CHAPTER VII
IN A “BABY TANK”
So the American advance continued.
With the supporting columns of infantry that now came forward were several score of small armored tractors, commonly called “tanks.” Because of the fact that these small machines, unlike their larger counterparts, were capable of holding only two men—a gunner and a pilot—they were called “two-men tanks,” or more commonly, “baby tanks.”
As an engine of warfare, the “tank,” an American invention primarily, had made itself famous when General “Bingo” Byng led his British troops forward in the Cambrai battlefield, long before the United States entered the war. There were few tanks in the field in those days, but since their effectiveness was proven at Cambrai, thousands had been added to the Allied forces.
The “baby tanks” came later but proved quite as effective. They were able to penetrate places that were proof against their larger counter-parts, and now there was scarcely a division of British, French or American troops in the field that did not have its tank corps.
As the foremost American troops, among which was Hal, now pursued the enemy, the American “baby tanks” came waddling forward, their guns belching fire as they advanced.
A short distance beyond Dun the German general staff, realizing that the Americans could not be stopped in the village, had hastily thrown up a wandering system of trenches, and to these the enemy now retired.
Immediately General Lawrence ordered a halt, that he might better bring his own lines into cohesion.
The American and German artillery, hastily rushed up, continued the struggle at long distance.
An hour later, Hal, returning toward his own place in the line, accompanied by the marine who had killed the German machine gunner, came abreast of a “baby tank.” The tank appeared perfectly intact, but the lad knew at a glance that there was no crew within.
“I wonder why?” he muttered, and stopped to investigate.
The small door that served as an entrance was open. Hal peered in. The marine who was with him also stopped.
“Where’s the crew, sir?” he asked.
“You know as much about them as I do,” was Hal’s reply.
“Maybe they’ve gone after ‘gas,’” said the marine.
Hal climbed in and examined the petrol reservoir.
“Plenty of gas,” he said.
He examined the other mechanism carefully.
“Nothing wrong so far as I can see,” he declared. “However, it’s none of our business. We’ll be moving on.”
But at that moment came from General Lawrence’s portion of the field the call for a general advance. Hal glanced around quickly. He was still some distance from his own post, and he saw his men start forward under command of Lieutenant Edgerton. It was unlikely that he would be able to overtake them. He turned to the marine.
“What’s your name?” he demanded.
“Bowers, sir.”
“All right. Bowers. Do you know anything about these tanks?”
“Not much, sir. I can drive an automobile or an airplane, and I’ve watched these things work. Guess I could run one if I had to.”
“Well, you can work the gun, can’t you?” Hal wanted to know.
“You bet I can, sir, and I’ll guarantee not to miss very often. Are you thinking of boarding this craft, sir?”
“I am,” said Hal. “We seem to be out of the fight right now. It’s up to us to get into it again. Climb in, man.”
Bowers boarded the tank with alacrity and deposited himself beside the single machine gun. Hal perched himself in the pilot’s seat and opened the throttle. The tank moved forward.
In the distance, both to right and left, Hal saw other tanks waddling forward. They were all still too far from the enemy to do any great damage, but they were ambling forward as swiftly as their peculiar construction would permit, all anxious to approach within striking distance.
In front, the American infantry, with absolute disregard for the German artillery bombardment, dashed for the enemy trenches. They climbed in, and even from where Hal was the lad could see the signs of terrible combat within.
But the American charge had not been made in sufficient force. True, the Germans were driven from their improvised trenches, but the Yankee forces at the extreme front were numerically too small to pursue their advantage. They waited quietly for the arrival of reinforcements.
Straight into the erstwhile trenches the tank driven by Hal now nosed its way. Its appearance was received with cheers by the men. Then it waddled crazily forward in pursuit of the foe.
Hal was not given to unnecessary recklessness, and the fact that he advanced now while the bulk of the American troops remained beyond was not due to any spirit of foolishness. In passing, Hal was not aware of the fact that the most advanced troops were awaiting reinforcements. He thought that they would continue the pursuit at once. Therefore, in spite of the cries to stop that were raised behind, the tank ambled on.
Then, so suddenly that it seemed that a curtain of blackness had been thrown about them, a fog descended over the field.
In the advance of the tank, the German artillery and machine guns had been busy. A mine or two had exploded near the machine. Hal had been struck in the left hand by a tiny bit of shrapnel that found its way through one of the loopholes, but so slightly that the skin had only been bruised.
