Army Boys marching into Germany

“Hurrah!” cried Frank, as he came running up to his comrades in a state of great excitement.

“What’s up?” asked Billy.

“The jig’s up,” returned Frank.

“Whose jig?” asked Tom.

“The Huns’, you boob,” Frank replied exultantly. “They’ve come to the end of their string. They’re down and out—kerflummexed—ausgespielt—and if there’s anything worse than that they’re that.”

“Now,” said Billy, “come down to earth and tell us what you mean. Talk to us in plain English, so that our simple minds can take it in.”

“Simple is right,” grinned Frank. “Well, then, here goes. The Huns have applied for an armistice. They’ve thrown up the sponge. They want to quit and they say so.”

“Bully!” cried Tom. “So they’ve got enough of it at last. We’ve hammered them into pulp.”

“I knew we’d bring them to their knees,” exclaimed Billy jubilantly. “Their goose was cooked when the Yanks got into the fight. But how do you know? Where did you get the news?”

“I heard the major talking with the captain about it,” replied Frank. “I was sitting on a log cleaning my gun, and they came along and stopped to chin close to where I was. I got an earful of all that’s been going on for the last two or three weeks. It seems that the high mucka-mucks in Berlin have been reading the handwriting on the wall, and it’s been giving them the shivers. First Bulgaria caved in, then Turkey followed suit. Both of them have surrendered and are out of the war. Austria took a last chance and the Italians have smashed her to bits and captured five hundred thousand men.”

The boys gasped.

“You’re kidding us,” protested Billy.

“Not a bit of it,” denied Frank. “I’m giving it to you straight. They’ve just gone down one after the other like a row of dominoes. And now Germany has made up her mind that she’ll have to eat crow, too. The Huns sent a letter to President Wilson asking him to take steps toward giving them an armistice.”

“Armistice,” echoed Tom a little doubtfully. “I don’t exactly like the sound of that. It means that we shall stop fighting for a while. Why should we? That would only give Heinie a chance to get his breath and start in fresh again. We’ve got him on the run now, and we ought to keep it up until we send him hotfoot over the Rhine.”

“Wait now,” said Frank. “I’m not through yet. Likely enough Heinie had that in mind. He’s got everything to gain by getting a rest, and we’ve got everything to lose. But if that was one of his cute little tricks, he didn’t get away with it. The President wrote back asking some awkward questions that put Heinie in a hole. There were two or three other notes, but the upshot of it all was that the Huns were told to apply to Marshal Foch and he would tell them where they got off. Of course it wasn’t put in that way, but that’s the sense of it. They’ve got to send to the Marshal and beg him to stop licking them. In other words, they’ll have to admit defeat and sue for peace on the best terms they can get.”

“But will they do it?” asked Billy. “They’ve still got a big army and a big fleet. You’d think they’d stick it out a bit longer in the hope that things might take a different turn.”

“Yes,” replied Frank. “The English would. The French would. The Americans would. But the baby-killers wouldn’t. They’re like all bullies. The stuff isn’t there. When the pinch comes they curl up. They’re ready to quit right now, and in a few days you’ll hear they’ve done it.”

“It listens good,” said Tom, “and of course in one way it’s fine. But after what I’ve seen of the things they’ve done to France, it seems as though they were getting off too easy. They ought to have their own towns and cities devastated, their orchards cut down, their mills blown up and their coal mines flooded. Then they’d get a taste of what they’ve been doing to others.”

“That’s right,” agreed Billy. “But don’t think they’re not going to pay for everything they’ve done. They’ll be stripped to the bone and don’t you forget it.”

“Well, I hope so,” said Tom, but with not much assurance. “I’d rather take it from them now and make sure of it. Nobody knows what will happen when those fellows get together and begin to bargain. They may throw away all the results of the war for all we can tell. It’s happened more than once that the party that’s been licked on the field has got off almost scot free, if not actually gaining, when the peace treaty came to be signed.”

“Well, you old croaker,” laughed Frank, “we’ll have to leave all that to the diplomats and take our chances on their not letting the Huns put anything over on them. In the meantime, all we’ve got to do is to fight.”

chanted Billy.

But with all his doubts, Tom went on with the fighting with renewed inspiration at the news that victory was near at hand. And his friends were filled with rejoicing that the Huns were being beaten to their knees and were about ready to acknowledge it. Their tremendous exertions and sacrifices in leaving America and coming across the sea to fight for liberty and civilization against brutality and barbarism had not been in vain. They felt something the way the Crusaders must have felt when they caught sight of Jerusalem, the goal of their endeavors.

And now the work of the last two weeks began to tell. The enemy resistance began to grow feebler, though he still hung on desperately and tried by stubborn rear-guard actions to hold these persistent Americans back. But the worst part of the forest had been cleared. The whole place had been a vast fortress. Above the ground every possible natural and artificial obstruction had been put in their path, and had had to be conquered one by one. Beneath the ground it had been like the Catacombs of Rome. There were subterranean passages, bombproof shelters, railways, communicating trenches, cunning traps, a thousand devices that the Germans had been four years in perfecting. But none of these had thwarted American ingenuity and American courage. And as the enemy saw how fruitless their endeavors were, their confidence melted away and began to give place to panic. Nothing could stop these Americans. What was the use of trying?

So the work grew easier for the Army Boys. They advanced faster and faster. They had got through the worst part of their task and were reaching the higher and clearer ground where tanks could operate more readily. Armored trucks and lorries were loaded with men and were sent forward in the direction of Stenay and Sedan. More prisoners were being brought in every day.

