CHAPTER IV
THE “DEVIL DOGS”
“So you are a couple of ‘Devil Dogs,’ eh?”
The speaker was Chester. It was morning again and Hal had just introduced his chum to his newly found friends.
Lieutenant Jenkins smiled.
“I wouldn’t say that,” was his reply. “Smith and I haven’t earned the right yet to be called that. But we are marine officers, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s just what I mean,” said Chester. “To tell you the truth, I never have found out just where the marines won that name, but I know it wasn’t bestowed without reason.”
“The name is the result of the first encounter between American marines and Germans in the Soissons region,” returned Lieutenant Jenkins. “I don’t know the details of that scrap, but from all accounts it must have been a warm one. There were only a few of our fellows in that engagement—only the fraction of a division. They were flanked right and left by French and British.
“The enemy came on recklessly in the face of a heavy artillery fire. Under a rain of shells from the German lines, the right and left wings—the French and British—gave ground slightly. But the marines held, and more. In the face of what seemed utter annihilation, our fellows suddenly dashed forward. To the enemy it must have appeared the wildest folly. Perhaps it was. But it saved the day.
“So great was the enemy’s astonishment that for a moment his fire slackened. In that moment our fellows were upon the Germans with the bayonet. The enemy broke and fled, the marines in hot pursuit. At this juncture the wings rallied and came to our support. The Germans were driven back to their own trenches with heavy losses.”
“But the name,” said Chester; “who was responsible for the name, the ‘Devil Dogs’?”
“Oh, the name,” repeated Jenkins. “I believe the Germans themselves were responsible for that. After the battle, as I understand it, the German soldiers told one another that we were ‘devils’ and ‘dogs.’ I guess someone joined the words.”
“At all events,” laughed Hal, “you fellows have some reputation to live up to.”
“And we’ll live up to it, never fear,” declared Jenkins.
“I hope so,” interposed Lieutenant Smith. “It has often been said that the morale of the American marines is the best in the world, and it is said with reason. Gathered as they are from all parts of the country, and chiefly from the rougher element, it is only natural that they should be fighters par excellence. The slogan that you have seen on thousands of billboards, ‘The first to fight,’ has had its appeal. To the true marine a fight is the salt of life.”
“So I have always understood,” said Chester. “I know that in times of peace the marine was considered a bad customer. Now that he has come into his own he is bound to give a good account of himself.”
“He has always done that, no matter in what part of the world he has been called into action,” said Hal. “Take the troubles in Nicaragua, San Domingo, and even at Vera Cruz, when it seemed that we must wage war upon that country. The marines were always first on the job, and from all accounts they cleaned things up wonderfully well.”
“Well,” said Chester, “we have talked to you fellows too long now. We’ve work to do, and I suppose you have also. It’s time, Hal, that we reported to Captain O’Neil. He may have something in sight for us. We’ll see you fellows again soon, I hope.”
“Thanks,” replied Lieutenant Smith. “I am sure we hope so, too.”
The four shook hands all around and Hal and Chester a few moments later, learned to what extent the German general staff appeared willing to go in their efforts to drive a wedge between the French and British lines and then execute a flanking movement upon the French capital itself.
“We’ve our work cut out for us the next few days, and possibly weeks,” the American captain told the two lads. “Just listen to the roar of those guns. You boys have been in this war almost four years, but I’ll venture to say you have never heard the like before.”
It was true. Never, so far as Hal and Chester could remember, had the fire of the heavy German batteries been so terrific. The very earth quivered under their feet from the shock. While the Allied artillery was returning the German fire, the guns had not been concentrated upon the foe’s positions; but the activity of the French, British and American artillery was soon to equal that of the enemy and the two, combined, were speedily engaged in what was to prove the greatest artillery action in history.
All day long and into the night the great guns pounded on without cessation. Hastily, under the personal direction of divisional commanders, American, British and French troops strengthened their positions that they might be better able to repel the foe when the infantry advanced to the attack under cover of the heavy German barrage.
All day long and far into the night Hal and Chester rushed hither and thither within the lines with orders. Now, an hour after midnight, they found themselves for the first time with nothing to do.
