The Khaki Boys Over the Top by Gordon Bates (page 2)

TRAPPED

Characteristic it was of the lieutenant to ask who would come with him. American officers do that. A German would have said “Go!” The American said “Come!”

And characteristic it was of the Sammies that everyone within the sound of the young officer’s voice answered, as one:

“_I will_!”

“Keep your heads down! You may get them knocked off soon enough when the rush comes,” went on the lieutenant, for in their eagerness to answer and be selected for the dangerous mission, some had partly raised themselves from their prone positions.

“There’s no question but that’s a German machine-gun in that old mill; is there?” asked the lieutenant.

“Here’s one of the bullets, sir,” replied Roger, tossing over one that had penetrated the earth near where he was lying, and come out after striking a stone. “That’s a bit of Hun lead all right.”

He tossed it over to the officer, who was stretched out in the young, green grain near by.

“Yes, that’s German all right,” was the answer. “It’s larger than ours. I thought perhaps some of our men might have gone in there to pepper the Huns. Well, we’ve got to get it–that’s all.”

“And soon, too,” murmured Jimmy. “Whew! This is fierce!”

A hail of lead from the weapon in the old red mill drew this exclamation from him. Fortunately the men were low enough to escape the worst of the firing, but some were wounded and one killed.

“There’s two guns in that mill, sir!” called Franz, who was lying near Bob. “They’re both firing together.”

“You’re right,” was the lieutenant’s comment. “Well, so much the more work for us to do. How many of us are here?”

It developed, by an improvised roll call, that there were fifteen, including our five Brothers. With the lieutenant who was in immediate command, there were sixteen.

“We’ll all go!” was the officer’s decision. “Fill your magazines, get your hand grenades where you can reach ’em and be ready for the rush. It’s got to be a rush, and I hope it lasts long enough for some of us to get there,” he added soberly. “Boys, it’s a desperate chance we’re taking, but a machine-gun nest there may hold up the advance. Maybe it is holding it up. We’ve got to clean out the red mill!”

“We’re with you!” cried Jimmy and the others.

And, as he spoke and the others cheered their assents, there came another burst of fierce fire from the machine-guns hidden in the old red mill. But there was too much elevation and the bullets, this time, flew harmlessly over the backs of the Yanks.

“Now for it!” cried the lieutenant. “They may have to put in a fresh belt of cartridges, or the guns may have heated or jammed. We’ll take a chance. We’ll make three lines of five each. I’ll lead one, and there’ll be six in that. Blaise, you take four men, and Simpson, you take four. We’ll spread out–fan shape–and don’t stand upright–run crouching. Now, Blaise and Simpson, pick your men, and give me the word when you’re ready.”

Of course Jimmy picked his four Brothers, and they crawled up behind him, ready for the word. Sergeant Simpson, a brave but somewhat reckless lad, had four of his own choosing, and there were five who crawled over to line up behind the lieutenant.

“All ready?” asked the officer. “Ready,” answered Jimmy, and the other leader gave a like reply.

“Then come on, and may we all live to get there!” cried the gallant officer.

He arose to a crouching position and started to run toward the red mill, followed by Jimmy and his four, and Simpson and his quartette. And, as they rushed on, the automatic guns cut loose again.

The dust in the grain field rose in little spurts as the bullets struck, and the rattle of the spiteful machine-gun made a chorus with the snapping and popping of the American rifles. For Jimmy and the others fired from the hip as they ran.

They could not hope to do much execution on the German gunners, protected as the latter were by the old mill. But some chance bullet, entering through crack or crevice, might end the activity of one or more of the Hun crews. It was the only thing to do, however, until they could come to hand grips–to cold steel–with the hidden Boches.

“Come on! Come on!” cried the lieutenant.

“Come on! Come on!” echoed Jimmy and Simpson.

They were nearing the red mill now. They could see no one in it, but the sight of two windows, on either side of the big, open door, seemed to give evidence of the location of the machine-guns. Smokeless powder was being used, but there was a thin film of smoke, for all of that, and this smoke floated from the two windows.

“There they are!” cried the lieutenant. “Come on, boys, we have ’em now!”

But the glory of it was not to be–for him. Hardly had the words left his mouth than he crumpled up, rolled completely over and lay still. Afterward a dozen bullets were found in his body.

But the others halted not. The man immediately behind the fallen lieutenant leaped over his lifeless body and led the advance, as Jimmy and Simpson were doing.

They were close to the mill now. They could see the flashes of fire coming from the guns which were shooting through the windows. And the fire was deadly. Jimmy heard a yell from Franz, who was directly in his rear. He did not dare stop or turn around but he shouted:

“Done for, Schnitz?”

“Only one finger nipped,” was the grim answer. “Go on! We’re with you!”

One machine-gun concentrated on Simpson and his four gallant lads, and, in less time than it takes for you to read these words, the five lives were snuffed out.

“Come on! Come on!” yelled Jimmy. He was so mad with rage he hardly knew what he was saying or doing. He saw a German face at one of the windows. Quickly he fired. The face turned crimson with blood and disappeared.

Mason, who was leading the other four, since the death of the lieutenant, stumbled and fell twenty feet away from the red mill. One of his companions assumed the lead of the three who were left, and Jimmy and his four chums now converged with these four in a rush toward the open portal.

They were now out of range of the guns, which could not be turned at such an angle as to rake them. But hard fighting was yet to come.

“Wait!” shouted Jimmy, as he reached the threshold of the door, and saw, to his left, a group of Huns about a gun that seemed to have jammed. And not all the Huns were alive, either, showing that the fire of the attacking party had done part of its work.

With a quick motion Jimmy threw a hand grenade into the midst of the German crew, at the same time falling back himself behind the door post, and pushing Bob, who was now next him, into the same safe position.

There was a roar as the grenade burst, and smoke, for the moment, obscured the scene. When it was blown away, drifting through the doors and windows, there was no longer a German machine-gun crew, and all that remained of the gun was torn and twisted metal.

Jimmy’s quick action with the hand grenade had saved fierce fighting for possession of the weapon. But the other remained–the second on the other side of the main door of the mill. To this some of the gallant lads gave their attention. With wild yells they rushed at the German crew, and to their credit–if credit it be–let it be said that these Huns did not cry “_Kamerad_!” They were ready for a fight and they got it. It was a case of cold steel, and there were no better exponents of that mode of fighting than the American lads.

There was a short and bloody conflict and then it was over. But at sad cost to the attacking party. Of the sixteen that had started to wipe out the machine-gun nest in the old red mill, the five Brothers alone were left alive, and, save for slight flesh wounds, which all of them had, they were not seriously injured. No, I am not quite correct in saying that only these five were left alive. There was one other, a lad named Blakeley from New Jersey. But he was so badly wounded, by a bayonet thrust from a German, that his death was only a question of minutes.

He managed, before he passed away, to whisper a message to his loved ones at home, and this Jimmy Blaise undertook to send by letter.

“And now, let’s see what’s next to do,” murmured Roger, when the dead lad had been reverently laid with the other Americans killed in the mill.

“I don’t believe we’re going to have much choice,” said Jimmy, grimly, as he pointed through the window.

“Why?” asked Roger.

“The Germans have surrounded the place,” was the answer. “We’re trapped–that’s why!”

CHAPTER X

FALLING WALLS

For a moment Jimmy’s companions did not quite understand him. Was he perpetrating some grim joke, or had he received an injury on the head that made him irresponsible?

Suddenly the concussion of a heavy gun shook the mill, making the old walls rattle and sending up little clouds of grain dust from nooks and crannies where it had gathered for many peaceful years.

“The Germans have surrounded us?” cried Roger. “Do you mean that?”

“Look for yourself,” said Jimmy, and his very calmness as he pointed from the window seemed to indicate that he was master of himself.

His four companions looked as he indicated. Rolling down from the hills, which surrounded the little valley in which the mill was located, were ranks of gray-clad men; Huns beyond a doubt. And they were coming in force.

“Do you suppose they are after us?” asked Bob, and he was quite surprised when his four chums burst into laughter. No, I am wrong. Only three of them laughed–Roger, Jimmy and Franz. Iggy looked on almost as uncomprehendingly as did Bob, but Iggy was staring at a dead German on the floor of the mill–a German he had killed by a bayonet thrust from behind, when that same German was about to fire his revolver, pointblank, at Roger. Iggy was filled with many emotions as he looked at his work–work undertaken and carried out for Liberty.

“What’s the matter?” asked Bob, a bit nettled. “Doesn’t it look as though they were after us?”

“I don’t know why I laughed,” confessed Jimmy. “Sort of nervous, I guess. But the idea of a German army, or at least several divisions, coming to capture us five struck me as funny.”

“Well, you said we were being surrounded!” protested Bob.

“Well, I meant it, too. But in a general way,” went on Jimmy. “I don’t suppose the Huns know we are here. Of course they may realize it after they find out we’ve silenced the machine guns. But for the present this seems to be a big advance. I guess there’s going to be some fierce fighting. They’ve brought up some of their reserves to stop our progress, and by the fortunes of war, we’re caught in a back current.”

