They were alongside in an instant. Ralph jumped into the vehicle, and helped to hand out the implements, while Alfred tried to edge his way in. Their earnestness attracted the officer in charge, and he smiled, and nodded his head in approval. Thus two van loads were dumped out, and carried forward of the rows of stacked arms.
An engineer officer marked out the line of the trench, and the men were set to work. They were now doing the job for a real purpose, as during their month of training in England these men had been instructed how to go about the business of making trenches, and it was wonderful to see how quickly the furrows were dug out. They were about four feet deep, the earth being thrown up on the side toward the enemy, thus making a shelter trench five feet deep.
As soon as the main line was thus completed, traverses were cut, leading out at right angle to the rear of the main trench. These were formed in zig-zag fashion, the object being to form shelter sections along the entire trench, so that those within would not be subjected to what is called an enfilading fire.
CHAPTER V
ON THE FIRING LINE
"Look at the guns back there," shouted Ralph, as the company marched back to get their first breakfast after three hours of hard work.
"Come on, boys!" said the corporal in charge, smiling at the boys. "You've worked pretty hard for lads of your age; come and have something to eat."
"So we will," said Alfred; "but what are the guns doing back there?" he asked, as he pointed out a battery which had limbered up and was wheeling into position.
"You will see in a few moments," replied the corporal, and before they reached the mess wagon the guns began to roar.
"How far away are the Germans?" asked Ralph.
"About two and a half miles, I should judge," replied the corporal, looking at the battery.
"How can you tell by looking at the guns?" asked Ralph.
"By their angle," was the answer.
Before they ceased speaking, the first shot was fired, then another and another, all of them trial shots, as one of the soldiers explained. Then another battery to the left, heretofore unnoticed, began to fire, while one posted higher up on the right, and two more beyond, chimed in. This was a new experience to the boys, as the Belgians, with whom they had formerly associated, were lacking in field pieces compared with those they now saw and heard.
The challenge was promptly accepted by the Germans, and within fifteen minutes the whole crest to the east of them, probably two miles distant, seemed to be ablaze. It was singular, however, that none of the missiles fell near the troops where the boys were located. On a little elevation to the right of the kitchen vans the boys noticed a group of officers with field glasses, intently scanning the rear of their position.
"The blooming blokes are shooting too far," remarked a soldier.
"Why are they doing that?" asked Alfred, who overheard him.
"Oh, they'll get the range in time," he replied.
"There's the first airship, to give them a pointer," said the corporal, as an airplane appeared in sight.
"Two of our machines are coming up," shouted Ralph. "Now there'll be a fight."
Ralph was right. The two English machines steered straight for the oncoming Fokker, the latter veering to the left in time to prevent too close a meeting. Within a minute three more German machines came into sight, their appearance being answered by four of their own machines, which came up from the rear, and sailed straight across above them to the German positions on the crest of the hill. They were much higher than the German machines, the reason being that the enemy had a number of anti-airship guns to meet any flyers who dared to cross the line at a low altitude.
It was, indeed, an interesting sight to observe the numerous airplanes, which were employed by the two forces. They seemed to be flying back and forth in the utmost confusion, and, frequently, puffs of smoke would indicate that they were firing at each other.
The corporal with whom the boys talked seemed to be unusually well informed, and quite a number of the soldiers addressed him for information.
"How do they recognize an enemy?" asked Ralph.
"Oh, that's an easy matter," he replied. "I suppose the flyers in the air do it on the same principle that we are in the habit of recognizing automobiles. Why, I have a lad not ten years old who can tell the make of almost any auto the moment he sees it. Generally, if the make of the plane is similar to those attached to the aviator's side he is able to recognize it by the special mark it carries."
"What mark do you mean?" asked Alfred.
"Why, the English and the French mark is in the form of a circle, generally three, each circle being of a different color," was the answer.
"There is one,—why, it's red, white and blue," said Ralph.
"That's correct,—those are the colors of the Allies."
"What are the German colors?" asked Ralph.
"Black and white," said the corporal.
"Oh, yes, they have a cross," said Alfred.
