CHAPTER V
KILL OR BE KILLED
TREES and rocks. Lieutenant Whitcomb had always loved the woods andthe wild places, but now, with quite a different reason, a sentimentbased on a more concrete purpose, he could almost have worshiped thesedim aisles of the forest, these noble maples, oaks and spruces and therocky defiles that appeared on every side. Here was a place where anaggressor might be on nearly even terms with his enemy; at least therewas less danger of being hit if one might shield a larger portion ofhis body behind some natural object the while he located his foe, orexposed himself only for a few seconds in his rush to overcome him.
Anticipating what the fighting would be like and anxious to do allthe execution he could where mere directing could be of little avail,Herbert had possessed himself of the rifle and ammunition no longerneeded by a grievously wounded comrade and behind the stout trunk of alow tree had begun to pepper away at the greenish helmets of a numberof men who were sending their fire from a deep fissure in the rocksagainst the line to the right. Skilled as the boy was with the rifle,and we remember how he had been chosen in the training camp at home asthe instructor in marksmanship and afterward given duty as a sniper orsharpshooter in the trenches, there was every chance of that machinegun nest of the enemy suffering somewhat.
This was war and there could be no holding off in the manner ofwinning; there could be no sentiment against any means of destroying anenemy who was eager to destroy, no matter if it were against one man oran army that the fire was directed. The boy felt few or no scruples atthe time, though he always hated to think of the occasion and he rarelyspoke of it subsequently. Warfare is not a pleasant matter; there arefew really happy moments even in victory. There may be certain joys,but they can be only relative to the mind endowed with human ideasand schooled to right thinking. Old Brighton labored to teach itslads altruism, charity, gentleness and kindness and these qualitiescannot be lightly cast aside, even under stress of battle, which mustbe regarded mostly as a matter of self-defense, even in offensiveaction. If you don’t kill or wound the enemy, so called, he will killor wound you, and as long as the governmental powers have found itnecessary to declare that another people must be considered as anenemy, there is nothing else to do. As against aggression, injustice,injury made possible by constitutional declaration, wars are, beyondargument, often most justifiable, even necessary. This idea must impelevery patriotic soldier to do his best in the duties assigned him, eventhough he must rid the earth of his fellow men.
Herbert had a clear aim at about sixty yards distance through an openspace in the foliage; he could see no more than the shoulders of any ofthe Germans. He emptied his rifle with three shots, slipped in anotherclip, fired five of these cartridges, replaced the clip and turned tosee what else menaced. That gun nest was no longer in action; when acorporal and the two men remaining in his squad reached the spot therewas one wounded man and one fellow untouched and eager to surrenderout of the seven; the others were dead. But there must have been otherAmericans shooting at them; Herbert always liked to think that, anyway.And now he frowned when one of the men who had remained with himremarked:
“By the Kaiser’s whiskers, Lieutenant, that was great work! Nobody inthe army, not even General Pershing, could beat it! Say, if we had alllike you in this reg’lar fellers’ army, it would take only this platoonto open the way to Berlin.”
Herbert ducked; so did his companion. Not fifty feet in front of themthree Huns came quickly though clumsily in their big shoes, over themossy rocks, dragging a machine gun. They meant to set it up behind afallen tree trunk and in the shelter of a spruce; from their positionthey had not discerned the Americans near by.
The young lieutenant, slowly and without stirring a twig, raised hisrifle. This indeed seemed like murder, but----. There was the crack ofseveral guns just to the left and the three Huns sank to the earth asone man. It was this sort of work that made the German respect and fearhis American foe.
“Come on; more work ahead!” Herbert shouted and as he and his men madetheir way through thickets, over rocks, roots and fallen trees theyfound plenty to do. A little hillock, almost perpendicular, rose infront of them; there was the rapid firing of a gun just over the topof it, though the approach of the boys in khaki beneath wide-spreadingbranches and behind dense bushes could not have been observed.
“Some risk, but if we go up and over quickly, then----” Herbert began,starting to clamber up the rocks. It was slippery going, a difficulttask at best, and he found it necessary, to avoid being seen, to godown on hands and knees. One foot slipped back and the other, too, wasslipping when he felt a hand beneath his shoe holding him. He had butto stretch out and upward to bring his head over the rocks above, whena Hun saw him. The fellow could not have possessed a loaded pistol, orin his hurry he forgot it. With a guttural roar of discovery he seizeda big stone in both hands and raised it. But Herbert had climbed upwith an automatic only in his hand, leaving his rifle below. Now theweapon barked its protest and the rock was not sent crushingly downupon him. The young officer covered the other four men standing in abunch by a machine gun, their eyes, wide with surprise, glancing fromHerbert to their fallen comrade. Then their arms went up.
