the left flank, therefore, the only way the foe could reach the defenders was over the wall itself.

One German tried this. Climbing to the top of the wall, he leaped down. As he struck the ground Hal’s revolver crashed down on his head and he lay still.

A moment later two Germans leaped down together. The first Hal met with a blow to the head with his revolver, but before he could turn, the second man seized him in a powerful embrace. Hal kicked out with his left foot, which found the German’s shin. At the same time the lad sent his left fist into the man’s face. Down went the German.

Bowers, meanwhile, was equally hard pressed. Two men he disposed of with his revolver butt and his fists; then the enemy surrounded him. Hal, thinking to join forces with the marine, had moved backward as other enemies came over the wall and just before Bowers was hemmed in, the two managed to get back to back.

American arms flew about like flails and wherever a fist or a revolver butt landed, a German crashed to earth. Right and left Hal and Bowers struck out until their arms grew weary.

In the press of conflict, it seemed impossible that the two could remain on their feet. The struggle would have ended almost as soon as it began had one of the enemy been able to bring a revolver or rifle to bear, but so close were the struggling figures that the Germans could not fire without imminent risk of killing one of their own number.

So the struggle went on.

But an unequal combat such as this could have but one ending. Under the overwhelming numbers that closed in on them, Hal suddenly went down.

With a bellow like that of an enraged bull, Bowers moved back a trifle and stood squarely over the lad, one foot on each side of his prostrate form.

Two Germans jumped him from in front and two from behind. The first he sent staggering with a powerful blow from his right fist. The second he hurled from him with a kick; then turned on his heel to face the men behind. One of these threw his arms around Bowers’ neck. Without a moment’s hesitation, the marine buried his teeth in the man’s hand and the strangle hold relaxed.

Whirling about, Bowers caught the fourth man in his arms, picked him up as though he had been a child and tossed him squarely in the faces of his comrades. Then, single-handed, he charged his foes.

Rifles were raised by the German soldiers and brought down sharply. Bowers reeled back, made an effort to retain his feet, and then sank to the ground unconscious.

Almost at the same moment, and as a German infantryman raised his bayonet to finish his work, a hail of rifle fire swept the Boche troops. Followed a loud Yankee cheer and the first American troops entered the conflict.

So intent had the enemy been on finishing Hal and Bowers, that they seem to have paid little attention to the advancing American columns. It is probable that they had been ordered to finish the work in hand before worrying about the others and this had taken so long that they were caught in their own trap.

With cries of terror, the Germans gave ground.

But even as they turned to flee, the Americans were upon them with swords and bayonets. Foremost in the advancing columns, their swords throwing circles of steel about their heads and revolvers clasped in their left hands, belching fire, three officers dashed forward. Two were marines. The other wore the garb of the regular army. The first two were Lieutenants Smith and Jenkins; the third, Chester Crawford.

“Get ’em, Smith!” shouted Jenkins. “You may not get another chance.”

Smith apparently needed no urging. He led his men on with wild cries. In the face of these charging demons the Germans, who at first had attempted to retire with some semblance of order, broke and fled in utter rout. With loud cheers, the boys from Yankeeland followed close on their heels.

Suddenly Lieutenant Smith, who was slightly ahead of Jenkins and Chester, halted. He had come upon the prostrate forms of Hal and Bowers.

“Hello!” he ejaculated, paying no heed to the confusion of battle. “A marine, and he is down. Fritz will have to pay for that.”

He sprang forward again.

A moment later Chester came upon his fallen chum. There was fear in his heart as he bent over Hal, but this quickly fled as Hal drew a long breath.

Chester lifted Hal to his feet.

“Still alive, eh?” he said.

“Alive and kicking,” replied Hal briefly. “Give me a gun or something.”

“You’d better——” Chester began.

But Hal stooped quickly, picked up a fallen German’s rifle and sprang forward. Chester darted after him.

Bowers, meanwhile, also had come to his senses and was endeavoring to get to his feet. A company of marines, moving rapidly forward, encircled him, steadied him and he also was given a rifle. The marines, closely followed by regular army troops, continued the pursuit.

Hal turned to Chester as they ran ahead, trying to catch up with the first-line troops, who by this time were some distance ahead.

“In the nick of time again, old man,” he gasped.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t be,” was Chester’s reply.

Ahead, the American advance suddenly slowed down. The reason was soon clear. German reinforcements had been rushed hurriedly forward, and the enemy was making a stand. But the Yankee halt was only momentary.

“Forward!” came the command.

CHAPTER X
THE ENEMY ROUTED

The engagement into which American troops and American marines now entered bore more resemblance to old-time open fighting than anything Hal and Chester had seen in months.

A short distance ahead, the German line had halted and drawn up in close battle formation. Upon this human rock the Yankees hurled themselves with reckless abandon and wild cheers. One, two, three volleys they fired at the Germans as they charged and then they were upon the enemy with the bayonet.

The German line withstood the first onrush and the Americans were stopped. But in spite of their losses, they were not to be denied, and they dashed forward again.

By this time Hal and Chester had reached the ranks in front and pressed into the thick of the conflict. A few moments later Bowers ranged himself alongside of them. The lads greeted him with a nod; they had no time for words.

So close were the American soldiers together that for the space of a few moments it was impossible for them to wield their bayonets with the greatest effect. All they could do was to press ahead with the bayonets shoved out in front of them. But this condition was soon remedied. The men spread out fanwise, thus giving them better opportunity for using their weapons.

The clash of the bayonets could be heard above the roar of small arm fire and even above the cheering of the Yankees. For their part, the Germans fought silently and stubbornly.

Hal caught the point of a stabbing bayonet upon his own weapon and averted the thrust that otherwise must have pierced his throat. Before the German who had delivered it could recover his poise, Hal’s bayonet had found its mark and the man fell to the ground to rise no more.