“Whew!” said Hal, as he sat down on the edge of the dugout to which they had been assigned. “This has been the busiest day I have put in in months.”
“Here, too,” Chester agreed, “and I’ll bet a hat that to-morrow and the days to follow will be just as bad.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” declared Hal. “It’s only a matter of hours now until the Germans advance to the attack.”
“Well,” said Chester, “we’re prepared for them. They’ll know they’ve been in a battle before they break through here.”
“Right. The thing that I am trying to figure out is just about how many men von Hindenburg is willing to sacrifice in what I believe will be the last enemy offensive on a large scale.”
“It will cost him a terrible toll to come through here,” declared Chester grimly.
“Of course. But if he really means to break through, and the movement is not a feint to cover an advance elsewhere, he won’t worry about the sacrifice in human lives. He will attempt to break through, cost what it may. If successful, he’ll probably swing south toward Paris.”
“Well, he won’t get there.”
“I don’t think he will, either. But all those possibilities must be taken into consideration.”
“We don’t have to worry about them,” said Chester. “I guess Marshal Foch and his staff haven’t overlooked any such possibilities. All we’ve got to do is what we’re told.”
“Right you are, Chester. Nevertheless, we’re free to speculate if we feel so disposed.”
As Hal had predicted, the German attack came soon. Under cover of the semi-darkness of early morning, the gray-clad hosts advanced to the attack. For miles along the long battle line, Germans streamed from their trenches and marched slowly toward the Allied positions only a few hundred yards away.
The enemy came on calmly and with no appearance of haste. Machine guns from British, French and American positions poured a hail of bullets into the advancing ranks; but the gaps made by this fire were immediately filled and the Germans still moved forward, firing with monotonous regularity as they did so.
Now they reached the first-line American trenches and poured in. Desperately the Yankee troops fought to drive them out. But, outnumbered as they were by the enemy, they eventually were forced to retire. This retirement was ordered primarily so that the Americans might be kept in contact with the French, to the north, who were forced to give ground under the impetuous advance of the foe.
All day the battle raged, first at close quarters, and when the Allies retired farther, the big German guns resumed the bombardment. At nightfall of the second day it became clear to every man in the battle that the German objective, primarily at least, was Ypres, one of the most important towns at the front still in possession of the Allies.
Still the Allies gave ground as the enemy advanced. So, at the close of the fourth day of fighting, the Germans had gained miles of territory and seemed in imminent danger of encircling the city of Ypres.
But the German advance had been made at terrible cost. Thousands upon thousands of German dead strewed the field. In these few days of fighting the German losses had been greater than in any battle of the war. The losses of the Allies were comparatively light.
And still Marshal Foch withdrew his troops slowly.
It now became apparent that the commander-in-chief of the Allied forces was ready to sacrifice ground if he could conserve lives. Each day the enemy advanced in the face of the terrible Allied fire his manpower grew weaker. If these tactics were continued, it was plain to the Allied general staff that the enemy must slow down if for no other reason than sheer exhaustion; at least he must slow down until his divisions could be reorganized and return to the fray.
Each day territory won by the Germans grew less; and then the British line before Ypres held. It became apparent that Marshal Foch had yielded as much ground in that section as he intended to give up. Immediately von Hindenburg changed his tactics and struck farther south, apparently hoping to catch the French there by surprise. But after an initial advance of a few miles the first day, the French line also braced and checked the foe.
Again the German commander hurled his tired troops against the British at Ypres, but this time he failed even to dent the line. Gradually the fighting grew less and less and soon the opposing armies settled down quietly and only the voices of the big guns, with occasional infantry raids, indicated that the war was still in progress on the West front.
The German gains in territory in this battle had been large, but so had their losses. Marshal Foch had conserved his own man-power with a genius more than rivaling that of von Hindenburg’s strategy, so it appeared that the advantage was with the Allies.
Thus the second attempt of the German emperor to carry the war to the gates of Paris had failed. A feeling of absolute confidence ran through the Allied army. The Germans had showed the best they had and it was not good enough to win through. Americans, British and French now eagerly awaited the word that would open an offensive by the Allies.