"Yes; a cross in imitation of the iron cross, so far as its shape is concerned," he answered; "that is, a black cross on a white field."
The company marched back to the line. During the next half hour there was nothing but expectancy, waiting, waiting,—that most trying thing for soldiers, who know that a battle is impending. Then a hundred feet to their rear there was a terrific explosion, which startled every one. This was followed by others, but none reached the trench line.
Thus, during the whole day, there was an exchange of artillery, the greatest damage being done to those in the rear who were trying to get to the front.
"With the long range guns the great danger isn't always with the fellows in front," said the corporal.
At four that afternoon the company was startled by an order to leave the trenches and fall to the rear. Every one cast questioning glances, but the knapsacks and rolls were quickly seized, and within ten minutes they were in line with the regiments to the right and the left. There was no hurrying or disorder.
"I wonder why we are going back?" asked Ralph.
"I suppose it's our business to retreat," returned the corporal.
They marched fully a mile to the rear, passing on the way at least half a dozen lines of trenches, which had been thrown up since the boys covered the ground the night before. Every trench line was filled with soldiers, those in the front being the first to retire. On the way they saw how the great shells had played havoc with many of the works.
They again crossed the river, and at six o'clock that night a new line was formed, and the spades and picks were again brought into use. The booming of cannon was incessant, and, although they tried to get some sleep after midnight, they were frequently aroused by the marching of troops. At daylight they were again marched out of the trenches, and a quarter of a mile from the last trench halted to partake of breakfast.
The march was directly south, and at noon they reached a town of some importance, called Chauny. They went through without halting, crossed the river Oise, and at four o'clock halted on the eastern banks of a stream, which flowed northwardly. Here they waited for orders. A picturesque bridge spanned the stream, and the boys wandered across. West of the river was a broad expanse of country, perfectly level, and thousands of people from the nearby villages lined the road, all crossing to the west.
All were excited, and seemed to be going toward the narrow road, which led to the left, and, naturally, the boys followed the movement of the crowd. Their curiosity was soon satisfied, for beyond was a sight which caused their hearts to beat with joy. Fully a dozen airplanes were drawn up in line, and the boys started forward on a run that seemed to instill the same activity in many others present.
"There's a Morane," said Ralph.
"Yes; and that's Tom getting out of the machine," shouted Alfred, as they rushed up and greeted Tom, who looked at them in astonishment.
"And how did you get here?" he inquired.
"Came over with the troops," explained Alfred.
"With what troops?" he was asked.
"Don't know," answered Ralph, "but they are from Essex."
"Well, we've been on duty for a day directly over the lines east of St. Quentin," said Tom.
"Did you have a fight?" asked Alfred.
"I should say we did," answered Tom. "Brought down two, at any rate, and it was pretty hot for about an hour. So you are on your way to Paris; sorry you didn't get back before we started," he added.
"We got to the grounds several hours after you left," said Alfred.
"Glad you came; we can put you up, if you are willing," remarked Tom.
"Thank you for the invitation; we helped them on the trenches and have done considerable marching, so it's better than going back to camp," said Ralph.
The boys were up early in the morning, but didn't have the least idea what steps to take to continue their journey. Everything in the way of transportation was reserved for the troops. Thousands of people were leaving their homes, and people with household effects, mounted on all sorts of conveyances, were noted on all sides, although at this time the Germans were not within ten miles of the river. The nearest railway to the south, which ran east and west along the southern bank of the river Aisne, was fully ten miles distant from this point.
Tom was on hand early, and greeted the boys most affectionately.
"I have been thinking I might be able to help you out a bit," he said, after a little talk. "We are ordered to the station near Villers-Cotterets, and that's only forty miles from Paris."
"How can you help us?" inquired Ralph excitedly.
"Probably I can give you a lift in the machine," he said.
"How far is that from here?" asked Alfred.
"Twenty miles," replied Tom, and the two boys looked at each other hopefully, as he left them.
Tom re-appeared at three o'clock, and informed them that they would start in fifteen minutes.
"If you are ready for the trip, jump in and make yourselves comfortable," he said, and they required no second invitation.
