CHAPTER XXXIV
FROM TANK TO LIMOUSINE
The big tank was still laboring along with the retreating boche army, although no more shells were being hurled at her. The defeat and rout effected by the dash and daring of the “devil-hound” Marines had been complete and this powerful “dreadnaught,” although uninjured by the score or more of shells that struck her, evidently was unfitted to fight a finish fight with the “fleet of land cruisers” of the enemy, in the opinion of her crew.
The engine made a good deal of noise as the huge war machine “caterpillared” along, and Phil and “the count” had to lift their voices to high pitch in order to be understood during their conversation. Although the battle had resulted in disaster for the kaiser’s army, still the “titled Topoff” appeared to gloat with satisfaction over such phases of the engagement as could be shown to have an element of glory for the boches. He seemed to have no eye, ear, taste, or smell of appreciation for anything that suggested defeat for his soldier comrades.
“He’s awfully conceited, but not such a fool as I thought he was,” Phil mused during a lapse of the conversation. “That was a fairly clever joke he put over on me about the water cure, but I don’t believe he saw the joke himself. He seems to take himself seriously even when he says something funny.”
Fifteen or twenty minutes after the finish of the battle, the tank came to a standstill, and the door in the right side was opened. Topoff then ordered his prisoner to get out and followed close at his heels. Outside the tank, “the count” seized the boy’s arm with one hand and led him along—whither, Phil was curious to know.
The defeated army had retreated to a new line and dropped into a series of trenches undoubtedly occupied by them, or the French, during an earlier stage of the big boche offensive. The most feverish activity marked the scene, which extended north and south as far as eye could see and east and west for a depth of about half a mile. The country consisted of a succession of rolling hills, but Phil was able to command a good view of proceedings from the eminence on which he stood. The trenches had suffered considerably from shell explosions and rainy weather since their last condition of serviceability, and consequently there was much to do now to get them back into the most comfortable shape possible.
All this Phil gleaned with little more than a sweep of the eye, for he was not left in leisurely contemplation of the scene more than a minute or two. He was suddenly aroused from his spell of enchantment by a new order from “Mr. Boaconstrictor.”
“Come on,” said the latter; “no time to waste.”
Phil accompanied his captor to the foot of the hill behind the front line trench, and there “the count” held a short consultation with a superior officer. They conversed in German, and the prisoner was unable to understand much that they said. However, he did glean this from several disgruntled remarks: that very few prisoners had been taken in the recent engagement, due, no doubt, to the boches’ heavy defeat, and there seemed to be no others in the vicinity to corral with Phil.
“Am I the only prisoner in the hands of these badly defeated boches in this sector?” the boy mused. “I feel very much honored, also considerably ashamed of myself. Well, it’s some consolation to realize that I wouldn’t be here if a side of a house hadn’t fallen on top o’ me.”
A peculiar circumstance in this interview struck Phil so forcibly that the impression remained with him almost constantly as long as the mystery surrounding “Count Boaconstrictor Topoff” was unexplained. This was the manifest attention and deference shown the oddly shaped lieutenant by the superior officer, whose insignia indicated that he bore the rank of major.
“I can’t understand it,” Phil mused with a puzzled confusion. “From the way everybody bows and scrapes before him, one might think he’s the kaiser himself. The officers all seem to know him at sight, and if it weren’t contrary to military form, I believe they’d bend before him in the middle like jackknives. He must be something more than a count. Maybe I ought to feel honored at being his prisoner.”
The interview developed remarkable characteristics more and more as it progressed. “The count” became more and more demonstrative and finally was giving unmistakable orders to the major, who apparently acquiesced to everything the second lieutenant said. Finally the subservient superior officer scribbled a few words on a bit of paper and delivered it to an orderly with instruction as to what to do with it.
The orderly jumped onto a motorcycle and dashed away on his errand. Phil did not watch him after his departure, as he would have done if he had suspected that the note had any bearing on what was to be done with him as a prisoner of war. He was considerably surprised when, a few minutes later, the messenger returned, followed by an automobile driven by a soldier in uniform. It was a large closed limousine, hardly the kind one would expect to see on a battlefield.
“Pile in,” ordered Topoff, taking hold of his prisoner’s arm and half dragging him toward the machine.
Phil obeyed the order literally. He was so astonished he could do nothing with any degree of grace. He “piled into” the automobile and stumbled and fell onto the rear seat. “Mr. Boa” also squeezed into the car and sat down beside the boy, taking up so much room that he pushed the Yank against the upholstered side hard enough to render breathing difficult. Then he gave an order through a speaking tube to the driver, and they were whirled away to the rear of the Prussian lines.