“You mean none of our fellows are here?” asked Roger.

“None that you can see,” went on Jimmy. “I guess we sort of over-ran our objective. There must have been a withdrawal and we didn’t know it.

“We were too intent on capturing this mill. And we did, though it wasn’t easy. And now the Germans are coming on, and–well, if we can stay here long enough, and keep hidden, we may get out of it yet. But–“

He shrugged his shoulders. It was too much of a question for him to solve.

“But I don’t see that we are completely surrounded,” declared Franz, hopefully, as he gazed from the window.

“Sure not!” broke in Iggy, who now began to comprehend, in a measure, what was in the wind. “We may out run by der back door yet.”

“Not a chance,” declared Jimmy. “Look over there!”

He pointed in the direction where their own lines were supposed to be located–where they probably were, for it was from there that the lads had come in the rush during the gas attack. But now the way over which they had hastened, amid fire and smoke and death and wounds, was occupied by a line of gray. The Germans had slipped down from the left flank and had cut off the retreat of the five Brothers in the mill. And as the advancing army was coming on in the shape of a huge semi-circle toward the mill it can easily be seen that if the boys were not exactly surrounded it was so near that perilous situation as to be what is called a distinction without a difference.

For a moment, after they had comprehended the situation to which Jimmy had called their attention, they were all silent. Then Iggy caused another laugh by remarking.

“Well, I eat me now. I haf some of my rations and I hear where is water running yet. Always in our countries where is a mill is water. Of a dryness I am, and water is good for of a dryness.”

“That’s the truest thing you’ve said in a long while!” cried Jimmy, clapping his chum on the back. “Fellows, we’d better eat and drink while we can. We have our emergency rations, and, as Iggy says, there must be water where there’s a mill. It isn’t a wind one and there’s no steam or electricity here yet. Let’s get ready for a siege.”

“Do you really think they know we’re here?” asked Bob, and he pointed out toward the advancing German army.

“To be perfectly frank, I don’t,” said Jimmy. “I think the situation is just this–but let’s go get washed up a bit, and then we can eat and talk. I’m as dry as a bone, and this–well this place isn’t just the most inviting,” and he could not repress a shudder as he looked at the death and devastation all about them. The bodies of the killed Germans were sprawled in all positions, some even resting on the guns. Then, too, there were bodies of the companions of the five Brothers. As Jimmy said, it was no place to eat and talk.

They found where the mill stream came down the flume to turn the wheel, and there they washed and drank, and then, finding a room where the miller had evidently lived, they sat down to make what meal they could. And as they ate the Germans advanced down the hills to occupy the valley in which was located the old red mill.

“Now let’s hear your opinion, Blazes,” called Bob.

They all seemed instinctively to turn to Jimmy as a leader now. Nor was this the first time.

“Well, I think we’ve seen the last of some Germans and the first of others,” he began.

“Sounds like a puzzle,” commented Bob.

“It may turn out to be before we get through with it,” was Jimmy’s grim reply. “But here’s the situation as I see it. You know we started, some days ago, to drive back the Huns. To a certain extent we succeeded. Then came a lull, and that ended when they launched an attack to-day–an attack with the gas as a preface.

“We did our best then, and I guess we must have rolled back part of a wing of one of the German divisions. But our particular sector was halted, and we seem to have gone on too far, or else the others got orders to retreat, and we didn’t, and here we are.

“Now I think the two German machine-gun crews that were in this mill were probably what was left of the force our boys succeeded in wiping out. They had orders to stay as long as possible to delay our advance, and they stayed–got to give ’em that credit.

“But we just had to wipe ’em out, and we did. That’s to our credit. This seems to be the last of some not very large German force that started the game this morning. And now comes a much larger force,” and he indicated the Hun hordes rolling down the slopes. “It was probably the knowledge of the advance of this big body of troops that caused the retreat, or halt, of our main force. We’re probably waiting for reserves, or we may be playing a deeper game–to get the Huns in this valley and clean ’em up.

“That, of course, is up to the General Staff. But that doesn’t change our position. We’re here, but I don’t believe those Huns know it. The army, or division, or whatever it is, that’s coming on now may not even know that this mill, for a time, was held by some of their own men. Though, of course, later, when orders and instructions are interchanged, this fact will come out.

“But before then I hope we’ll either be out of here, or in a position to give a better account of ourselves,” went on Jimmy, who was sitting on a box, munching part of his rations, and drinking from an old tin cup he had found.

“What’s that mean?” asked Franz.

“Well, either we can escape, or our boys will drive these Huns back, and in that case we’ll be all right. I admit it’s going to be a ticklish proposition to escape from here though,” and Jimmy went to an upper window and took another observation.

“Are they closing in?” asked Bob.

“They seem to have halted,” replied Jimmy. “At least the center has. The two wings are coming on like a pair of pliers getting ready to nip us between the jaws.”

“Ach! Den will dey squeeze us?” asked Iggy.

“If they know we are here I suppose they’ll try it,” declared Jimmy. “But maybe we can inflict a few bites before they crush us! Fellows, we’d better look to the defense. How much ammunition have we?”

“Mighty little!” declared Roger, gloomily. “I fired about all I had coming on in the rush.”

“Same here,” admitted Bob.

“Maybe a machine-gun yet we could shoot,” suggested Iggy. “One only was bust by your grenade, Jimmy. Maybe one iss–“

“By Jove! He’s right!” cried Jimmy. “I never thought of that. If worst comes to worst we may, for a short time, turn the German’s own gun on ’em. Come on and we’ll take a look.”

To the delight of the Khaki Boys the second machine-gun was in good order, and there was considerable ammunition left.

“But can we work it?” asked Bob.

“Let me take a look,” suggested Franz. “I saw something of ’em when they had me a prisoner.”

“Something good may come of that, after all,” cried Jimmy. “Here you go, Schnitz, take a look.”

This Franz did, and presently reported that there was no reason why they should not work the German gun. Accordingly it was freed from the dead Huns about it, and the ammunition was overhauled. There was also some ammunition for the German rifles that had fallen from the dead hands of their owners, and this, together with the guns, was collected.

In addition to this the lads had a few rounds left for their own rifles, though, as Roger had said there was very little available. They had fired fast and fiercely in the rush on the old mill.

“Let’s look around and see if the Huns had any food they didn’t gobble,” suggested Roger. “That ration of mine was only a sample.”

A look from the mill windows showed that the advancing German army had no present intentions, as far as could be judged, of attacking the red mill. They did not seem to be paying any attention to it.

So far there had been a total absence of either artillery or rifle fire. The advance had been made silently and comparatively quietly. On either side of the mill, in the far distance, and to the rear, however, were dull rumblings and booms that told of war’s activities.

Greatly to their relief, the lads found quite a store of food the Germans had put away, evidently in preparation for a long stay in the mill. It was not food of the best quality, but it was better than nothing, they all agreed. And there was water in plenty.

“If they come at us we’ll fight as long as we can,” decided Jimmy, which was the sentiment of all, “and we’ll live to the best of our ability meanwhile.”

“But they don’t seem to be going to attack,” ventured Roger. “They look to me as though they were settling down for a long stay. I can’t see ’em digging trenches yet, but maybe there are some already dug.”

While getting the food and ammunition in readiness, and dragging back the dead bodies out of the way, the boys occasionally looked from the mill windows. As Roger had said, the army appeared to have come to a halt, both the center and the wings.

The Khaki Boys had just finished binding up their minor hurts, and were talking of their chances for escape, when there suddenly sounded outside a whine, a scream and a mingled roar.

The next instant there was an explosion that threw them all flat from the force of the concussion, and a terrific noise deafened them. They seemed to be at the ending of the career of this part of the old earth as they saw the whole front wall of the red mill collapse, falling as though sliced off by a gigantic cleaver.

CHAPTER XI

A STRANGE RESCUE

Stunned by the concussion, half choked by the clouds of dust and smoke, terribly jarred when they had been felled by the force of the explosion just outside the mill, our five heroes lay, for several seconds, totally unable to stir. Had there been a rush of Huns on them at that moment, or had some following explosion endangered the mill, they would not have been able to move to save themselves.

But, for a time, there was no further explosion, so that the Khaki Boys had a chance to recover their breath, and, what was more important in their perilous situation, gather their no less scattered wits.

“What–what in the name of the great Attila himself was that?” gasped Roger.

“I think it was yet a gun what went off,” mildly said Iggy.

“A gun? Say, it must have been the grandfather of all the cannon the Huns ever made,” declared Jimmy. “Are any of you alive?”

“Guess we’re all alive,” answered Bob, as he slowly arose and shook some of the dust from him. For the dust was thick all over, in clouds and scattered about. Some of it was flour dust and other was the lime and mortar that had held together the front wall which had collapsed and slid outward. The whole front of the mill was open.

There was no doubt about their all being alive, but, for a time, even this had been in doubt. They were still stunned, but they managed to gather in a knot about Jimmy. They were hardly able to breathe, partly because of the shock and partly because of the choking dust.

“There goes our defense,” said Bob, gloomily, pointing to where the machine-gun stood–the one they had decided to use against their enemies. It had been crushed by the falling wall.