The dainty Morane just suited them, and they were in their seats in an instant. Tom then tossed them a light package, which they tucked away, and the engine began to buzz. As they glanced around, two more machines seemed to vie with them in taking the air, then, as they again looked around, four more machines began to move, and soon all were on the wing, flying side by side, excepting two large Farman machines, which were well in the lead.
Up, up, up, they went, the machines on line with each other maintaining a height of about four thousand feet, while the Farmans were about five hundred feet higher. Within a half hour they saw in the distance what appeared to be a silver ribbon running east and west, which proved to be the river Aisne, and to the east they saw the city of Soissons. The beautiful aviation ground was reached within an hour, and they alighted in front of a magnificent group of hangars in the center of well-tilled fields, so located as to afford a view in all directions from the grounds. The machine was then put up for the night, and Tom and the boys were glad to turn in for a much-needed rest.
It was now the first day of September, and there had been nearly one month of war. The immense German forces had hewn their way through Belgium and entered France, reaching the cities of Laon, Epernay, and Chalons-sur-Marnek, thus forming a huge circle. They were within forty-five miles of Paris.
When the boys awoke the next morning the first words that greeted them were: "The Germans are within five miles of Soissons."
They rushed over to the hangar, but the machine and Tom were not to be found. This was another source of grief to them, and they stared about, and wondered at this new turn of affairs until, meeting an attendant, Ralph inquired:
"Do you know where the Morane has gone?"
"They all started on a reconnoitering trip at five this morning," was the reply.
"Do you think they will come back here?" asked Alfred.
"That is doubtful," answered the man.
"Then we shall have to make our way to Paris as best we can," said Ralph. "Do you think we would have any chances on the railroad?"
"It's doubtful. I should take my chances over the highway directly south, if I wanted to make Paris," answered the man. Then, after a little reflection, he added: "A large English force is expected to be here from Laon, and it may arrive before noon. Possibly the flyers will return, but if the German forces are too close, they will go on to the next station at Crepy, directly south of this place."
"Then that's the place for us," proposed Alfred, as he thanked their informant.
They had no trouble in getting breakfast and after waiting for an hour, during which all sorts of rumors were floating about, they concluded that their only course would be to commence the trip. It was not necessary for them to inquire the way, as the highway, in the distance was filled with fugitives, all trying to get to Paris, or, at least, to avoid the invaders while there was yet time.
Reaching the highway, they moved along with the procession, and, shortly before twelve o'clock, reached Crepy, ten miles from Soissons. They were now twenty-five miles from the center of Paris, and after getting a good meal they again took up the march over a beautiful road, which ran southeast.
CHAPTER VI
VIGOROUS RED CROSS WORK
A mile from the town they came within sight of a cross road, filled with an immense concourse, which seemed to be wending its way east. Approaching nearer, they recognized troops, artillery and horsemen, the latter moving along in the fields parallel with the roadway.
"It seems to me the firing is much nearer than when we started out this morning," said Ralph.
As they passed through the marchers, and proceeded along the highway, they saw that troops were noticed posted everywhere, and that batteries were lying in wait in every advantageous spot.
"I think we made a mistake in taking this road. We should have traveled the one which went to the west," said Ralph.
"Then let's go out the first road that crosses this," replied Alfred.
Meanwhile the sounds of battle came nearer and nearer. The artillery posted on the elevation began to speak, and before there was time to realize it the boys were within the battle zone, and bearing down on the road along which they were traveling. They had no trouble, however, in leaving the road, as all the fences were down, and many of the fields were cut up with the hoofs of horses, and creased by the huge artillery wheels.
To add to the confusion, shells began to fall all about them, and occasionally a terrific explosion would follow, leaving them dazed and startled. They ascended a hill, and, looking back, saw nothing but dense clouds of smoke, and a scene of indescribable confusion.
"What's that down there?" shouted Alfred, pointing to a group of vans close by the side of a stream.
"That must be a Red Cross station; so it is," said Ralph.