NOW THE WEAPON BARKED ITS PROTEST]
“Kamerad! Kamerad!” they shouted and there followed a string of wordsin their unmusical tongue. In a moment three Americans were at the topof the rocks and Herbert said:
“Gaylord, you’ve had your hand hit, eh? Hurt much? Too bad, old man,but that won’t put you out of the fight, will it? Thought not; knewyou’re the right stuff. Merritt, you hold these fellows until I tie upGaylord’s hand.”
A rapid job of first aid was made to a by no means serious wound; thenthere were further orders.
“Lucky it’s your left hand. Now then, leave your gun here; yourautomatic will be sufficient to induce these chaps to go ahead of youto the rear. Turn them over to the guard and get fixed up, old man.I’ll bring your gun along if you don’t come back for it.”
“I’ll be back, Lieutenant and find it. Come along, you Dutchies! Start’em, Merritt. Now then, march!”
“Come on, Merritt, we’ll catch up with the rest of our bunch,” Herbertsaid, well satisfied with what had just taken place, but glancingwoefully at the inert German lying among the rocks. The lieutenantclimbed down to the bottom of the little hill, his soldier after him;they reached the more level ground, parting the branches ahead beforeproceeding. A flash and the crack of a gun almost in Herbert’s ear,the poking of the muzzle of another weapon through a thick clump ofbushes all but in the young officer’s face. Quickly he stooped lowwith bending knees and at the very same instant a mauser blazed forthits fire, tearing away his hat. The boy fired his pistol directly inline with and beneath the enemy’s weapon and the rifle fell among thebushes. Herbert was about to rise when down on top of him came theweight of a falling man. He caught Merritt in his arms, straightenedup, then saw that his khaki-clad comrade’s face was ghastly and thathe was unconscious. Something warm, sticky, dark spread over thelieutenant’s hands and with a gasp the soldier lay still. Herbert hadliked Merritt, a boy only, no older than himself; thoughtful, studious,delightfully versatile, a writer of beautiful verses, many of whichhad been published, as had also some of his songs. Here was a youth ofgreat promise, but war, red war, was surely no respecter of persons.
“They’ve got to find him and get him out of here, and save him,”Herbert said aloud, at the same time looking sharply about to see ifany more Hun muzzles were being poked through the leafy screen. Theboy tenderly placed his comrade on the ground, gazed apprehensivelyfor a moment at the white face, then turned to find someone to go seekstretcher bearers, if such were yet near.
Herbert ran back toward the edge of the woods; a minute or two wouldthus be consumed. A man in khaki was coming toward him; with theparting of branches and the rounding of a young spruce the two cameface to face. The other, Herbert knew at once as the grouchy liaisonsergeant whom he had met half an h
our ago out on the hill.
“What, not running away, are you?” There was something more than asneer accompanying this speech. Instantly Herbert lost his temper.
“Keep a civil tongue! I’ll make you eat those words in a minute! Youchase yourself back and bring the _brancardiers_ here for one of mymen!”
“You can’t give me orders, Lieutenant. I get mine from men higherup. I’m on my way now to you from the field staff. Stop your men andwithdraw; they’re the orders. Pretty much everyone has them but you,and they are all halting the charge.”
“You can’t be correct. The orders were to go on till the bugle recall;then to----”
“Changed then. What can you expect, anyway? You heard what I said andif you know what’s what you’d better obey.”
“Something wrong about this. Give the orders to my captain, CaptainLowden.”
“Lowden’s killed, out there near the woods.”
“Is that true?” Herbert was shocked, saddened more and more.
“Don’t take me for a liar, do you?” queried the sergeant belligerently.Suddenly, hearing someone coming, he swung around and stared for amoment, then added quickly:
“Well, if you won’t believe me, you needn’t; it’s your own funeral.I did my duty so far and I’ve got to go on.” With that he turned andhastened away through the forest. Herbert had also turned, wonderingwhat it could all mean. Then he heard a familiar voice, cheery and glad.
“Oh you Herb!” and Don Richards, pistol in hand, was coming rapidlytoward him.
The Brighton Boys in the Argonne Forest Page 6