Chester, meanwhile, had accounted for two of the enemy and had not been touched himself. Bowers, once more in the heat of the conflict, was fighting like a superman, thrusting right and left with almost miraculous rapidity.

The German line wavered along its entire length. The Americans, unconsciously feeling that victory was within their grasp, pressed forward with even greater ferocity.

Suddenly, to Hal’s right, fully fifty Germans threw down their guns as a single man, and, raising their hands high above their heads, shouted “Kamerad” almost in unison.

Immediately these men were surrounded, their weapons collected and the Germans passed back to the rear ranks as prisoners. Following their action, other groups of Germans, separated from their comrades, followed the example of the first batch. For a moment it appeared as if the entire line in action would surrender.

Under harsh commands of their officers, however, the German line regained something of its cohesion and began a more orderly retreat.

Still the Americans pressed close on their heels. After a few moments of ineffectually attempting to hold back the Americans while retreating orderly, the German line broke again and the German soldiers fled.

It now became a case of each man for himself. With a cry to a score of troopers who had gathered about him, Hal dashed forward, thinking to take another batch of prisoners. But this particular group of the foes showed an unexpected burst of speed and the Americans were unable to overtake them.

From the distance, the German artillery again burst into action and shells fell dangerously close to Hal’s little detachment. In front of him, Hal saw half a dozen of the enemy go down before the fire of their own guns.

Immediately the lad called a halt, and then led his men back to the supporting columns which had come to a pause. Farther back, the American artillery, which had been silent while the hand-to-hand struggle raged, became active again. The hour of infantry fighting had passed and the big guns took up the battle.

Hastily the Americans fell to work with intrenching tools to make secure their newly-won positions against a possible German attack. Only a thin line of skirmishers stood to their rifles to repel any attack that might develop while the digging in was in progress.

Hal found Chester with the marine, Bowers, a short distance back of the first line.

“Glad you’re both safe,” he said as he walked up to them. “Fortunately I was not even touched.”

“Nor I,” said Chester, “but our marine friend here didn’t fare quite so well.”

“That so?” said Hal, turning to Bowers. “Where are you wounded?”

“In the left shoulder,” answered the marine, “but it’s just a scratch.”

“Nevertheless, you had better report and have it attended to at once,” advised Hal. “Complications are likely to develop, you know, and we can’t afford to lose a man unnecessarily.”

“Very well, sir,” said Bowers. “I shall heed your advice.”

He saluted, turned on his heel and walked rapidly away.

“A good man, Chester,” said Hal. “He and I went through rather a ticklish bit of work and he certainly upheld the traditions of the marines.”

“That so?” said Chester. “How did you happen to get so well acquainted with him?”

In a few words Hal explained, and added:

“Now give me an account of your troubles since I saw you last.”

“Well,” said Chester with a laugh, “you seem to have had all the fun. In my case there isn’t much to tell. I lost sight of you soon after the advance began and before long found myself in the midst of the fighting. I had a couple of narrow escapes in the course of the battle and I guess I got in a couple of good licks. Then, when we halted the first time, I hunted around for you, but you were missing. I was able to learn, however, that you had gone off on a little jaunt to put a certain machine gun out of action, but that’s all I could learn. I began to fear you had been killed. But when we came in sight of two men holding that little wall in face of the entire German army, it seemed, I told myself, that it was you. Events have proved that I was right. Then I came on as fast as I could, Smith and Jenkins with me. That’s about all.”

“Well,” said Hal, “I’ve had about enough excitement for one day. I vote we report to General Lawrence, who I see has moved his quarters close to the front. After that, unless there is work in store for us, I am in favor of finding a place to take a little nap.”

“Suits me,” agreed Chester. “Come on.”

But, as it developed, there was to be no sleep for either Hal or Chester for hours to come.

General Lawrence received the reports of the two lads in silence and for some moments seemed wrapped in thought. At last he said:

“You have done very well, young men. You will not think I am imposing upon you when I ask whether you are willing to take despatches for me to General Pershing?”

“Not at all, sir,” said Hal. “We shall be very glad.”

General Lawrence took a sheaf of papers from his pocket and passed them to Hal.

“These must be delivered to General Pershing with all possible haste,” he said. “In a high-powered automobile, you should be able to reach his quarters soon after dark. It is probable that you will be ordered back here at once.”

He indicated that the interview was at an end. Hal and Chester saluted and took their departure.

Ten minutes later they were speeding westward in a big army automobile, Hal himself at the wheel.

“If you ask me, Chester,” said Hal as they sped along, “these marines, from what I have seen of them, are going to prove among the most effective units in Uncle Sam’s army.”

“What makes you think so?” demanded Chester.

“Well, take this man Bowers for example. Of course, he’s a powerful man, but it’s his spirit that counts—he’s afraid of nothing. He’s perfectly cool under fire and when it comes to hand-to-hand fighting I doubt if there’s a man in the German army who could stand up against him.”

“He’s only one,” said Chester.

“That’s true enough. But look at the rest of them—rough and ready every one. Hard men they are. Most of them look as though they had come off the Bowery in New York, or were prize fighters, or gun-men. They are bound to give a good account of themselves in a fight. Hardly a marine who doesn’t look as though he had been brought up to fight.”

“I guess most of them have,” replied Chester dryly. “They gave a good account of themselves to-day, as far as that goes.”

“So they did,” agreed Hal, “but their numbers were comparatively small. Take a couple of divisions now, and I’ll venture that they could drive back twice their number.”

“That’s a pretty fair-sized order, Hal.”

“So it is, but that’s just what I think.”

“Well, I hope you’re right. We’ll have need of men like that. But look! we seem to be coming to some place.”

“We’ll stop and make sure of our bearings,” said Hal, and brought the car to a stop before a group of French soldiers.