“Lucky we had the rations in the back room,” commented Roger, “Else we’d go hungry.”

“We may yet,” returned Jimmy, grimly.

“What do you mean!” asked Bob, anxiously.

“Well, I don’t believe that was a chance shot,” went on the young sergeant. “If they see the mill still standing they may try another, and that may take off the roof. And then—-“

“Whoa! Hold on a minute! A little at a time!” protested Bob. “This is enough. Don’t give us any more.”

“We’ve got to know where we’re at!” declared Jimmy, and there was a new quality to his voice. “If this mill is within range of the German guns, and, unquestionably, it is, we’ve got to get out.”

“Or go down cellar,” added Roger.

“I don’t believe any cellar, unless it was double bomb proof, would be safe if another shell like that came over,” said Franz.

“Was it a German shell or one of ours?” asked Bob. “That would be interesting to know. I don’t suppose, though,” he went on, “that it really makes much difference, after you’re dead, whether you’re killed by an enemy shell, or by one fired in mistake by one of your friends. At the same time if the American guns have come up it may mean that the Germans will have to retreat and we’ll be safe.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” declared Jimmy. “It will mean a big battle, anyhow, if the Americans and some of the French and British have come up. And that may mean we’ll have a chance to join our friends. But, in the meantime, maybe we can tell whether that was a Hun shell, sent to blow this mill off the earth, or whether it was from the good old United States.”

Cautiously they advanced across the floor, toward what had been the front of the mill. Caution was necessary, for with the collapse of the front wall and part of the sides, the floor supports were weakened.

“No telling where that shell landed,” declared Bob. “It’s buried deep, and about ten tons of mortar and bricks are on top of it. If we had seen it coming—-“

“Look out–duck!” suddenly yelled Franz, as he grabbed Jimmy, who was nearest him and darted toward the rear of the structure.

“What’s the matter?” cried Bob.

“Another shell coming!” shouted Franz, and, even as he spoke there was that horrid screeching sound. “Duck!”

Together they ran to the farthest corner of the old mill. Whether it would have been better to have tried to get out none of them stopped to think. They were in a panic.

And then came the explosion, but so distant that it caused no more than a mere rumble of the ground, and a faintly-felt concussion of the now tottery building.

“Missed us that time,” declared Roger. “But they’re getting our range.”

“No, they didn’t fire at us,” declared Franz. “If they had they would have hit us, for undoubtedly the gunners know the effect of that first shot. The Huns aren’t shooting at us purposely.”

“Do you mean that shell came from a German battery?” asked Bob.

“It did,” affirmed Franz. “I saw the puff of smoke from a battery on the hill where the Germans are grouped. Then I knew they were firing in our direction. But of course I couldn’t see the shell, and I didn’t know where it would land. But I didn’t want to take a chance. That either went over or fell short. But there’s no question, now, as to where the firing is coming from–it’s from the German lines.”

“Then there’s no chance for us,” said Roger, gloomily.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” declared Franz. “They don’t know we’re here, and they evidently aren’t firing directly at this mill. They may be using it to get the range, and that’s why they dropped the first shell here. But we still have a chance.”

“I don’t see it!” declared Bob. “We can’t get out–surrounded as we are by the enemy, and if we stay here another chance shell may wreck the place.”

“Better as we noathing do, maybe; eh?” suggested the Polish lad.

“I guess you’ve struck it,” assented Jimmy. “There isn’t very much we can do. We might take a chance and sneak out, but I think very likely, the Germans are well supplied with glasses. They are, most certainly, watching this mill, if for no other reason than that it’s so conspicuous. If we run out they’ll be sure to spot us, and it would mean capture sure.”

“Then what do you, advise, Blazes!” asked Roger.

“That we see if there’s a chance of getting down in the cellar and staying there. Some of these old mills had very thick foundation walls. I don’t know just how long this one will stand up if many more such shells as the first one came over, but we can try it. In fact, it seems to be our only chance.”

“All right–to the cellar!” cried Bob. “And don’t forget to take with us what food and water we can. Maybe we’ll be held there some time. If there’s a big battle it may last several days, though if our boys drive back the Huns we’ll take the opportunity to slip out and join our friends.”

“That’s right,” agreed Jimmy. “Just think, fellows, what’s happening to us now may have happened to poor Maxwell. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t been heard from. If we don’t come back they’ll list us as missing, and no one will know whether we’ve run away, been killed or captured. So we’ll have to suspend judgment on the man that’s got our thousand dollars.”

“That’s so,” agreed Franz. “I never looked at it in just that way. We never thought this would happen to us, any more than I thought I’d be captured.”

They were gathering up such food as remained to them, and Bob was looking for something in which to carry some water to the cellar, when there came again that nerve-racking screech, followed by a roar and bang that seemed to knock the very bottom out of the world itself.

And this time the boys were conscious, for a brief instant at least, that the old mill was gone. It seemed to fall apart, to disintegrate, to crumble like some time-worn structure. And then all five of the lads lost consciousness and seemed to be slipping down into everlasting blackness, while all about them fell and rattled and banged stones, bricks, mortar-dust and dirt, mingled with cracked and splintered wood.

It was Iggy who first recovered his senses. Whether he was less shocked, or whether his nerves were in such a state from his recent experience as to make his unconsciousness of shorter duration, does not matter. The fact is he opened his eyes. And he was at once conscious that he was held down by the weight of much debris. It was on his legs and on his body, but his arms and head were free.

“Ach! Back again am I in de shell hole! It was a dream, yes, that I was taken out!” exclaimed the poor Polish lad. “It a dream must of been! I shall sleep again!”

But as he was closing his eyes, for he really, as he said later, thought that he was back in the shell hole, he saw Jimmy, who was half buried near him, moving slightly.

“Oh, Jimmy Blazes! And dey kill you, too!” sighed Iggy. “How sorry I am we both deat are alretty!”

“Who’s dead?” asked Jimmy, in a faint voice. “I’m not, anyhow, but blamed near it. Is that you, Iggy?”

“Yes, I it is. But I know not if I am deader or aliver.”

“Take my word for it–you’re alive so far, though how long you’ll be that way–or me, either–I can’t say,” said Jimmy. “What happened, anyhow?”

To Iggy’s relief Jimmy managed to scramble out of the pile of dirt and stones that half buried him. And then, from another corner of what seemed to be the cellar, a third voice said:

“They sent over a proper shell, that time.” It was Franz.

“A _proper_ shell? Most _improper_, I call it!” came from Roger. “It blew the mill to pieces!”

“And us along with it,” added Bob. “Are we in the cellar?”

“Sub-cellar, basement–anything you like to call it!” put in Jimmy. “But is it possible that none of us is seriously hurt?”

He walked over a pile of masonry and beams. He saw Bob crawling out of a hole and Franz swinging himself down from what appeared to be a ledge. Roger picked himself up from a corner. Only Iggy seemed to be seriously hurt, but it was demonstrated, a few moments later, that he was not. For he scrambled out, scattering the dust in a cloud, and stood with his chums.

They were a sorry sight–covered with dust and streaks of blood, for the wounds they had bound up had opened again, and they had many fresh scratches and cuts.

“It’s very evident what happened,” declared Jimmy. “They must have dropped a shell on the roof, and it blew the mill right down into the ground, and us with it. We’re in the cellar–or what was once the cellar.”

“And the next question is, how to get out,” added Bob.

“Hark!” exclaimed Jimmy, holding up a warning hand.

There was silence, broken by a faint, crackling noise.

“Do you think you hear the German guns, or ours!” cried Bob.

“Neither one,” said Jimmy, and there was a curious note in his voice. “What I hear–and what you’ll all hear, soon–is the crackling of flames. The old mill–or what’s left of it, boys–is on fire!”

“Then let’s get out!” yelled Roger.

Jimmy looked about him, without moving. Above them there seemed to be a solid mass of torn beams and jumbled masonry. On either side there were stone walls–cracked walls, it is true, but, nevertheless, too solid to admit the passage of the Khaki Boys. And only on one side was there an opening, but this was so choked with debris as to make it seemingly impossible to make egress that way. And, as the young soldiers stood there, trapped under the collapsed mill, the sound of the crackling flames became more plain. They could smell, now, the smoke of burning wood.

“We’ve got to get out! We’ve got to get out!” yelled Bob.

He rushed to a place where, through a crisscross of beams and planks, he could see daylight. Yet, though there were openings, none of them was large enough to permit the passage of the smallest of the five Brothers. And the wooden beams and planks were all of extraordinary thickness.

“We’re trapped! Trapped! And the fire coming nearer!” half sobbed Bob.

And then he saw through the crisscross of beams, coming toward the burning mill, a man who seemed to be an American officer. And yet he wore no such uniform as Bob had ever seen before.

“Steady, boys!” cried this strange rescuer, as he glimpsed them. “I’ll soon have you out! Wait! Don’t bring the ruins down on top of you!”

