by Gordon Bates
CHAPTER XI
IN THE FIRE TRENCH
Shortly before midnight, the columns of marching Khaki Boys reached avillage that lay practically in ruins. Passing through one neglectedstreet after another, the company leading was halted just at theturning of a street by an English major, astride a mettlesome horse.
"Who is in command of this company?" came the sharp query.
"Captain Reynolds, sir."
Saluting, a steel-helmeted officer stepped forward.
"Very good. See that every man in your command adjusts his gas mask atalert. All cigarettes must be thrown away."
A moment and both orders had been carried out.
"Forward march by platoons, fifty feet apart," was the next order. "Youwill be in range of shrapnel directly you leave here."
Obeying instantly, the first company passed on in the designatedorder. Turning the corner, it started down a road that led straight tothe front. It was followed by a second and so on, each company beingbriefly halted by the English major to receive similar instructions.
In silence, broken only by the thud of tramping feet, the twodetachments of Khaki Boys hiked steadily toward the trenches. Allrealized that at any moment the German guns might tune up. If the twodetachments reached the front-line trenches without "clicking" anycasualties, they would be lucky, indeed.
Perhaps for the time being they bore charmed lives. More probably,however, the foe was not aware of their advent into the trenches. Atany rate, not even a shrapnel shell was hurled at them by the Germanartillery.
Amid a hush so deep that each soldier could hear the beating of his ownheart, the Khaki Boys finally entered the zig-zagging communicationtrench, through which they must pass to reach the front-line trenchwhere they were to receive their first initiation into the hazards ofwar.
Now they were no longer marching in fours. In single file, six pacesapart, they plodded mutely along, their tired feet sinking deep intothe mud. In the trenches mud is seldom absent. It scarcely ever driesup sufficiently to make walking easy.
An hour from the time of entering the trenches, the Khaki Boys hadreached the front line of their sector, and had taken up theirpositions. Sadly in need of a little rest, the majority of the menseated themselves on the fire step. In the darkness a long line ofAmerican soldiers filed past them, on the way to another communicationtrench that would lead them away from the firing and back to billetsbehind the lines. These were the men whom the Khaki Boys had come torelieve.
In the front-line trench, however, a goodly number of veteran Americansstill remained to receive the new men and initiate them into themysteries of trench warfare.
Trying to catch satisfactory glimpses of the shadowy figures whichflitted past him in a long succession, Jimmy Blaise speculated as tohow long they had been on duty. He was amazed at the number still aliveand apparently unscathed. Remembering that, thus far, all night theguns had been silent, he decided that this was the reason why so manySammies were left to return briefly to billets. He wondered if as manymore were still left in the trench.
His thoughts turning to his bunkies, he wondered what they thought ofit all. A corporal in his platoon, he knew that Bob, at least, was notfar away. In the dense darkness, however, there was a small chance oflocating him.
He wondered, too, what time it was. It had been almost midnight whenthe marching men had been halted in the ruined village by the Englishmajor. It must be after two now. Perhaps the Germans would attack justbefore dawn. He had heard that with both sides this was a favorite hourfor attack. At that hour, a man's faculties were the least alert. Hewas less likely to give good account of himself.
Although he was anything but at home in his new environment, Jimmy wasrelieved in that he felt not in the least afraid. He had always hopedthat it would be thus. Yet he had never been quite sure of himself onthat point. He had always known that he should never be afraid in thecowardly sense of the word. Still, he had often pondered as to whetherhe would "have all his nerve with him" when the eventful front-linehour arrived.
He was rather surprised to find himself as "nervy" as ever. He almostwished that something would happen to break the deadly monotony aroundhim. Most of all he wished for daylight to come, so that he might takestock of his surroundings and perhaps "bump into" his bunkies.
The night wore on and nothing happened. With dawn came the order "standdown," and the two veteran sentries posted at each traverse alongthe line got down off the fire step. To them had fallen the task ofstanding there all night, heads above the top of the trench, eyesstraining into the darkness of "No Man's Land."
The passing of the word "stand down" was hardly more welcome to thetired sentries than to the newly arrived Sammies huddled along thefire step. It meant to the latter a certain relaxation from duty, anda chance to sleep until the order "stand to" saw them back in theirplaces on the fire step, ready for whatever might come to them.
Attempting to rise from the fire step, Jimmy discovered that every bonein his body ached. Crouching in a cramped position on a muddy ledgewas not conducive to great agility. Pulling himself together, SergeantJimmy went through a series of limbering-up exercises. Burdened by hisequipment, which he had not been allowed to remove, he was not verynimble at first. Soon he felt his muscles growing more flexible underthe persistent treatment he gave them.
Very promptly he saw to it that his men went through a similar set ofmovements, which did them all good. To his delight, he found Bob onlya few men away from him. The latter's face looked rather wan, but hisblack eyes were bright and snapping as ever.
"Some night," cheerily greeted Bob, as Jimmy hurried over to him."Nothing like a fire step for solid comfort--not. Thought the Fritziesmight send over a hot shot or two for a welcome. Nothing doing inDutchyland, though."