For the benefit of the reader, it may be said that up to this time, the American troops had not been acting independently of their British and French allies. Up to this time there was no distinct American army in the field. American troops had been brigaded with French and British divisions for seasoning purposes, for the Allied staff could not understand how raw troops could possibly hold their own against the Germans without having been put through a rigorous course of training with veteran troops.

And yet British and French alike soon were to learn the true mettle of American troops, whether fully trained or not. They were to learn that wherever an American soldier was ordered he went, or died in the effort.

The date was not now far distant when this was to be brought home to the British and French in a manner they will never forget and, as it developed, it was the American marines who were to prove it; for at the battle of Chateau Thierry the American marine was to prove that as a fighting man there does not live his equal.

From a French officer, Hal gained needed directions and the big army auto continued its journey. Darkness fell and they still sped on. At eight o’clock Hal stopped the machine in the center of a big army camp and stepped out. He made his way to General Pershing’s quarters. Chester went with him.

CHAPTER XI
A FRIEND IN NEED

“Help! Help!”

A voice, strangely familiar to Hal and Chester, floated into the American trenches from the darkness of No Man’s Land beyond.

“Hello,” said Captain O’Neil, “somebody left out there, eh? Well, I guess he’ll have to make the best of it for the night. Fritz is in an ugly humor this evening. No use stirring him up. We’re pretty comfortable here for a change.”

“Seems pretty tough to leave him out there though, sir,” Chester ventured.

“So it does. Still when he came into this war he must have known it wasn’t a game of tiddlewinks. He’ll have to take his chances same as the rest of us. Anyhow, he’s probably in a shell hole and should be safe enough. But I thought all our men returned safely after the raid.”

“I thought so, too, sir,” said Hal. “There wasn’t a man reported missing.”

“Probably a straggler from another brigade, sir,” said Chester.

“Most likely,” rejoined Captain O’Neil. “We’ll see what can be done for him in the morning.”

He strode away.

It was two days after Hal and Chester had delivered General Lawrence’s despatches to General Pershing. Contrary to their expectations, they had not been ordered to return again to General Lawrence’s command, but had been returned to their own division, which at that time chanced to be guarding front-line trenches in the Soissons region only a short distance south of the Marne. Arrived, they had reported at once to Captain O’Neil and had been assigned new quarters.

To-night they were keeping watch. Early in the evening they had accompanied a party of troops in a raid on a certain point in one of the German trenches. Several prisoners had been made and the Americans had not lost a man. It was no wonder, then, that they should be surprised at the voice which called from No Man’s Land.

The voice came again:

“Help! Help!”

“By Jove, Hal!” said Chester, “there is something familiar about that voice. Wonder who it can be?”

Hal shrugged his shoulders, a habit occasioned by long association with French troops.

“Don’t know,” was his reply; “but I’ll admit I seem to have heard it before. We’ll see when daylight comes.”

At that moment a private by the name of McHugh began to sing.

“Where do we go from here, boys, where do we go from here?” were the words of the song that broke the uncanny stillness of the trenches. It was the song that had come into fame after the American troops reached the battlefields of France—the song to which American regiments marched into battle.

Other voices took up the song.

Came a hail in broken English from the German trenches scarce a hundred yards away.

“Hey there, Yanks!”

Instantly the singing in the American trenches came to a stop.

“What do you want, Fritz?” Hal called back.

“Don’t make so much noise, all you fellows, and let the boy sing.”

The boy, Chester took it, was McHugh. He could not have been more than twenty.

“He has a grand voice,” the German continued. “If he will sing us a song we will let the man in the shell hole oud there go back.”

At the same time the voice from No Man’s Land cried a third time:

“Help! Help!”

Chester took counsel with Hal.

“Well,” he said, “shall we take Fritz at his word?”

It should be explained here that incidents such as this were not uncommon in the trenches where friend and foe were so close together. More than once British and American soldiers had shared their tobacco and other luxuries with the less fortunate Germans. Sometimes, conversations like this were carried on for hours at a time.

“Trouble is,” Hal answered Chester, “you can’t trust them. It’s likely to be a ruse to get the man into the open so they can take a shot at him.”

“And it may be they’re acting in good faith this time.”

“Oh, it may be, of course.” Hal turned to the private. “What do you say, McHugh, will you sing for Fritz?”

“Well,” said McHugh, “I didn’t enlist to come over here and entertain the Boche, but if it’ll do that chap out there any good, why count me in.”

“Very good,” said Hal. He raised his voice. “Still there, Fritz?”

“Yah! What have you decided?”

“He’ll sing for you. But we’ll hold you to your word.”

“Good,” said the German. “Let him stand up on the top of the trench so we can see.”

“Oh, no you don’t, Fritz,” Hal shouted back. “We’re on to your tricks.”

“But it is no trick,” the German protested. “We give our words.”

“Your word is not always to be trusted, Fritz.”

“But me,” said the voice. “I am Hans Loeder, who sang on the American stage. I give the word of an artist.”

“By Jove, sir!” ejaculated McHugh at this juncture. “I know him well. In Chicago I once took lessons from him.”

“So?” exclaimed Hal in surprise. “Then maybe you would wish to talk to him. But remember he is a German, after all, and be careful.”

“Hello there, professor!” called McHugh. “Don’t you remember me?”

“Vat?” came the reply. “Can it be my old pupil Daniel McHugh?”

“The same, professor,” McHugh shouted back.

“No wonder I recognize the voice,” came the response. “Did I not say always that you had talent? And now you will sing for us, eh?”

“Sure,” said McHugh. “I’ll take your word, professor.”

Without further words, the young soldier sprang to the top of the trench.

“Well,” said Hal, “if you’re going up, so am I.”

He sprang up also, and Chester followed suit. A moment later fully a hundred American heads appeared over the top of the trenches. Beyond, in the darkness, German heads also bobbed up.