CHAPTER XII

MUCH WONDERING

Through the splintered and tangled crisscross of beams, planks and boards which barred their way to freedom, as some iron grill or lattice work might have kept in some ancient prisoner, the Khaki Boys looked at the man who had shouted to them; the man who had said he would rescue them. And he spoke with a calmness and confidence that was in strange contrast to the scene of terror, noise and confusion which was behind the boys–a danger that was ever coming nearer as the fire, started by the exploding shell, ate its way into the dry timber of the old mill, and menaced the five imprisoned Brothers.

“Who is he?” murmured Bob.

“And where did he come from!” inquired Roger.

“Is he an American or German?” was the question Jimmy asked, and he peered out through a space between two big beams that had fallen and crossed when the mill collapsed.

“He isn’t a German–that’s sure,” declared Franz. “No German would be so decent as to rescue five imprisoned Americans. He’d let us roast to death first.”

“Maybe he knows not dat we American be,” suggested the Polish lad.

“Well, he wouldn’t have to be much of a guesser to tell that we weren’t Germans, after he heard us talk,” said Jimmy. “We might be of either nationality, as far as our being here is concerned. But no matter what he thinks we are, he seems to be willing to help. What’s he looking for, I wonder?”

The strange rescuer appeared to be looking about in front of the mill for some object. His eyes eagerly sought the ground, and he hurried to and fro, seeming to realize the need of haste.

“I’ll be there in just a moment, boys!” he called. “I’m looking for something to use in prying apart those beams. They’re pretty heavy, and I’ve got to work all alone. I’ll get you out in time!”

“Wonder how he knows we’re boys!” asked Bob.

“Oh, that’s a general term–he’d call us that if we were forty years old,” declared Jimmy. “And no matter how old a man is, if he’s in the army, he’s a boy. But I wish he’d hurry. It’s getting hot here!”

It certainly was! The fire was gaining rapidly, and, every now and then, with a shift in the wind, the hot, choking gases from the flames, together with rolling clouds of smoke, would be blown into the rude chamber where the boys were imprisoned.

When the smoke-clouds blew away the Khaki Boys could look out and see their rescuer, still hunting frantically about for some object to use as a lever. In spite of the danger of their situation they could not help observing the man. He was tall, and well formed, and unmistakably a military character. He appeared to be above the general type of captain or lieutenant.

“If he’s any less than a general I’ll eat my gas mask!” Roger declared afterward.

Clearly the man was born to command, or he had acquired that right in some manner. There was an indefinable air of authority about him, even though now he was hurrying about almost frantically, looking for some weapon with which to attack the barrier that held the boys prisoners.

“That sure is a queer uniform he has on,” remarked Jimmy, as he tried in vain to move some of the beams from his side of the mass of timber that had fallen when the mill was blown up. “It’s mostly American, but it has a British air about it.”

“And his leather puttees look like some the Germans wear,” added Bob. “Maybe he’s a war correspondent, and had to pick up bits of uniform from all over.”

“He isn’t a war correspondent,” declared Jimmy.

“What makes you so sure?” Roger wanted to know.

“Because, if he was, he’d have a brassard with a large letter ‘C’ on it, around his arm,” went on Jimmy. “And he wouldn’t have a big automatic revolver strapped to his hip, either. The correspondents are classed as non-combatants, and aren’t allowed to go armed.”

“That’s right,” chimed in Franz. “But who is he!”

It seemed useless to speculate then, and, indeed, the boys were in little mood for it. The precariousness of their position was alarming. And while I have detailed the conversation among them, you are to understand that it all took place very quickly. In fact from the time they first observed the strange rescuer, until they had talked about his odd uniform, was only about half a minute.

Suddenly the man–officer let us call him–who was scurrying about just beyond the jagged barrier, uttered a cry of satisfaction. He hurried out of the boys’ vision for a moment, but lest they have any fear that he had deserted them and left them to their fates, he called:

“I’ve found what I’ve been looking for–an axe! I’ll soon have you out now!”

He came running back, carrying an axe of curious make. It was a large, keen one, however, and later it developed that it was one the French miller had used to chop his firewood. Throwing off his coat, and revealing beneath it a dark blue shirt, the officer began fiercely to chop at the beams.

And the boys remembered afterward, though at the time they were too excited to mark it, that the officer picked out what might be called the “key” beam. That is one which held all the other pieces of jigged and splintered timber in place, making a prison of that part of the cellar.

With vigorous blows of the keen implement, the unknown chopped away at a great hand-hewn beam. And he swung the axe as though he knew how to use it, and not as a tyro.

“He’s been in a lumber camp at one time of his life,” decided Jimmy, and the others were inclined to agree with him.

The fire was now gaining so rapidly that the heat of it, penetrating to the prison of the boys, was almost unbearable. The smoke, too, made their eyes smart and burn, and it choked them, causing them to gasp and cough.

“Steady, boys! Steady!” panted the officer, between his vigorous blows. “A few more strokes and I’ll have this beam cut. Then I think you can get out.”

Again and again he swung the keen axe. Between the blows the boys could hear the sounds of distant firing, and the reverberation told them that heavy guns were being used.

“Hope they don’t send any more shells over this way,” murmured Bob.

“They seem satisfied, now that they have brought down the old mill on top of us,” commented Franz. “Can any of you see the German lines!”

None of them could, it developed. In fact, their vision was obstructed by a small hill directly in front of the grill work of their prison, and, even if this had been removed, the smoke was now swirling around them so thickly that, at times, even the officer chopping them out was obscured.

Once or twice the chopper had to stoop down, in order to breathe the purer and cooler air near the ground, and the boys were put to the same expedient.

And then, suddenly, there came a crashing, splintering sound. There was an exclamation from the officer, and, as he leaped back he cried:

“There she goes, boys! The way is as clear as I can make it! Come on out, and lively, too!”

The Khaki Boys lost no time in obeying. Leaping and scrambling as best they could over the heaps of brick, stone and splintered wood, they emerged through the hole cut for them by the officer. He had chopped through the one beam that held all the others, or most of the others in place, and the crisscross structure had collapsed, allowing the boys to escape.

“Come on! Come on!” cried Jimmy. “Everybody out!”

And they leaped out only just in time, for as Bob, the last to make his way to safety, cleared the jagged barrier, a burst of flames and smoke swept into what had been the boys’ prison.

Now they stood on the green grass, in the open, with the burning ruins of the mill at their backs. And confronting them, still holding the axe, and panting from his terrific exertions, was the strange officer.

And as the young soldiers looked at him they wondered, more than ever, who he was.

CHAPTER XIII

A PERILOUS JOURNEY

Almost at once there set in a reaction, as was natural under the circumstances. The Khaki Boys had been keyed up to such a high pitch through the battle, the attack on the hill, the subsequent shelling of it, and their own dangerous position after the collapse of the building, that now their rescue hardly seemed real.

“Say, I’m about all in!” exclaimed Bob, as he sank down on the grass.

“Same here,” agreed Jimmy, staggering to a seat.

“Take it easy, boys, take it easy,” counseled their rescuer. “And better come a bit farther away from the fire. The whole place is going, and the wind’s blowing strongly this way. We’re too much in line with it.”

He spoke the truth. The boys were enveloped, part of the time, in a haze of smoke and a swirl of burning brands. Tired, and physically and mentally exhausted as they were, they scrambled to their feet–for they had all stretched out on the grass–and made their way to a spot where they could breathe with freedom. The mill ruins were now burning fiercely.

“Any more left in there!” asked the officer, pointing with his axe towards the fiery structure.

“None alive,” answered Jimmy, as he thought of their brave comrades in arms who had perished in wiping out the German machine-gun nest. It was, perhaps, a fitting funeral pyre for them.

“Stay here and I’ll get you some water,” offered the blue-shirted officer. “That will fetch you around quicker than anything else. I can get you a little food, too, I think–emergency rations, if you need them.”

“We aren’t exactly hungry, sir,” said Jimmy, tacking on the “sir” in an almost certain opinion that the man was an officer. “We had some of our own rations, and we were eating when the Huns sent a big shell over that spilled the beans.”

“I see. Well, then, rest here until I can get you some water. Fortunately the Boches can’t blow up a stream. The water is sure to remain somewhere. It won’t take long to get it, I’ll be back in a moment.”

He hurried off between two little hillocks, away from the burning mill and in the direction of the stream.

“Who in the world is he?” asked Bob.

“It’s a puzzle,” said Jimmy. “We’ll ask when we thank him for saving our lives.”

“Here you are, boys,” said the officer, as he came up the slope with a canteen which gurgled most musically with water. “Drink this and then we’ll discuss what’s best to be done.”

“Are we safe here?” asked Jimmy. “Safe from the Germans, I mean? They’re all about here, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” said the officer, and there seemed to be more in his remark than the mere words indicated. “But you’re safe for the time being. They have destroyed the mill, so it is no longer a menace, they fancy. Their guns are directed elsewhere now.”

The sound of distant firing could be plainly heard, but the boys could no longer observe the gray ranks of the Huns on the distant hill. One reason for this was because of the smoke from the burning mill, which swirled about in all directions, and the other reason was that there was a lot of smoke caused by the guns of the Germans, and this, or perhaps a smoke screen which they started, concealed them.

“Feel better?” asked the officer, when the lads had emptied the canteen.

