Part 7 (2/2)

”Well, I'm as sure as one can be of anything in this war,” was the answer in a whisper, all the talk being of that calibre. ”I crawled over until I could hear the sentries talking. Then I located a dugout.

The door was open and more talk floated out. I heard enough to tell me that the raid is going to be made just before daylight and on this position.”

”You mean where we are?” asked Bob.

”As nearly as I can tell,” answered Franz, whose knowledge of the German language had again done him and his friends such good service.

”Whew!” softly whistled Jimmy. ”We'd better get word to the K.O. in a jiffy. You'll get blue streaks, though, Schnitz, for disobeying orders.”

”Oh, I guess not,” was the easy answer. ”It'll all be forgotten in the excitement. I just had to go out. I heard where you fellows were stationed on listening post and I started out with the intention of crawling back to your position. Hit it, too; didn't I?”

”That sneeze came near causing you to be hit, and with something harder than a rubber ball,” said Jimmy grimly. ”Bob? you'd better go back with him and let him tell his yarn to the captain. He doesn't know the pa.s.sword, and I'll have to stay here on duty. But hurry back and let me know what the word is.”

”Right-O!” a.s.sented Bob, and a moment later he and Franz were stumbling back over the rough ground, and through the rain and darkness, toward the dugout where the officer in charge of that particular sector was on duty. A captured German dugout had been taken over, and such comforts as it afforded were utilized.

Just as Franz had surmised, the import of the news he brought in wiped out his offense against orders. He told in detail what he had overheard, and quick, sharp commands were at once sent out over the telephone, for the engineers had hastily strung wires when the advanced posts had been taken by the onrus.h.i.+ng American doughboys.

And the information Franz had secured by his bold act proved correct in every detail. The Germans, smarting under their defeat, were determined on revenge. The raiding party came over--but they found the Americans ready.

It was not a large raid, not as large as Franz, in his enthusiasm, had intimated. And it was evidently undertaken to get back the commanding position occupied by that part of the 509th to which the five Brothers were a.s.signed.

But with the advent of the foe the Americans opened such a fire from rifles, hand grenades and light artillery, while the scene was illuminated by flaring lights, that the Huns were almost completely wiped out. A number of prisoners were taken, for the Boches, once they found the tide of battle going against them, threw down their guns and cried: ”_Kamerad_!”

Sharp as was the fighting, it was only a slight incident in the great war. Such skirmishes, or trench raids, were occurring all along the Western front every night. But slight as it was it took the lives of several gallant American lads, and a number were wounded. Roger Barlow received a slight flesh wound, but he refused to go back to the dressing station, insisting on getting back into the fight when his hurt had received first-aid treatment.

”The only trouble was, though,” Roger said later, ”that the sc.r.a.p was all over when I got back from the first-aid post. Pity you fellows couldn't have kept it going until I could join you.”

”Better to have it over with sharp and sudden than drag along,”

replied Jimmy. ”They killed poor Baker right in front of me,” he added, naming a ”bunkie” of whom he and the five Brothers were very fond. ”I might just as well have received that bullet.”

”Yes. It's a queer world,” mused Bob. ”If it hadn't been that Franz went out against orders and got information, we might all be dead now.”

And this was true.

Once more silence settled down over the trenches, but it was now almost morning, and with the breaking of dawn the rain that had been a drizzle all night settled into a steady downpour.

”Not much fighting to-day,” decided Roger, when the four Brothers were at breakfast together--and a cold breakfast at that, for there was no fuel to heat the coffee, though word went around that the traveling kitchens were on their way toward the trenches.

Roger was right. Each side consolidated its positions, and each seemed waiting for what the other might do. This state of affairs continued for three days, during which the rain lasted. Save for an occasional artillery duel at night, precipitated often by some nervous sentry firing his rifle, there was no actual battle.

At the first chance, when he was off duty, Jimmy secured permission to go back to their former headquarters.

”I want to find out about Iggy if I can,” he said, ”and also make inquiries about Sergeant Maxwell and that money I owe you fellows.”

”You don't owe it to us!” declared Roger.

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