“Now professor,” said McHugh, “what shall it be?”

“Someding lively,” was the reply. “Someding to make us forget why we are here.”

“The Darktown Colored Ball,” suggested McHugh.

“Yah!” came the cry from the German lines. “Dat is id. Someding with the swing.”

So McHugh sang. And when he concluded, a hail of applause came from the enemy lines. The American troops also applauded and cheered. Two more popular songs McHugh sang and then, when the applause had died down, he called out:

“That’s all for to-night, professor. More some other time.”

“Good,” was the shouted reply. “Now I keep my word. Tell your friend oud there he may return without fear.”

“Come on in, you out there,” cried one of the Yankee soldiers.

“Oh, no,” the man in the shell hole shouted back. “They just want to get me out there for a little target practice.”

“Rats!” shouted McHugh. “Crawl out of there and come in like a man. We’re here to protect you if we have to.”

“You haven’t done much of a job of it so far,” said the voice from No Man’s Land.

A German voice broke in.

“You can have but ten minutes,” it said. “After that you must take your chances.”

“Fair enough, Fritz,” called an American. “Hey! You in the shell hole, come on in here.”

“It’s safer here,” was the reply.

Again a German voice interrupted.

“If the Yank is afraid,” it said, “we will allow two of your number to go and get him.”

Half a dozen men would have leaped from the trench had Hal not stayed them.

“You stay here and cover us,” he said. “Lieutenant Crawford and I will go. At the first sign of treachery, fire without hesitation.”

“Very well, sir,” said Private McHugh.

Hal and Chester leaped down and advanced into the darkness of No Man’s Land.

“No use coming after me now,” cried the voice in the shell hole. “I know when I’m well off. I don’t want to be shot in the back.”

Hal started.

“Great Scott, Chester!” he cried. “Haven’t you recognized that voice yet?”

“No,” returned Chester in some surprise. “Have you?”

“Rather,” said Hal dryly. “It’s Stubbs.”

Chester clapped a hand on his leg.

“By all that’s wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Now why couldn’t I place that voice?”

The lads increased their pace and at length they came to the shell crater where the lone American had taken shelter from the German fire.

“Come on out of there,” said Hal, disguising his voice.

“Not much,” said the man inside.

“Don’t be a fool, man,” said Chester angrily. “We’ve only a few moments’ grace. Hurry, now!”

“Say,” came the voice from the darkness, “why are you fellows bent on getting me killed? I haven’t done anything to you.”

“We’ll have to hurry, Hal,” said Chester. “Let’s go down and get him.”

The two lads leaped into the shell crater and laid rough hands upon the occupant, who squirmed and struggled in vain.

“Let me go,” he cried angrily, and struck out right and left.

“Listen, Stubbs,” said Hal. “If you don’t come out of here right now I’ll have to tap you over the head with my revolver.”

The struggles of the man in the shell hole ceased. He almost moaned.

“Hal!” he gasped, and muttered to himself. “Anthony, you certainly are out of luck. Something always happens. And I suppose Chester is here, too, eh?”

“Right,” said Chester.

“Poor Stubbs,” said the occupant of the hole. “You’re a dead man!”

CHAPTER XII
STUBBS EXPLAINS

“Come along, Stubbs,” said Chester. “Time is growing short. Fritz is likely to open fire most any minute.”

“And the first shot is sure to hit me,” said Stubbs. “Well, I can run if I have to.”

He sprang out of the shell crater as he spoke and made for the American lines at full speed.

“Guess we might as well do a little sprint ourselves,” said Hal.

The two lads dashed after Stubbs.

Stubbs was surrounded by a crowd of soldiers when Hal and Chester clambered into the trenches. There was amazement on the faces of most of the men at the fact that a man should appear from No Man’s Land and not be attired in uniform; for Stubbs wore only a plain khaki suit, cut after the fashion of military garments, it is true, but still plainly not a uniform.

“Glad to see you boys again,” said Stubbs, as Hal and Chester walked up to him. “Where’ve you been all these days?”

“Fighting,” said Chester, “which is more than you can say, Mr. Stubbs.”

“That so?” said Stubbs in a huff. “Maybe you think I was out in No Man’s Land there for my health, eh?”

“Well, hardly,” Hal broke in, “but I’ll wager you didn’t go out there to have a shot at a Boche.”

“Come, Mr. Stubbs,” said Chester, “tell us just why you were in that shell hole.”

“I was in that hole,” said Stubbs, “because the managing editor of the New York Gazette said he wanted a good descriptive story of a battle. I figured that a shell hole was as good a place as any to see what was going on.”

“Still a newspaper man, then, Stubbs?” said Hal.

“You bet.”

“I thought you had gone out of that business,” said Chester. “I remember finding you in Berlin once on a mission that had nothing to do with a newspaper.”

“Oh, well, a fellow likes to help out once in a while,” rejoined Stubbs modestly.

“Then why don’t you shoulder a gun, Stubbs?” demanded Hal.

“Look here,” said Stubbs angrily. “I’m getting good and tired of having you fellows pick on me all the time. I haven’t joined out because, in the first place, I’m no fighter. I’m of a great deal more value in this war in my present capacity. There are enough young men to do the fighting. I’m trying to keep the folks back home in touch with what you’re doing. And you can believe me or not, they are glad to be kept in touch.”

“I’ve no doubt of it, Mr. Stubbs,” said Hal with a smile. “Never mind, we won’t pester you any more for a while.”

“For a while, eh?” said Stubbs, grinning. “I didn’t think you could mean permanently.”

At that moment Captain O’Neil approached. Hal and Chester saluted and stood at attention.

“You had better turn in, lieutenants,” said the captain. He eyed Stubbs closely. “What’s this man doing here?” he wanted to know.

“War correspondent, sir,” replied Hal, and introduced Stubbs.