“Much,” answered Jimmy. “And now, sir, may we have the pleasure of knowing to whom we owe our escape? We’re from the 509th Infantry,” he went on. “We were in the battle, and got cut off. Our lieutenant had ordered us to take the mill where some Germans had two machine-guns. We five are all that are left of the sixteen that started. And we wouldn’t be alive but for you. So if we could know whom to thank–“

The officer stopped him with an imperious gesture. He looked rather stern, and then, as though conscious that this was not the attitude to take, he smiled.

“I’m glad I was able to serve you,” he said. “I happened to be in the neighborhood. I heard your cries after the mill collapsed and began to burn, and I hastened up. I had no time to summon help–in fact, your friends are rather distant from here now. The Germans are all about.”

“We know it–to our sorrow,” replied Bob. “How we are going to get back to our company is what’s worrying me.”

“It _is_ going to be a problem,” assented the officer.

“Are you coming with us?” asked Jimmy. It was a perfectly natural question. Here was one–by most appearances an American officer–marooned with some American doughboys in the midst of the Germans. Why should he not cast his lot with them, and lead them to the best of his ability to the safest place? He was an officer–there was no question of that–and it was his right to lead. But he seemed disturbed at Jimmy’s question. He looked searchingly at the boys, and then toward the distant hills where the Germans were massed, though not then in sight.

“No, I–I can’t come with you,” the unknown said. “I’m sorry, but you will have to shift for yourselves. I’ll give you the best directions I can to enable you to reach your own lines, but you’ll have to go alone.”

“We’ll try,” said Bob. “But we wish to thank you, and we don’t know–“

“Oh, it was all in the day’s work,” interrupted the officer, “Any one who came along would have done just as I did to help you.”

“Not anyone, sir,” asserted Franz, in a low voice. “A German wouldn’t have chopped us out.”

“Well–er–perhaps not,” said the officer. “But it was in my line of duty and I did it. I don’t want to be thanked for doing my duty.”

“But we insist on thanking you, sir!” exclaimed Jimmy with a smile. “If it hadn’t been for you we’d be dead in there now–it was impossible for us to free ourselves!”

“Well, you may call me Captain Frank Dickerson,” said the officer slowly. And he appeared to hesitate over the words.

“Then allow me, in the names of my companions, to thank you from the bottoms of our hearts!” exclaimed Jimmy, rising and saluting. The captain returned the salute. He stood for a minute looking Jimmy straight in the eyes, and the lad said afterward that the officer seemed to be searching out the sergeant’s very soul. Then Captain Dickerson said:

“I must leave you now. You will find a little package of food at the end of the mill flume. I’ll leave you this canteen so you may carry water with you on your journey toward your own lines. Your way lies there,” and he pointed to the south. “Good-bye–and good luck! I hope you may get through, but–“

Then, turning abruptly he strode off between two high grassy hummocks, and was soon lost to sight in the smoke and haze.

For a moment the khaki boys stood, motionless, and then Jimmy, looking around on the circle of his companions, exclaimed:

“Well, if that isn’t mysterious!”

“I should say so!” agreed Bob. “Talk about the man in the iron mask–this beats it!”

“Why doesn’t he come with us, toward the American lines?” asked Roger. “Why does he want to go over where the Huns are? This gets me. It looks as if he was—-“

He did not finish the sentence. But his chums knew what he had started to say. Only it seemed a terrible suspicion to which to give voice, against the man who had saved their lives. Still, with all that, the khaki boys could not help thinking in their hearts that there was something wrong.

“Maybe he’s going over there to scout around and see if that’s a better way for us to get back to our quarters,” suggested Bob.

Jimmy shook his head. Then he remarked slowly:

“Come on! Let’s see about food and water and then well hike. All our stuff–guns, rations and everything–has gone up in the fire.”

“I haf yet two off dem handle chranades,” spoke up Iggy, meaning, thereby the serrated Mills bombs which were used in the trench raids.

“Hold on to them!” advised Jimmy. “We’ll need them if the Huns see us, and they’re very likely to.”

They crawled to the end of the mill flume. The fire was now some distance from this wooden water carrier. There, in a canvas bag which the boys recognized as one of the variety carried by the Americans, they found a goodly stock of provisions.

“They’ll last us a day, anyhow,” said Jimmy, making an inspection. “And by that time we may be back in our lines.”

“Or in the Germans’,” voiced Bob.

“There’s a big battle going on all around us, but we seem to be in the center of a calm area,” said Roger. “The question is how to find our way out.”

“Well, let’s go!” suddenly exclaimed Jimmy. “Well only get lame and stiff staying here, I feel as if I’d been rolled down hill in a spiked barrel.”

Not one of the five Brothers but what had several wounds. But, fortunately, they were superficial ones. They were sore and bruised from being knocked down by the concussion, and by being precipitated into the cellar by the collapse of the mill. But they were still able to travel; though, as Jimmy said, if they remained inactive their muscles and joints would stiffen.

“Hike!” cried Bob, and they set off in the direction indicated by Captain Dickerson–that strange man who had seemed so cold and reserved, and who had made so light of what he had done in saving the lives of the Khaki Boys.

“I wonder if we’ll ever see him again,” mused Franz, as they marched away from the burning mill.

“Somehow I have a feeling that we will,” said Jimmy. And afterward he was to recall those words under strange circumstances.

And so they began what was destined to be a most perilous journey to get back to their own lines.

CHAPTER XIV

THE SENTRY

“Now, boys,” said Sergeant Jimmy, when they had dipped down into a hollow among the many hills in the big valley, “we’ve got to have some plan of action, and some system to this. We’ve got to have a leader, too. Military rule must prevail, even among friends.”

“You act as leader!” suggested Bob Dalton.

“That’s right!” chimed in all the others.

“We’ll make you captain, for the time being,” added Roger.

“Thank you for the honor,” said Jimmy with a smile. “I’ll wait, I guess, until my promotion comes regularly. But if you really want me to take the lead and–“

“Of course we want you!” exclaimed Franz, while Iggy added:

“Besser as we should have him for to leader us dan a Germans.”

“Well, I’m glad you think that much of me!” laughed Jimmy. “Now then, if I’m to lead I’ll have to give orders. And do you all agree to obey them–at least if they don’t seem against your better judgment?”

“We’ll obey ’em anyhow,” said Roger, and the others nodded assent.

“All right,” went on Jimmy. “The first thing to do is to calculate how long our rations will last. There’s enough for one day if we each took about all we wanted. Or there’s enough for two days, or more, if we stint ourselves.”

“Then we’ll go on a diet!” declared Bob. “There’s no telling how long we may be in getting back to our lines, and while we might be able to find something to eat along the way, it won’t do to take chances.”

“I thought you’d look at it that way,” said Jimmy. “As for water, it rains so infernally often in this country that I imagine we shan’t be thirsty. But we’ll always carry the canteen full. Now, then, I’ll appoint Roger as Secretary of the Interior–that is, I’ll make him the cook and give him charge of the rations,” and Jimmy handed the canvas bag of food over to his chum.

“There isn’t anything to cook,” said Roger, as he looked in the bag. “It’s all emergency ration stuff.”

“So much the easier for you,” declared Jimmy. “Now that’s settled, the next thing to decide is how to get to our lines.”

“Keep right on going the way Captain Dickerson told us,” suggested Bob.

“That’s what I want to consider,” Jimmy went on. “Do you all think that is the wisest course to follow?”

“Why in the world not?” asked Franz, in some amazement. “Didn’t he tell us to go south, and don’t we pretty well know that in that direction would be the most logical place for our troops to be?”

“I grant that,” replied Jimmy. “But if our lines are to the south, why did Captain Dickerson, who appears to be an American officer, go to the north! Why didn’t he come with us?”

“That’s starting the whole question over again,” declared Bob. “I say let’s take a chance and go south. The captain wouldn’t send us wrong after he went to all that trouble to save us alive.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” admitted Jimmy. “Well, though I’m leader I’m willing to abide by the majority rule. Since you all want to go to the south, the south it shall be.”

“Don’t you think that’s the best way?” asked Roger.

“Well, it’s as good, perhaps, as any other,” was the reply. “I think we’re pretty well surrounded by Germans, and it doesn’t really make much difference which way we go. So the south is as good as any.”

“Then lead on!” exclaimed Bob.

“Yes–hike!” added Roger.

And once more they started off.

Their way lay through what had once been a beautiful farming country. In places, still, there were fields under cultivation–that is, they had been cultivated up to within a few weeks. But the tide of battle had swept over the region and the French farmers had either been killed or had left their homesteads. Still, where the fields had not been torn up by shell fire, grains were growing, and there were even orchards here and there.

But, as far as the soldier boys could see, there was no sign of life. Even the birds seemed to have flown away. There were no chickens, no dogs, no cattle nor horses–in fact none of the usual farm scenes. Here and there were farmhouses, some in ruins, others scarcely touched by the devastating wave of war. But in these latter, which were still habitable, there were no men or women, and no laughing children. In fact, throughout France it is probable that there were no laughing children at this stage of the war. Or if they laughed, it was because they were too young to appreciate the menace of the Boche invasion.