The big naval guns that had been brought over in sections by Plunkett’s men were beginning now to demonstrate their value. They outranged anything the Germans had. They threw projectiles that weighed fourteen hundred pounds a distance of from fifteen to twenty miles and they were concentrated now on the railway line from Mezieres to Sedan that was the Germans’ last hope either for supplies or retreat. The end was coming and coming fast, and the Army Boys were jubilant.

They were pressing forward in this mood one afternoon when they found themselves held up by an especially stubborn machine gun nest. It commanded a position that was the key of the German defense in that section and the Germans were putting forth herculean efforts to hold it.

It was useless to try to take it from in front, for a storm of bullets swept the road along which nothing could advance and live.

Corporal Wilson was given a squad of men, among whom were Frank, Billy and Tom, and commanded to silence the position.

They made a wide detour, worming their way along on both sides of the nest, and then at a given signal rushed the position. The startled gun crew turned their gun first one way and then the other in an attempt to check their assailants, but although some fell dead or wounded, the survivors reached their goal, leaped upon the gunners and bayoneted them at their posts.

“Gee, but that was a hot scrap!” panted Frank, as the last of the enemy went down.

“You bet it was,” agreed Billy, “and we’ve had to pay for it too. We’ve lost several of our fellows. Poor Milt Barlow was toppled over and Fred Anderson got a bullet in his shoulder.”

“This was a regular fort,” commented Tom, as he looked about him. “Look at that pile of cartridges. There’s thousands of rounds there. As far as bullets were concerned, those fellows could have held out all day.”

“The Heinies certainly wanted to hold it,” said Billy, “and I shouldn’t wonder if they tried to retake it.”

“Here comes a bunch of them now,” said Frank, as he looked in the direction of the German lines. “And they’re opening up with artillery too,” he added, as a shell came screaming through the air and exploded with a thunderous roar not fifty feet away.

A crackling rifle fire followed the shell, and a bullet ploughed through the scalp of the corporal, knocking him senseless.

There was no other officer at hand and Frank took command at once. His quick eye glancing about caught sight of a disabled and abandoned tank that was near by. It lay in such a position that its open door was on the side that faced the enemy.

“Quick!” he ordered. “Put the machine gun in that tank. Hurry now and bring all that ammunition along. But first put the corporal behind that tree where a bullet can’t get him. Hustle’s the word.”

There was need for haste, for a body of the enemy that outnumbered them ten to one was approaching on the double quick. In a trice the wounded corporal was laid behind a tree in a position of comparative safety, the gun was transported to the tank, together with the ammunition, and the little party was ready for the attack. Frank, Billy and Tom were crowded inside the tank with the gun, while four others lay down behind it in reserve, ready to take the place of any of the crew who might be killed or wounded.

Crouching as closely in the tank as he could, Frank slewed the gun around in the direction of the enemy and sent a hail of bullets against the advancing ranks.

Men were seen to stagger and fall, but their places were taken by others and the Germans continued to come on. But that stream of fire kept up remorselessly, and at last the wave of attackers faltered, broke and fled.

“They’re running!” cried Billy exultantly.

“A lot of them will never run again,” said Tom grimly, as he continued feeding the gun that Frank was aiming.

“They’ll be back,” prophesied Frank, for he could see the enemy in the shelter of the woods trying to reform. “This place is too important to give it up without another try. How’s the ammunition holding out?”

“Plenty yet,” replied Billy. “There must be a thousand rounds. And the best of it is that they’re German bullets out of a German gun that we’re feeding to Fritz.”

“Shows how honest we are,” chuckled Tom. “We’re giving him all that belongs to him. And we’re giving it to him too with compound interest.”

Once more the Germans came on, only to be mowed down like corn before the reaper. The boys had thrown off all their upper garments now and were stripped to the waist, for the confined quarters of the tank and the heat of the firing were causing the perspiration to run down their faces and bodies in streams.

Suddenly Tom gave a cry of alarm.

“The gun’s getting too hot!” he exclaimed. “It blisters you when you touch it. We’ll have to give it a rest and let it cool off.”

“Rest nothing,” declared Frank, as he saw that the Germans were trying to advance. “They’d be on us before we’d be ready to fire again. Quick, you fellows, get your canteens and pour the water into the cooler of the gun. That’ll keep it going so that we can use it.”

In a twinkling his comrades obeyed, and every drop that their canteens contained was emptied into the cooler. The result was apparent at once, and the gun continued its deadly work without interruption.

But now the Germans had brought up a field-piece and placed it in position where it had a good target in the tank, and shells began to fall thick and fast in the vicinity of their temporary fort. It was evidently only a matter of time before one of them would strike it and put it out of business.

“Getting pretty hot,” muttered Frank, as one shell fell within twenty feet and a great volume of smoke and dirt rolled over them.

“Can’t you pick off the gunners, Frank?” asked Billy.

“I’m trying to,” answered Frank, “but the bullets fall short. Those fellows are too far out of range.”

As he spoke, there was a roar that almost split their eardrums and a shell exploded within a few feet of the tank. It dug a great crater under one edge of the tank which began to topple ominously.

“Jump!” shouted Frank, and they leaped out just as the tank lurched over and tumbled into the hole.

They were just in time, for in another instant the monster would have carried them with it and probably caught them beneath its weight. As it was, Tom’s leg was badly scraped by one of the edges as it passed him.