“You have no business at the front, Mr. Stubbs,” said Captain O’Neil. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave. Not that I am afraid you’ll let loose any military secrets—the censor will see to that when you file your dispatches—but it’s against orders, you know.”

“Maybe so,” said Stubbs, “but somebody has to tell the people at home what is going on over here.”

“The proper authorities will see to that, sir.”

“Well,” said Stubbs, “in my mind the newspapers are the proper authorities in this case. They know how to tell the people so they will understand.”

“I don’t wish to quarrel with you, sir,” said Captain O’Neil sharply.

“Nor I,” said Stubbs. “I’m not a fighting man, captain.”

“Then, sir, you must leave at once or I shall be forced to place you under arrest.”

“Oh, no you won’t,” said Stubbs grimly. “Hold on,” he cried, as Captain O’Neil took a step forward. “No offense, captain. Just have a look at this paper.”

He produced a document from his pocket and passed it to the captain. Captain O’Neil read it quickly and then passed it back.

“Why didn’t you say in the first place that you had a pass from the commander-in-chief?”

“You didn’t give me time, captain.”

Captain O’Neil turned to Hal and Chester.

“You may care for the company of war correspondents,” he said with some heat. “Every man to his choice. But I don’t.”

He turned on his heel and strode away.

“There, Stubbs,” said Chester. “You’ve made him mad.”

“Well, I can’t help it because he is so touchy, can I?” asked Stubbs.

“Perhaps not. But there was no need to offend him.”

“Most of these officers are a trifle too cocky,” declared Stubbs. “I thought I’d take him down a peg.”

“Don’t forget, Mr. Stubbs,” said Chester, taking a step forward, “that I’m an officer, too. I can have you placed under arrest, you know.”

“You won’t, though,” said Stubbs.

“Won’t I?” said Chester. “Why won’t I?”

“In the first place,” said Stubbs, “because you are too glad to see me again. And in the second place, because I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Out with it then, Mr. Stubbs,” said Hal.

“Wait a minute, now, just wait a minute,” said Stubbs. “Take me to your quarters where we can be quiet. You’ll have to put me up for the night, anyhow, and we might as well be comfortable while we chat.”

The three made their way to the lads’ quarters. Stubbs sat down on the edge of Hal’s bunk and produced a pipe.

“Learned to smoke yet?” he asked of the boys.

“Not yet, Stubbs,” said Hal, “and I guess we never will.”

“Take my advice and learn,” said Stubbs. “It’s a great comfort to a man sometimes.”

“Perhaps,” said Chester. “But it’s a habit too easily cultivated and too hard to stop. I’m satisfied without tobacco.”

“Every man to his taste, as Captain O’Neil says,” commented Stubbs with a laugh.

“Come, Stubbs,” said Hal. “You said you had something to tell us. Out with it.”

Stubbs puffed away for some moments in silence and it was plain to Hal and Chester that he was thinking deeply.

“I suppose I really should say nothing,” said Stubbs, “but I know that I can depend on you boys to repeat nothing I say. Besides, I’ve simply got to express my feelings to someone.”

“If it’s only an expression of feeling, maybe it isn’t so important after all, Stubbs,” remarked Chester.

“Well,” said Stubbs, “the thing that I mean is this. I am willing to bet anything I ever expect to have that what I have learned in the last few days is going to result in an Allied offensive that will put an end to this war.”

Hal and Chester sprang to their feet.

“You’re sure, Stubbs?” demanded Chester.

“I’m sure enough in my own mind,” declared the war correspondent, waving the lads back to their seats. “Of course, it is always possible that things won’t work out the way I figure; but knowing the caliber of a certain man in Uncle Sam’s expeditionary forces I figure that they will work out.”

“Explain, Mr. Stubbs,” said Hal.

“Has it ever struck either of you,” said Stubbs slowly, between puffs at his pipe, “that it’s all foolishness for the Allies to remain snug and wait until the enemy does the attacking? I mean, haven’t you thought that perhaps more could be accomplished if the Allies carried the fighting to the foe?”

Hal nodded.

“It has,” he said.

“Well, the same thought has struck some one else,” declared Stubbs.

“You mean——” began Chester.

“Exactly,” said Stubbs. “I mean General Pershing, unless I have been grossly misinformed.”

“You mean that General Pershing will order an American advance?” exclaimed Chester.

“No, no. He can’t do that. Marshal Foch is commander-in-chief of the Allied forces and it’s up to him to decide. What I mean is that General Pershing is not altogether pleased with the progress of events. I am informed that he believes a grand offensive on all fronts would do more toward ending the war right now than any other one thing.”

“Well, why doesn’t he tell Marshal Foch so?” demanded Chester.

“That,” said Stubbs quietly, “is what I am informed he intends to do.”

“Hurray!” shouted Hal.

“Quiet,” said Stubbs sharply. “Not a word of what I have told you must be repeated. It doesn’t make any difference how I know all this. It’s sufficient that I do know it. However, things may not work out as I expect. It is possible that General Pershing’s advice may not prevail. He may be overruled by Marshal Foch and General Haig at their conference Thursday.”

“So there is going to be a conference, eh?” said Hal.

“Yes. As I say, the conference is to be held Thursday, day after to-morrow. It will be held in Marshal Foch’s headquarters. It may result in developments and it may not. At all events, I am quite certain that General Pershing will go to the conference prepared to urge an immediate advance.”

“By Jove! That sounds awfully good to me!” declared Chester.

“And to me,” agreed Hal. “I’d like to be present at that conference.”

“We’d all like to be there,” said Stubbs dryly. “But there’s not a chance. Not a chance.”

But, as it developed, there was a chance; not a chance for Stubbs, war correspondent, perhaps, but more than a chance for Hal and Chester.

It was pure accident that gave them this opportunity.