“We may not be so badly off for food, even if we eat up all our Secretary of the Interior has,” remarked Bob, as they trudged along a deserted road. They had, some time since, left behind them the burning mill. It was out of sight, though they could catch occasional glimpses of the smoke from it.

“What do you mean!” asked Jimmy.

“Well, there may be a lot of good things to eat in some of these farmhouses,” suggested the young corporal. “I vote we take a look.”

“It can’t do any harm,” decided Jimmy. “But I doubt if we find anything worth taking.”

And he was right–at least in the first few houses the boys entered. The cupboards had been cleaned out, if not by the unfortunate owners, then by the Germans who had devastated the region.

“We’ll have to live on what we have,” said Jimmy. “And we may not be so badly off for all that Lots of the boys have been without food for three days. If they stood it we can. And we may get to our lines sooner than we expect.”

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t get there by night,” observed Roger. “We didn’t hike very far when we were fighting, and our boys can’t have retreated far enough in the time that has elapsed since the fighting changed, to get entirely beyond our reach. I believe we’ll be with our own division by night.”

“Well, it doesn’t do any harm to hope,” said Jimmy. “But we’ve got to be cautious just the same.”

They kept on, ever on the alert for a sight of the Germans, ever hoping for a sight of their own khaki-clad comrades. They appeared to be marching away from the scene of the battle, or battles. The firing became fainter. The country was now quite open, consisting of little hills and valleys. Each time they came to a height which afforded a place for observation, they looked all around. But all they saw, besides an occasional deserted farmhouse, or patch of woods, were rolling clouds of mist or smoke.

There had been considerable rain, and the ground was damp. The sun, shining on this, caused the moisture to condense into fog that swirled about here and there. The day had begun wonderfully clear, but now it looked like rain again.

They halted in a little grove of trees and ate some of their none-too-plentiful rations. Then, after a rest, they started on again. It was late afternoon when, as they were hiking down a lonely road, the rain suddenly began to fall.

“Whew! Now we’re in for it!” exclaimed Roger, as he did his best to protect the bag of food. “We might better have stayed back in the woods.”

“Let’s double-quick it!” suggested Bob. “Maybe there’s a house around the bend in the road.”

They hastened on, and the surmise of Bob proved correct. There was a lonely little house–more of a cabin, or shack–set in the midst of what had been a garden, but now overgrown with weeds.

“Shelter, at any rate!” cried Jimmy. “Come on, fellows!”

Roger was the first to enter the humble little cottage. But he had no sooner crossed the threshold than he started back.

“What’s the matter?” asked Bob, who was directly behind his chum. “Any Germans here?”

“No, but I fancy the owner is,” said Roger. “Look!”

He pointed to the figure of an old man, with white hair, seated at a table in what was evidently the kitchen. The man’s head was bowed on his arms which were resting on the table.

“Oh!” exclaimed Jimmy, as he looked in.

“Beg your pardon, sir,” said Bob, “but we’re Americans. May we stay here out of the rain, and perhaps for the night?”

There was no answer. The figure did not move.

“He doesn’t understand anything but French, very likely,” said Franz. “Can’t you take a hand, Blazes?”

“Yes,” assented Jimmy. “But it’s funny he didn’t wake up when Bob spoke, even if he didn’t understand. I’ll go ahead. But let’s get in out of the wet.”

They entered the room. The white-haired occupant of it did not stir from his position of bowed-down grief.

“He sleeps very soundly,” remarked Jimmy in a low voice.

Stepping forward he touched the old man on the shoulder, and then Jimmy knew what had happened.

“He’s dead!” he whispered.

“Dead?” echoed the others.

“Come on–let’s go into the other room,” suggested Jimmy.

There was another room opening out from the kitchen. Into this the Khaki Boys filed silently.

“Do you suppose the Germans killed him?” asked Roger.

“Very likely. Or he may have died from old age, fright or shock. We’ll leave him where he is.”

“And stay here?” asked Bob.

“Sure! Why not? We’re out of the rain. The poor dead man can not harm us, and we have seen enough of death, in worse forms than this, to be afraid now.”

“Oh, it isn’t that I’m afraid!” exclaimed Bob. “But if the Germans did that to–him–they may come back and–“

“I fancy not,” said Jimmy. “I believe they think they have cleaned out this place. It’s the safest spot for us with the old man as a silent sentry. Come, fellows, well spend the night here with the dead to guard us.”

It was said reverently–piously–and there was a strange feeling in the hearts of all the boys as they closed the door on the silent, pathetic figure and stood together in the other room, while the rain beat down on the roof, and dashed against the windows.

And so they began their bivouac of the with death as a sentry on guard.

CHAPTER XV

IN THE BATTLE AGAIN

“Well, we’ve got to be thankful that we had a place to stay all night where we were out of the wet,” remarked Jimmy, as he and his chums awoke the next morning in the lonely cottage of the dead Frenchman.

“Yes, and we’re going to have a good day to travel, too,” said Bob. “There’s the sun up good and proper, as Tommy Atkins would say.”

“No telling how long it’ll stay up,” came from Roger. “Yesterday started in fine, but look what happened before night.”

“Look what happened!” echoed Jimmy. “I don’t believe since we joined the service any more things have happened in any one day. We ought to be thankful we’re alive.”

“Sure we are,” said Iggy. “But I thinks me dat he is going to rain!”

“Who’s he?” asked Franz.

“Him!” and Iggy pointed to the sun. “Der wedder I mean. Him will rain before night I feel, for of my foot there is such a pains. Always when it rain going to be is, of my foots there is a pain.”

“You mean your corn hurts!” asked Bob, with a laugh. He had been rather gloomy the day before, but now he seemed to have recovered his usual good spirits. “Imagine having a corn in these days of battle!” he went on.

“He is not what you say–imagitive!” declared the Polish lad earnestly. “He is real, dat pain in mine foots! But I can away from here march quick. It gives me bad dreams,” and he looked toward the kitchen where the silent occupant had acted as sentry for them.

There had been no disturbance during the night, and if any parties of Germans had passed the lonely farmhouse this was unknown to the boys. Occasionally they heard the sound of distant firing, but now, as the sun rose higher in the heavens, the noises became louder, and, seemingly, nearer.

“Must be a big battle going on not far from here,” remarked Bob.

“I don’t believe there’s been any let-up in the big battle,” came from Jimmy.

“The only trouble is that we’re being left out!” exclaimed Franz. “I want to get back in the fighting again.”

“Same here!” murmured Roger. “Let’s eat and then well hike. We ought to get back to our lines to-day, sure.”

“If we have luck,” remarked Jimmy. “Well, let’s go!”

It was not much of a breakfast that the Khaki Boys had, but it was better than nothing. They managed to make a fire in the stove and boiled some coffee they found in a cupboard.

“Best meal I’ve had in a week!” exclaimed Bob with a grateful sigh, as he finished his cup of hot liquid. “Now I’m ready to meet Kaiser Bill himself!”

They packed up what food remained, filled their canteen from a little stream not far from the cottage, and then, bidding a silent farewell to the dead Frenchman, they started off once more.

The country through which the five Brothers traveled seemed as deserted as that over which they had journeyed the previous day after their rescue from the old mill. But the evidences of war were more frequent in destroyed orchards, ruined farmhouses and, here and there, immense holes in the ground where great shells had struck and exploded.

“What’s your trouble, Jimmy!” asked Bob, clapping his chum on the shoulder, as they trudged down a road. “You look as though you hadn’t heard from your girl in Buffalo in a month of Sundays.”

“Neither I have,” said Jimmy. “But I wasn’t exactly thinking of Margaret then, though I have given her a lot of thought at different times. I’m just wondering–“

“‘Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag, and smile, smile, smile!'” sang Bob.

“Good advice,” commented Jimmy. “My troubles aren’t any more serious than those of anyone else in this war. But I was just wondering if that officer told us the truth”

“What officer?” asked Roger.

“The one who called himself Captain Dickerson, and who saved our lives at the red mill?” answered Jimmy. “I can’t get over his not coming with us to show us the way to the American lines. I believe he ought to have done it!” and Jimmy spoke very determinedly.

“He certainly would have if he had had any consideration for Iggy’s pet corn!” laughed Bob. “We don’t seem to be having any luck ourselves. It wouldn’t have hurt him to have taken command of this squad of rookies and led us back to civilization.”

“Civilization! I hope you don’t call the trenches with their big rats and cooties and–er–other things–civilization!” cried Jimmy. “If it is–give me barbarism.”

“Well, I didn’t just mean that,” went on Bob. “But I wish Captain Dickerson had come back with us.”

“Maybe he had orders to proceed elsewhere,” suggested Franz.

“If he had he was on a dangerous mission,” said Jimmy simply. “He went straight toward the German lines. I can’t understand it at all. He certainly was a strange man.”

“But he did us the greatest service one man can do for another,” remarked Roger. “He saved our lives, fellows! Don’t forget that!”

“No,” agreed Jimmy in a low voice. “Whatever happens we must never forget that.”

They trudged on in silence a little longer, and then Franz broke out with:

“And speaking of wondering, Jimmy, what do you suppose has become of Sergeant Maxwell?”