Hal put the snout of the tank over the edge of a hill in the fog, but stopped in time to keep from end-over-ending down. Then he felt his way carefully down hill by a roundabout road.
In the valley beyond there were machine gun nests and one seventy-seven field piece and some wandering trenches. In the hillside overhead were scores of burrow-like dugouts in which Germans had fortified themselves.
In this direction Hal still guided his tank, confident that the American forces also were advancing under cover of the fog.
Among the thousand shattering noises of battle, the approach of the tank had not been noticed. Suddenly the fog lifted, and for the first time Hal was conscious of the fact that his baby tank was unsupported by other tanks, or infantry, although the big American guns still sounded from behind. Nevertheless, Hal knew that the American advance was likely to be resumed at any minute.
In spite of the lifting of the fog, the approach of the tank was still unperceived by the enemy. It is a constant source of wonder to tank crews that this happens so often. Locked up in their steel chamber and with a hammering gun they feel their roaring progress must herald them afar. Yet it often happens that they creep upon the enemy as though their beast had been shod with velvet.
Hal saw the flare of the “77” and headed toward it. Bowers turned a stream of fire on it and the gun went out of action.
The tank lurched on toward a long windrow of rusted wire. The wire shone red in the sun that had come out to dispel the fog. In successive alterations of the defense, it had been made into a pile fifty feet long, by twenty broad, and four feet high.
“Looks like a machine-gun nest to me!” called Bowers.
But Hal still guided the machine toward the spot.
Suddenly a veritable hail of bullets poured upon the tank and rattled harmlessly off the steel sides.
Hal stopped the tank.
“You’re right,” he called to Bowers. “It’s a nest, all right.”
For the next ten minutes, as Hal expressed it later, “we just sat there and took it.”
An anti-tank rifle was brought into play by the Germans. This weapon was a monster indeed, fully seven feet long and forty pounds in weight—not, perhaps, a monster as compared with heavy siege guns and heavy artillery, but a mammoth for an anti-tank gun. But the anti-tank’s rifle bullets likewise failed to pierce the living-room of the tank, although they did cut through the running gear in one or two spots that were not vital.
Hal and Bowers ducked down so that they would not be struck by slivers should they come through the eye-slits in the tank.
“We’re in a tight place, sir,” called Bowers.
“Right,” Hal agreed. “We don’t want to take too many chances peeking through the eye-holes while those bullets are hitting around us like this. Great Scott! Listen! It sounds like someone was hitting the skin with a sledge hammer at the rate of fifty blows a second.”
A sliver suddenly spun through a porthole and struck Bowers on the hand. The wound was slight but painful. Bowers wrung his numbed hand in silence.
“Hurt much?” asked Hal.
“No, sir. I’ll be all right in a second.”
But the hand wasn’t all right in a second. It was still too numb to permit of handling the gun.
“There isn’t any use of our being here unless we can do some good,” Hal called. “I’m afraid you can’t work that gun any longer, Bowers.”
“I can drive,” was Bowers’ reply.
So the two changed places, Hal going into the gunners turret.
This to Hal was one of the worst moments of the battle, for tankers fit as closely into tanks as snails in their shells. It was with an effort that Hal and Bowers crawled past each other, for there were several painful moments when two bodies occupied the space that was a tight fit for one. But they managed it.
Bowers waggled the tank out into the open and headed for the nest of annoying gunners, and Hal will always have respect for these gunners.
In spite of their failure against the tank, the Prussians died with their hands on their guns. Others ran away and the tank was checked in its progress, while Hal poured volley after volley at the fleeing foes.
Suddenly Hal was arrested by a shout from Bowers.
“Hey! What’s that?” cried the marine.
Looking a trifle to the left, Hal saw four Germans wearing Red Cross uniforms, carrying something on a litter.
“That’s a mighty funny-looking stretcher,” said Bowers. “Have a shot at it.”
“Not a chance,” replied Hal. “They’re Red Cross workers.”
“That’s a funny-looking litter,” said Bowers, unconvinced. “Take my advice and shoot.”
Then, suddenly, without further words, Hal turned his gun on the four men, in spite of their Red Cross uniforms, and fired.
“And just in time!” muttered Bowers to himself.