CHAPTER XIII
A PIECE OF LUCK

Eight o’clock Thursday morning found Hal and Chester, in a large army automobile, returning from the quarters of General Lawrence, where they had been sent by General Allen, who commanded the division in which the boys served.

As they rode along, Hal, turning a sharp curve, applied the emergency brakes and brought the car to a stop only a few feet from a second machine, which appeared to be stalled in the middle of the road.

There were only two figures in the second automobile, and as Hal looked quickly at the man in the tonneau he jumped to the ground and came to attention. Chester, with a quick look at one of the occupants of the car, did likewise.

Both lads had recognized General Pershing.

General Pershing returned the salutes and spoke sharply.

“You drive somewhat recklessly, sirs,” he said.

“Had you not been prompt in applying your brakes you would have run us down.”

“I’m very sorry, sir,” said Hal.

“It can’t be helped now,” said General Pershing, “and it is good fortune that brings you here now. My own car has run out of ‘gas,’ due to the carelessness of my driver. I have sent him for another car, but now that you are here I shall change. Come, Colonel Gibson.”

The American general and his companion alighted and took seats in Hal’s car. General Pershing motioned Hal to the wheel and Chester was also waved into a front seat.

“You will drive me to General Lawrence’s quarters,” said General Pershing, “and this will give you an opportunity to do all the speeding you care to. I must see General Lawrence and be back at my own headquarters by noon.”

“Very well, sir,” said Hal.

He turned the car quickly and soon was speeding in the direction from which he had come.

Neither Hal nor Chester said a word as the car sped on. The trip to General Lawrence’s quarters was made in record time, and Hal and Chester remained in the car while the two generals talked alone.

Half an hour later General Pershing, still accompanied by Colonel Gibson, re-entered the automobile.

“You know where my temporary quarters are in the city of Soissons?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” replied Hal.

General Pershing leaned forward in the car and gazed at the two lads closely.

“Surely I know you two officers,” he said. “Your faces are very familiar.”

“Yes, sir,” said Hal. “We had the pleasure of going to Berlin for you, sir.”

General Pershing clapped his hands.

“I know you now,” he said. “Colonel, these are the young officers who went to Berlin and brought back the list of German spies in America.”

“That so, sir?” said Colonel Gibson. “Seems to me they are very young to have been entrusted with such a task.”

“Young they are in years,” said the American commander-in-chief, “but they are older than a good many of us in experience, so far as this war is concerned. If my memory serves me right, I believe they put in several years with the French and British before the United States entered the conflict. Am I right?” he asked of Hal.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, sir,” said General Pershing, “you will make all haste toward my headquarters.”

Hal sent the car forward with a lurch and in a moment they were speeding toward Soissons at a rate of speed close to sixty miles an hour.

From time to time, they passed a car going in the opposite direction, and several times going around curves they seemed in imminent danger of running into another machine. But Hal was a careful, though swift, driver, and his hands were perfectly steady on the wheel.

They flashed through several little villages so fast that the natives stared in open-mouthed wonder.

Hal’s sense of direction stood him in good stead, and he did not find it necessary to stop once and ask directions. He had been over the road many times before and he swerved from road to road with unerring certainty.

In the rear seat, General Pershing and Colonel Gibson talked guardedly and neither Hal nor Chester could understand what they said had they wished to eavesdrop. But such was not their intention. Both lads were highly elated at their good fortune, for both realized perfectly that it was no small honor to drive and ride in the car occupied by the commander-in-chief of all the American forces in France.

Two hours passed and Hal began to recognize the familiar landmarks of the city of Soissons. He breathed a sigh of relief, for while he was confident in his own mind that he had kept to the right road, there was always the possibility that he might mistake it.

He slowed the car down a trifle.

“We should reach your headquarters in fifteen minutes, sir,” he called to General Pershing over his shoulder.

The American commander made no reply, but Hal had expected none.

It was less than fifteen minutes later that Hal drew the automobile to a stop before the handsome villa that General Pershing occupied as his headquarters.

“A fine piece of driving, lieutenant,” said General Pershing to Hal, as he alighted, followed by Colonel Gibson.

“Will you both report to me in my private office in fifteen minutes?”

“Yes, sir,” said Hal and Chester almost in one voice.

They, too, had alighted from the car and now stood at attention as General Pershing and Colonel Gibson ascended the few steps to the door of the old French villa.

“Wonder what he wants with us now?” said Hal, after the American commander had disappeared within.

“Maybe he wants us to drive him to Marshal Foch’s headquarters in time for the conference Stubbs mentioned,” replied Chester.

“By Jove! Maybe that is it,” exclaimed Hal. “But I’d like to go farther than that. I’d like to be present at the conference.”

“Guess that’s asking a little too much,” smiled Chester.

“Perhaps, but I’d give a whole lot to be there.”

The lads continued to speculate until Hal, after a glance at his watch, announced that it was time to report to General Pershing. They ascended the steps and gave their names to the orderly at the door. They were ushered immediately into their commander’s private office, thus indicating that the latter had given word to expect them.

General Pershing was seated at his desk in the far corner of the room when Hal and Chester entered. His back was to the door and he did not see them. The lads came to attention and waited.

After scrawling his name to several documents, General Pershing swung about in his chair.

“As you know,” he said, addressing both lads without preliminaries, “my regular driver has been left far behind. It is imperative that I reach the headquarters of Marshal Foch by four o’clock this afternoon and for that reason I have decided to impress you into service as my driver, Lieutenant Paine.”

“Very well, sir,” said Hal, saluting.

“And you, Lieutenant Crawford,” continued the American commander, “will accompany your friend because I know how inseparable you are.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Chester.

“Will you overhaul the car, lieutenant, and see that it is perfectly fit?” instructed General Pershing.

Hal saluted again, and would have turned on his heel to depart, but his commander stayed him.