“And your money, Blazes,” added Bob.

“Our money,” corrected his chum. “Haven’t I told you that the five thousand francs is the joint property of the five Brothers.”

“All right–have it your own way–anything if or a quiet life!” said Bob, quickly. “I was just wondering, that’s all.”

“I have been wondering, too,” admitted Jimmy. “The disappearance of Maxwell and the cash is almost as much of a mystery as is Captain Frank Dickerson.”

Twice that day, as they tramped along, seeking in vain for the American lines, they saw small parties of German soldiers. And on both occasions the Khaki Boys were fortunate enough to sight the enemy first, so they could conceal themselves in patches of woods.

They were now in a country where there were larger tracts of forest, and after coming out of one of these thickets Bob remarked.

“Fellows, do you know what I think?”

“Do you, really?” chafed Roger.

“Do I really what?” asked Bob, a bit disconcerted.

“Think!” exclaimed his chum. “I thought you’d given that up.”

“This war is enough to make a chap give it up,” Bob agreed. “But seriously, fellows, I think we’re lost–that we’ve been going around in a circle, and we aren’t any nearer our lines than when we were at the red mill. Not so near, in fact, for there we knew that some of the doughboys were not more than a mile away. But here–“

“Bob, I shouldn’t be surprised but what you are right!” exclaimed Jimmy. “It does seem funny that, with all our traveling, we haven’t come to the American lines. They can’t be so far away as all this. I guess we must have traveled in a circle. Pity we haven’t a compass.”

“Can’t you steer by the sun?” asked Franz. “We started south, and if we keep the rising sun on our left and the setting sun on our right, we’re bound to go south.”

“The trouble was yesterday that we didn’t see the sun after we started hiking,” declared Jimmy. “It’s all right now–we’re surely going south. But how long we can keep it up there’s no telling.”

“Well, then, as long as we know we’re going in the right direction now, let’s double quick and cover as much ground as we can straight away, before we get turned around again,” suggested Roger.

His plan was voted a good one, and the tired young soldiers hurried on. But to their chagrin it soon became cloudy, and then a mist settled down obscuring every gleam of sunshine, and they had to depend on their sense of direction, which, truth to tell, was not very accurate.

When night came, it found the boys on a lonely stretch of land, partly bogs, with, here and there, patches of woods. The prospect was most gloomy, for their food was getting scarce, and they were tired and. sore. Their wounds, slight as they were, bothered them, and though none complained, each one would have been glad to be able to slip into some dugout, no matter how rough, and there rest.

“What shall we do!” asked Jimmy, as it became almost too dark to proceed along an uncertain path. “Shall we hole in or keep on?”

“It’s going to be cold, holing in this night,” replied Roger, with a shiver. “Look at that fog!” he went on, as the mists rolled up from a swamp. “It goes right through you!”

“Well, then let’s keep on walking,” said Jimmy, trying to speak cheerily.

They walked on in silence. Bob did not get off any of his queer, improvised rhymes, and as for Iggy he turned up the collar of his coat, hunched his shoulders; and seemed like some old man tramping along.

“Hark!” suddenly called Jimmy, and the words came in a tense whisper. It was as if he had said “Halt!” for his chums came to a stop on the instant.

“What is it?” asked Bob.

“Don’t you hear some one walking toward us?” went on Jimmy, his voice still low and tense.

They all listened. The fog swirled around them in cold, white clouds. And then, through the darkness, they all heard, and distinctly, this time, the measured beat of marching feet.

“Soldiers all right!” commented Roger in a whisper.

“Yes, but what kind?” was Jimmy’s question. “Are they our boys, some of the Allies or–Germans?”

“What shall we do?” asked Franz, and, in the misty darkness he turned toward Jimmy, as seemed natural.

“Keep still,” was the advice given. “And crouch down. If they are Boches well let ’em pass–if they’ll be so obliging as to go on. If they’re some of our boys–“

“Oh, boy! If they only are!” sighed Bob.

The tramping feet came nearer.

“They’re headed right this way!” declared Franz, who was crouching down next to Jimmy.

“Yes. But keep still! Don’t even whisper. Sounds carry very far on a misty night–almost as they do over water.”

The thud of heavily shod feet sounded plainly now, and then, suddenly, so suddenly that it made the hearts of the Khaki Boys thump fiercely, there came a voice out of the darkness saying:

“I don’t believe we’d better go any farther, boys. We’ve come quite a way from our lines, and we haven’t seen a sign of even a Hun sentry. We can go back and report the coast clear!”

And the voice was that of an American! Hearing it Jimmy and his chums leaped to their feet.

“Americans there”! sung out Bob.

Instantly came the sharp challenge:

“Who’s there!”

“Some of the 509th Infantry,” answered Jimmy, giving the names of his companions and himself.

“Advance, Sergeant Blaise! The others stay where they are. And remember our rifles have you covered, so don’t try any funny work.”

It was a grim warning, but the five Brothers appreciated its need. Jimmy stepped forward, and the light from a pocket electric torch flashed in his face.

“Don’t know you, but you look all right,” said a tall, young lieutenant who was in charge of the party, the tramping feet of which had so alarmed our heroes. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story, but I’ll cut it short,” said Jimmy, and he did. The lieutenant listened with interest, and then, satisfied that the truth was being told, he remarked.

“You’d better come back with us. We’ll take care of you for to-night, and to-morrow you can send word to your command. I don’t know this Captain Dickerson you speak of.”

“Are we near the American lines?” asked Bob.

“Within half a mile,” was the answer.

They were led back, and soon were comfortably housed in a dugout, partaking of hot rations, and telling their story to wondering comrades. They had come upon a sector of the line held by a division made up of New York and New Jersey troops, and, though our heroes knew none of them personally, they fraternized all right.

The next day the commanding officer, having heard their story, sent them back to their own company, which had moved considerably farther toward the front since the battle of the mill, as the boys called it.

They learned that the big body of German troops which they had seen from their hiding place had not yet come into an engagement to any great extent with the Allies.

“A big battle is pending though,” said their captain, when our heroes were back in their own command, where they were made royally welcome. “There have been skirmishes and some long-distance artillery work. But the big fight is yet to come. You’ll have a chance to rest up and get in trim for it.”

Jimmy and his chums were glad of this. They were allowed leaves of absence, and went back of the lines to a pleasant little village, where rest and good food soon made them “fit” again. All efforts to learn something more of Captain Dickerson, and the whereabouts of Sergeant Maxwell, were, however, without avail.

One evening, after the five Brothers had reported back to their billet for duty, and while they were in the dugout, detailing over again some of their experiences at the mill, the sergeant-major entered.

“Get set, boys!” he exclaimed. “The orders are coming in. We go over the top again in the morning, and it’s going to be some fight!”

And when the zero hour was signaled again the five Brothers were in battle once more.

CHAPTER XVI

HELD UP

Equipped with gas masks, their packs filled with first-aid outfits, carrying emergency rations, with the “tin hats” on their heads and with rifles firmly grasped, over the top went the Khaki Boys, and thousands like them, in another attempt to subdue the Boche enemy.

Behind the boys roared out the big guns that were laying down a protecting barrage–a veritable curtain of fire behind which they might advance and without which they would have been swept back into their trenches broken and bruised and killed. The artillery duel had been under way some little time now, and it had evidently taken the Germans by surprise, for they were longer than usual in replying.

“Smash ’em up! Smash ’em up!” yelled the lieutenant in charge of that particular part of the advance in which Jimmy Blaise and his chums were included. “Smash ’em up, boys!”

“Wow! We’re with you!” howled Franz. “Smash ’em up!”

Forward they surged, the gallant American lads, who a short time before were peaceful clerks, factory and farm hands and happy college lads, and some boys who instinctively shrank from the mere thought of killing. But now their spirits were on fire with the sacred wine of liberty, and they were daring as they had never dared before. Their daring was imbued with right, and other than this nothing will stand.

The gray mists of morning swirled this way and that, blown not so much by nature’s wind as by the bursts from the flaming mouths of great guns. And through this mist rushed the Americans, some to horrible death or agony, and some to escape scatheless–to inflict just punishment on a mass of men who had lost all sense of right and wrong–men who had reverted to beasts.

“Are we all here?” yelled Jimmy, above the horrid din of battle, as he tried to see if Bob, Roger and the others were near him.

“I guess we’re here–yet,” snapped back Franz, grimly. “No telling how long we shall be, though!”

“Come on now–sharp’s the word!” yelled the commanding officer. “Separate there, you!” he cried to Jimmy and the other four, for they were too close together. “Spread out! You’re too good a target for a machine-gun as you stand!”

They knew the advice was good, and they took it. But they did not separate too far, for they wanted to be together as they went into this fight. It might be the last for all or any one of them.

The din was terrific. It seemed as if all the guns of the world were letting go together, and as Jimmy rushed forward, firing at a foe he could not see, he reflected that this same terrific havoc and riot of sound was taking place for miles along the front held by the Americans, and also along the sectors where the gallant French and British were disputing with the Huns the right to rule the world.