"Don't worry. We'll get ours soon enough. Maybe to-day. Still, we mightbe here quite a while before anything happened. The Boches aren't quiteso ready as they used to be to keep hammering the Allies. They'velearned a few lessons since this war began.
"Here comes our coffee!" exclaimed Bob. "I certainly am ready for it."
Glancing up the trench, he had spied two men coming down the line,bearing huge pots of the steaming beverage.
"The Tommies may have their tea for breakfast, but coffee for Blazesevery time!"
With this emphatic comment, Jimmy proceeded to extract from hishaversack the large metal cup belonging to his mess kit. Along with ithe brought out the remaining sandwich of the two issued to him on theday previous. It was to be his breakfast.
Bob made room for him on the fire step, and the two settled themselvesto await the coming of the coffee men.
Very soon they were hungrily munching their sandwiches, and enjoyingthe strong, black coffee, which was, indeed, welcome. It warmed themthrough and through, and put new life into their chilled bodies.
"I'd give a good deal to see the fellows," sighed Jimmy, as, hisbreakfast finished, he stood up and stretched himself. He was feelingdecidedly better, and very wide awake. "Wonder if we dare go up or downthe lines a little way."
"You're a sarge. You can travel around, I guess, with no come-back.I wouldn't want to risk it, though. This front-line business doesn'tcarry many privileges."
"Even so, we can't stick to the fire step all the time. We have tosleep in the dugouts, and when it's quiet we'll be allowed to hangaround in them. It's at night that we'll have to do most of our work, Isuppose."
"Yes, I presume so. After we get used to this trench system we'll knowbetter how to manage our affairs," was Bob's sage opinion. "We'll haveto ask these fellows who are here to help us all about what to do."
Breakfast over and quiet still continuing, the men were ordered to thedugouts for rest.
Earlier in the great war, the heroes of Ypres, Mons, the Marne, and ofother memorable battles, found trench life almost unendurable. Sincethen trench conditions have changed for the better. To-day there areplenty of dugouts, trench platforms, and many other conveniences whichhelp to m
ake the men on trench duty vastly more comfortable than of old.
After seeing that his men were made as comfortable as possible, Jimmyaccompanied Bob to one of the dugouts, and flung themselves wearilydown on the narrow canvas cots provided for their rest. Just beforeentering the dugout, however, both had gone a little way up and downthe line in search of their bunkies. Failing to find them, and sadly inneed of rest, they had agreed to postpone the search until later.
How long they slept neither knew. Both were awakened by a thunderousroar that threatened to split their eardrums.
Instantly springing from their cots, they made a dash for the dugout'sopening, along with the rest of the men it contained. All knew what hadhappened. The enemy had at last been heard from.
Among the first to gain the trench, Jimmy saw that a portion of theparapet on his right had been demolished. It had fallen into the trenchcompletely blocking it. His heart stood still as he saw at the edge ofthat heap of tossed-up earth an olive-drab arm moving feebly.
Others besides himself had now reached the scene, among them a veteranlieutenant who ordered a pick and shovel detail to get busy at once.
"Back to dugouts!" was his sharp order to the Sammies who had run tothe scene. "Don't expose yourselves unnecessarily."
Jimmy, however, was one of the digging detail. Seizing a shovel, hebegan to dig furiously into the soft earth. It yielded easily. Carefullest he strike the body of the buried soldier with the shovel, he soonhad enough of the smothering mud cleared away to expose the man's headand shoulders.
First sight of the victim's head, and Jimmy shuddered. The face underthe helmet was caved in, an unrecognizable, bloody pulp.
"Poor fellow," Jimmy muttered. "He got it pretty quick." He wonderedwho the man was. Not one of his men. They had all been in the dugoutwhen the crash came.
While he continued at digging the dead man out of his prison, the restof the detail were busy clearing the trench of the piled-up earth thatformed a blockade.
"It was a 'Minnie,'" one of the veteran diggers informed Jimmy.
"Minnie" means a high-power trench mortar shell, of German invention.It is used particularly by the Germans to demolish the Allied trenches.Its real name is "Minnenwerfer." It is especially deadly, as it makesno noise coming through the air. The English soldier is responsible forgiving it the name "Minnie."
"Funny they don't follow it up with some more," Jimmy observed to theman, as the latter stolidly wielded a pick.
Hardly had he spoken when a hail of bullets set in from an enemymachine gun. The Boches had begun to turn their energies to thecaved-in parapet. Occasionally a single bullet sped past the diggers,but none of them were hit.
By this time another detail, composed of green and seasoned men, wereengaged in filling sandbags with earth and passing them on to stillanother group who were rebuilding the parapet.
Farther down, a second deafening roar announced that another "Minnie"had burst in the trench. Jimmy wondered how much damage it had done.Already stretcher-bearers had come up on the double quick, and weretaking care of the shattered form which Jimmy had now released fromthe pinioning earth. They would bear it away through the communicationtrench to the rear. Presently it would be laid to rest in foreignsoil, and an identification tag would go speeding across the oceanto tell its own gruesome story to the Sammy's dear ones back home.Though he had not lived to fire even one shot at the Germans, he had,nevertheless, done his bit. He had died for his country.