“One moment,” he said. “I have done some thinking in the last few minutes and I am convinced that you young men are the ones I may have need of for a certain piece of important work. I can’t say as much as I would like to right now. But I can say this: I shall confer with Marshal Foch and Marshal Haig this afternoon on a certain matter. If the conference results as I hope it will, I shall not have need of you; or if I fail to make my point I shall have no need of you. If the conference, however, fails to reach a definite decision I shall have need of at least two courageous and daring spirits. In view of your past successes, I believe that I may depend on you.”

General Pershing paused.

“We will do the best we can, sir,” said Hal.

“Because you must be familiar with my views to render the best possible service,” General Pershing went on, “I am inclined to believe that it would be well to have you present at the conference.”

Hal’s heart leaped into his throat with joy. Chester had hard work repressing a wild hurrah. But neither said a word nor moved a facial muscle.

“You will learn at the conference,” said General Pershing, “what I am not at liberty to say now.”

“We know what we shall learn, all right,” said Hal to himself.

“Now,” continued the American commander, “if you will look over the car carefully, I will be with you inside of ten minutes.”

Hal and Chester saluted their commander, wheeled on their heels and marched from the room.

“Hurrah, Hal!” shouted Chester when they were out of earshot of their commander’s office. “What do you think of that?”

“I am afraid it’s too good to be true,” declared Hal. “I’m afraid I shall wake up and find it only a dream. Better pinch me so I know I’m not asleep. Ouch!” he cried, as Chester applied thumb and forefinger to his arm. “I didn’t mean for you to take me literally. Guess I’m awake all right. Now for the car.”

Hal went over the car carefully. It was in perfect shape. The gasoline tank was replenished and Hal gave the car a “drink.” Hardly had he completed his task, when Chester cried:

“Quick, Hal! Here he comes!”

A moment later General Pershing, accompanied by two of his staff, climbed into the car. Hal took his place at the wheel. Chester sat beside him.

“A little speed, lieutenant!” said General Pershing, with a half smile.

Hal sent the big automobile forward.

CHAPTER XIV
THE CONFERENCE

It was now after noon and Hal knew that it would require swift driving to reach Marshal Foch’s headquarters, near Paris, before four o’clock, the hour of the conference. Nevertheless, the lad had perfect confidence in himself and his ability to handle the big army automobile, and he felt quite certain that he would reach the French commander’s headquarters before the appointed hour, barring accidents.

Both Hal and Chester were almost bubbling over with excitement, for each felt sure that he was to be present at a time when history was to be made. Naturally, in spite of the fact that they had seen active service with the British and French, both had the utmost confidence in General Pershing and each was positive in his own mind that the counsel of the American commander would prevail.

The trip passed without incident. Hal kept the huge car going at top speed most of the time, slowing down only for the sharpest curves and to avoid possible collisions with cars approaching from the opposite direction. Therefore, it was not yet half past three o’clock when the automobile drew into the outskirts of the little town where Field Marshal Foch, commander of all the Allied forces, had established his headquarters.

It became apparent as they moved into the village that news of the approaching conference had spread through the troops. The British, French and what few American soldiers there were in that particular sector cheered wildly as the automobile bearing the American commander-in-chief flashed by.

Directly Hal brought the machine to a halt in front of a house somewhat larger than the rest, over which floated the combined flags of the three nations—France, England and the United States. Hal guessed rightly that it was in this house that Marshal Foch made his headquarters.

Before the building was a long line of French soldiers. To the right, these were flanked by a platoon of British, while on the left stood the American guard of honor. Nearby was a large automobile bearing the British arms. Chester surmised correctly that Marshal Haig had already arrived.

General Pershing stepped lightly from his car. Before moving away, surrounded by his staff, he motioned Hal and Chester to follow him.

The lads followed their commander up the short flight of steps and presently he and his staff were ushered into a large room in the rear on the first floor. At the door General Pershing was greeted by Marshal Foch and Marshal Haig in person, for the French and British commanders were not standing upon ceremony.

Inside, the three commanders took seats at a table in the center of the room, the members of their various staffs standing behind them. Besides the formal salutes when the three commanders met, there had been a hearty handshake all around. Now they were ready for business.

Marshal Foch arose and spoke to General Pershing.

“I have called this conference at your request, General,” he said, “so it would seem to me that we should hear from you first.”

Marshal Foch sat down and General Pershing rose to his feet.

“First, sir,” he said, “I must explain the presence here of so many of my aides. Besides several members of my regular staff, I am accompanied by two young lieutenants whom, if I am not mistaken, Sir Douglas Haig knows well. I refer to Lieutenants Paine and Crawford.”

Marshal Haig nodded to General Pershing and then to Hal and Chester.

“I know them well,” he said, and then to Hal and Chester: “Glad to see you again, sirs.”

Hal and Chester saluted stiffly.

“I have brought them here,” said General Pershing, “in order that they may hear what I have to say, for it may be that I shall have need of them to prove to you the correctness of my views.”

“You need make no apology for their presence, General,” said Marshal Foch.

“Very well, sir,” returned General Pershing. “I shall proceed.”

Every ear in the room was strained to catch the next few words of the American commander, for there was not a man in the room who did not realize that it must have been a matter of prime importance thus to bring the three great commanders together. It is probable that most of the American officers present had a general idea of what General Pershing was about to propose; but neither the British nor French commanders or members of their staffs had had an inkling of it. Hal and Chester listened eagerly for General Pershing’s next words.

“I want to ask you, gentlemen,” said General Pershing quietly, toying with a paperweight on the table as he spoke, “whether you do not think we have remained passive long enough—whether it is not, in your opinion, time that we assumed the offensive rather than to wait until the enemy brings the fight to us?”

Marshal Foch and Marshal Haig were on their feet in a moment. Marshal Haig spoke first.