“Forward! Forward! No lagging!” cried the young lieutenant, leading his men. It was getting lighter now, as the sun arose, but the orb itself could not be seen because of the smoke and mist.

But he need not have concerned himself about the laggards. There were none in the 509th Infantry. Too often had they had their mettle proved.

A shell rushed screechingly over Jimmy’s head seemingly within a few feet of him, and instinctively he ducked. Then he almost laughed at himself, for he realized that if he heard the noise he was safe.

“We’re getting closer,” mused Jimmy as he leaped forward, firing as he went, now crouching down, and again standing partly upright, as he hurried on. He and his chums were passing through an orchard, now, on their way to come to grips with the Germans. That is, it had been an orchard, but all that was left of it now were a few broken stumps of trees. The firing of heavy guns, and the bursting of big shells had wiped out the work of nature.

There came an explosion on Jimmy’s left–an explosion from a small German shell that blew up a section of the orchard, tossing the blackened and gnarled stumps high in the air. And with the stumps were mingled poor, twisted human bodies.

For one terrible moment Jimmy feared for Franz and Iggy, whom he had last noted almost at the very spot where the shell exploded. His heart turned faint within him. But it was no time to falter. One must not halt nor turn back even though one’s own brother were torn to pieces. Forward was the word in that grim and terrible fighting. Forward to your own death, perhaps, to the death of those you held most dear! Forward to insure life and happiness for those who would come after! Such was the sacred duty!

And then, to his great relief, Jimmy heard a voice he knew well exclaim:

“Ach! Him was one big whizz-bang, yes!”

“You said it, Iggy!” shouted Franz, and Jimmy saw his two comrades emerge from the smoke and dust cloud, and rush forward. They had just escaped death by the shell, which sent into eternity six beloved bunkies of the 509th.

“Well, they’re alive yet!” grimly mused Jimmy, as he fired and crouched down. A look to the right showed him Roger and Bob doing the same thing. So far the five Brothers had suffered no harm.

But the battle was only beginning. The German big guns had not yet opened in force to reply to the challenge of the American heavy artillery. So far the barrage had, in a great measure, protected our lads. Now they were to move forward again. The guns at the rear were elevated, to send the bursting shrapnel further into the German ranks–to prevent them from rushing at the advancing American troops.

And now was a critical time, for even in spite of the barrage some parties of Huns, in bomb-proofs, might suddenly arise and confront the Americans. There was a chance for close fighting.

But it did not come. That part of No Man’s Land over which Jimmy and his chums were advancing, leaping from shell crater to mud hole, and from one slimy pool to another, seemed to have been cleared of Huns.

Once again came the explosion of a comparatively large shell, and again, hurled aloft in a shower of stones and dirt, went the bodies of a half score of Americans. The Germans were taking frightful toll.

“This way! This way!” suddenly ordered the lieutenant. “Into the woods!”

Jimmy saw a large grove of trees on his left. He turned toward them, and he noted that Franz and Iggy were ahead of him, while Bob and Roger came in the rear.

And, just as they reached the somewhat sheltering woods, there sounded from the air above them several explosions, and with them was an undercurrent of humming and droning as if from a million swarms of bees.

“The Boche aeroplanes! They’re right over us–a whole flock of ’em!” cried Roger. “And they’re dropping bombs on us!”

CHAPTER XVII

A BATTLE OF THE AIR

What Roger had said was only too true. The advance of the American army had been halted, at least temporarily, by a sudden attack from a large number of German aeroplanes. The Fokkers had arisen from far enough back of the place where the American shells were falling to escape them. And then they had sailed directly over the advancing Americans, the center formation of the Huns’ ships of the air being almost directly over where our five heroes were now stationed in the woods.

“Bombs! I should say so!” cried Jimmy, as one landed on the other edge of the woods, and blew a great hole in the ground. “This is getting too close for comfort!”

The German machines, having flown from the direction of their own lines across the American front, dropping bombs that did great execution, were now coming back again, to repeat the performance, it was very evident.

“Why didn’t we bring up some anti-aircraft guns?” demanded Bob, as though some officer, immediately over him, had neglected this precaution.

“Guess no one expected the Huns would try this trick,” said Roger. “It’s a daring move, all right.”

“And it’s a dangerous one for us, too!” added Jimmy, grimly. “These woods are a pretty good protection against shrapnel and machine-gun fire, but they’re absolutely useless when it comes to screening us from aeroplane bombs. Of course we can hide from the sight of the flying Huns, but they must know this wood is full of Americans, and a bomb dropped anywhere among the trees will get some of us. It’s fierce!”

“You said it!” cried Franz. “Wow! That was a bad one!”

A bomb–one of the winged affairs that wrought such deadly havoc in Paris and London–had fallen not one hundred feet from where the five Brothers were crouching in the underbrush. The concussion jarred them, and the force of the explosion uprooted several large trees that injured a number of the command, while the bomb itself killed three in dreadful fashion.

“Why don’t our flying lads get after ’em?” demanded Franz. “Surely we have some planes over here now–in fact, I know we have; though not nearly enough. Where are they?”

Well might he ask that, for the Germans were circling around, now over the woods and again over the open country, dropping their bombs, which exploded, doing terrible damage, killing and wounding many.

Suddenly Bob, who was gazing skyward in despair, clutched Jimmy’s arm and cried:

“Look! Look! There they are! There come our boys! American machines! See the Indian head! Now we’ll see Mr. Hun on the run! Oh, boy!”

Jimmy gazed for a moment in the direction indicated by his excited churn. Then he exclaimed:

“You’re right! The American aviators are here at last, and I’ll wager it wasn’t their fault that they didn’t get here sooner! Now for a fight in the air!”

And up just beneath the clouds, sometimes out of sight in the mist, the American flying men attacked the enemy. Now there was no time for the Huns to loose their bombs. They must look to their own safety. No longer did they have all the odds on their side.

“Look! Look! See our man engage those two!” shouted Roger.

They all saw what he meant. One intrepid American airman had headed for two Fokkers which were flying directly toward him, close together.

But in another instant one of the German planes was seen to swerve to one side, and then it darted downward, and in a manner to indicate that its pilot had been killed or wounded, for the machine was out of control. Like a dead leaf it descended, crashing into a shapeless mass in a field some distance from the woods.

“Now he’s after the other!” cried Bob. “Oh, they’re going to collide!”

But he spoke without knowledge of the skill to be shown by the American pilot and his accompanying gunner. For, just as it appeared as though the two hostile craft would come together in a mid-air crash, the American machine seemed to slide up and over its opponent. And then, just as the first German had done, the enemy craft crumpled up, and down it went in dizzying whirls.

“Two at once! That’s going some!” yelled Jimmy, capering about. They were comparatively out of danger now, sheltered as they were in the woods from the artillery and rifle and machine-gun fire of the Germans. And no more airship bombs were being dropped.

“Some stunt, that!” declared Bob. “Wonder who they were–those Americans?”

“I hope they live through it so we can find out,” voiced Franz. The battle in the air was now going on fiercely. There were ten American machines attacking more than double that number of Germans, and, as was always the case, the Huns were brave when they had the numerical advantage. They fought bitterly, and with skill–that could not be denied. And before the battle had been going on very long two American machines had been shot down. Whether the men in them had been killed, or not, remained to be seen.

“It’s sort of going against us,” said Jimmy, with a dry, choking sob.

“This is fierce!” cried Roger. “Why don’t we send up some more machines?”

“Haven’t got ’em, maybe,” remarked Franz. “Oh, look at that! They collided head on!”

This actually happened. One of the larger American machines, the ammunition probably having given out, was being attacked by a German Fokker. Knowing that it was either kill or be killed, the pilot of the craft with the Indian head painted on the underside of the wings took a desperate chance.

Straightening out his craft, he headed it directly toward that of his enemy. The latter tried to steer out of the way when it was seen what the game would be, but he was unable to do so.

They came together with what must have been a fearful crash, though of course not the faintest echo of it could be heard down in the woods. And then, locked together in a death embrace, the two machines hurtled over and over to earth, bursting into flames as they fell. They smashed down in a swamp, and all four airmen were killed–the two brave Americans and their perhaps no less intrepid German fighters.

“It’s going to be a tight squeeze!” murmured Roger, as he and the others gazed aloft. “There’s three of our machines done for and here come some more Germans. Oh, this is fierce!”

“More German machines? Where!” cried Jimmy.

“There!” and Roger pointed to the sky behind the German planes. “Ten more of ’em!” he cried. “Now we’re done for, sure!”

“Those aren’t Hun planes! They’re French!” yelled Bob. “See, they’re French! They’ve circled up behind the Germans! Now we have ’em between two fires!”

And this was just what happened. The French, seeing that the battle of the air was going against their American allies, had hastily sent up a squadron of speedy craft. These arose very high, flew over and above the Germans, out of sight, and then, coming down, attacked them in the rear.

This was too much for Fritz. He had no taste for a battle against even less odds than this. The Fokkers turned to flee, but it was too late for all but two of them. These managed to elude the American and French cloud-fighters and disappeared in the mist in the direction of the German lines. It was presumed they reached there safely.