“You mean that you would have us attack at once?” he asked.

“I do, sir,” returned General Pershing grimly.

There was an audible catching of breaths throughout the room. Marshal Foch was silent a full moment. Then he said:

“We haven’t the men, general.”

“Black Jack” Pershing scowled.

“What’s the matter with the Americans?” he demanded. “I’ve a million of them over here and there are more coming. They’ve been here for months and have done practically nothing and they want to know why. What’s the matter with the Americans, sir?”

Marshal Foch shrugged his shoulders and elevated his hands.

“But, sir,” he protested, “they are untrained, unseasoned, raw troops. Surely you cannot expect them to stand against the enemy’s veterans. It would be suicide.”

“I agree with Marshal Foch,” Marshal Haig interposed. “It is true they have proven their mettle wherever they have gone into action, but they have not had the training.”

An angry light gleamed in General Pershing’s eyes.

“They’ll go any place you order ’em, sir. I’ll stake my reputation on that,” he thundered.

A hush of expectancy fell over the room. The air was surcharged with excitement.

In spite of the feeling of pride at his commander’s words, Hal felt a thrill of fear shoot through him. Was it possible that the heads of the Allied armies were about to quarrel?

But Hal need not have worried. Men like these did not indulge in foolish quarrels. They spoke strongly because they felt strongly, and each realized that the other was advancing views that he considered best.

General Pershing brought a clenched fist down on the table. Pens and ink stands jumped and rattled.

“I say that we have delayed long enough,” he declared. “What have we been doing to regain lost territory? Nothing. True, we’ve halted the enemy every time he struck, but we’ve not regained a mile of lost ground. I say it’s time to hit back.”

“If we only had the necessary numerical superiority,” said Marshal Haig.

“I tell you, sir,” said General Pershing, “that my men can stand up—yes, they can go through—the best the enemy has to offer. Their morale is the greatest of any army that ever existed. Order them to drive the enemy back, and they’ll drive him back. I know what I am talking about, sirs. Try them!”

Again there was silence in the room, broken at last by Marshal Foch.

“It is well,” he said, “for a general to have that confidence in his men; and I am sure that your men have every bit as much confidence in you. I am impressed with your words; and yet I am loath to act on your suggestion with untried troops. I have seen such troops in action—the Portuguese. The enemy scattered them like chaff before the wind.”

“My men are Americans, sir,” said General Pershing simply.

“Oh, I know the traditions of the American fighting man,” said Marshal Foch. “I know that the trained American soldier is the equal of any in the world. But still I hesitate. If I could only be sure that the enemy has exhausted himself in his latest offensive—if I only knew the disposition of his forces—then I might act. I have, of course, a general idea of the enemy’s activities, but not enough, I am afraid, in ordering a grand offensive, as you suggest.”

“I don’t care anything about the enemy’s positions,” declared General Pershing. “What I say is this: Order the Americans to break the German line and they’ll break it!”

Again Marshal Foch shook his head.

“I am afraid the time is not ripe,” he said sadly.

For a moment General Pershing seemed on the verge of making an angry retort. Instead, he said quietly:

“I was prepared to hear you advance such views, sir, so I have another suggestion to offer.”

“Proceed, sir,” said Marshal Foch.

“It is this,” said General Pershing: “I want to ask you if you will act on my suggestion if I can gain for you such information as will convince you that the time is really ripe to strike? Will you act on my suggestion if I furnish you with better figures as to the enemy’s strength in the various battle sectors and the disposition of his troops?”

“Why,” replied Marshal Foch, “if you can show me that the time is ripe to strike, of course I shall strike. But I fear that is a very large task, sir.”

“Very true, sir. Yet I shall endeavor to fulfill it. It was for that reason, sir, that I brought with me the two young lieutenants I mentioned.”

Marshal Foch surveyed Hal and Chester keenly.

“They are very young,” he said deprecatingly.

“True,” said General Pershing, “yet I say with all positiveness that they are among the most capable of my officers.”

“I can vouch for that, sir,” said Marshal Haig.

Again Marshal Foch surveyed the lads closely, much to their embarrassment.

“Their names?” he asked of General Pershing.

“Lieutenants Paine and Crawford, sir.”

“Lieutenants Paine and Crawford,” said Marshal Foch, in a very quiet voice, “will you please step forward?”

CHAPTER XV
INTO THE ENEMY’S COUNTRY

Hal and Chester advanced to the center of the room. They realized that all eyes were on them and they held themselves stiffly erect.

“It is high praise I have heard of you, sirs,” said Marshal Foch quietly. “I trust that, should we have further need of your services, you will be as fortunate as I judge you have been in the past.”

Hal and Chester bowed slightly, but said nothing. Marshal Foch turned to General Pershing.

“I do not know as there is need of further discussion,” he said. “If you have decided, general, that you will entrust the work you have mentioned to these young officers, I should say that the sooner they get about it the better for all concerned.”

General Pershing bowed.

“Very well, sir,” he replied.

“In that event,” continued Marshal Foch, “I declare this conference adjourned.”

There was a scuffling of feet as the commanders and their staffs moved toward the door. Almost before they had all departed, Marshal Foch had turned again to his desk and was immersed in a mass of documents and maps.

General Pershing led the way directly toward his automobile, and motioned Hal again to the driver’s seat. Chester climbed in beside his chum.

“Back to my headquarters,” General Pershing instructed Hal.

The return trip was made in silence and in record time.

As General Pershing alighted before his own quarters, he motioned Hal and Chester to accompany him to his office. Once there, he dismissed all members of his staff, and spoke to the two lads.

“You know, of course,” he said, “what I wish you to ascertain for me, and you know also why I desire this information. If you are not prepared to undertake this mission, I wish you to understand that you may say so without fear of censure.”

“We shall be very glad to do what we can, sir,” said Chester.