Their footsteps were hurried, but before the place was reached they saw stretcher bearers, and also noticed the wounded being unloaded from a field van. Glancing to the left they saw fully a dozen vans of like character, as indicated by the great red crosses on their sides, rushing up the narrow street from the southeast.
"Let's give them a hand," said Alfred.
A business-looking surgeon stood at the rear end of one of the vans, as the boys approached. They saluted. "Can we do anything to help out?" asked Ralph.
The doctor looked at them for a moment, apparently non-plussed at their appearance.
"Yes, indeed; we need you and many more willing ones like you."
"What shall we do?" asked Alfred.
The surgeon drew a pad from his pocket, wrote a few words on it, handed it to the boys, and said: "Present this to the officer yonder."
The officer indicated received the slip, while directing the disposition of a wounded soldier, glanced at it hurriedly, then looked at the boys. "Ah, want to get on duty? We can accommodate you; there, put those stretchers in the van. One of you can take this to the supply van," he said. Ralph seized the paper, and looked about.
"The van with the flag on it," explained the officer.
Ralph rushed across the intervening space, and presented the paper to a Red Cross nurse, who smiled sweetly as she glanced at the paper, and looked inquiringly at Ralph. She then turned, seized three packages, and handed them to Ralph, while he thanked her and quickly rushed away. The packages were stored in the van, water was supplied to the containers in the vehicle, and the moment the last article was on board, the van started.
The boys were both within, as well as three men and a surgeon. They had heard no orders, but knew they were bound for the battlefield. There was no talking indulged in. The men were too intently engaged in listening to the din of the conflict, and watching the soldiers moving to and fro.
"Has there been much of a fight?" asked Ralph.
"They have been at it all morning," said one of the men. Then, glancing at the boys, he continued: "But this is a bad place for you youngsters."
"I am afraid you will regret it before you return. The scenes are awful," continued the man.
"We know what it is," said Alfred. "We saw the worst kind of fighting in Belgium."
"We were with the English in the battle east of Soissons, and had some experience there," said Ralph.
"Aren't you English?" asked the surgeon.
"Oh, no; we're Americans," replied Alfred.
At this point a lieutenant rode up alongside, and shouted: "There has been a tough scrap at the mill; we have driven the Germans back; take this road down to the river; you will find plenty of poor fellows there who will need you."
The French had made a terrific charge at this point, and many were lying dead, where the van slowed down, so as to give the surgeon and helpers an opportunity to pick out the wounded cases.
Wherever there was a movement in a prone figure the men stopped and made an examination. In some cases the wounds were hurriedly dressed, and the victim's position rendered comfortable. In other cases the surgeon motioned to the helpers, who quickly brought the stretchers, and carried the wounded into the van.
On this single trip they attended, or gave first aid to thirty, but only the most severely injured were taken into the van, which now turned and quickly speeded along the narrow road to the field hospital. Reaching this station the men were carefully taken out, their wounds re-examined, and carried into a temporary shelter for a second operation or treatment.
A huge van then arrived from the southwest. Carefully and tenderly eight men were placed on the cots within, the boys being delegated to assist. When the order was given to leave, the boys remained in the van, as it started out on its journey, but they didn't have the least idea where it was bound, although you may be sure they were curious to know.
After every one had settled down,—that is, if such a thing as quiet and comfort were possible in a van load of wounded men, Ralph turned to the surgeon, and said. "Where are we going?"
"To Paris, if we can get through," was the reply.
The van had a wonderful set of springs, so that, although it was necessary hour after hour to go through fields, instead of traveling along the road, there was little discomfort to the wounded men.
"Why are the men being taken to Paris?" asked Alfred.
"So as to relieve the emergency station behind the battle front," explained the surgeon. "That is one thing; the other is, that the great German forces are driving in our comparatively small army, until the Paris forts are reached. There they will be stopped, and we must take our wounded with us, and out of the reach of the enemy."
At Dammartin they saw the first Red Cross railway van,—an entire train load, filled with wounded from the emergency stations, and here also they were joined by fifteen vans taking the wounded on to the city. It was thus a fortunate stroke for the boys that they undertook to help the field hospital workers, for it directly assisted them in their effort to reach the end of their journey.
Traveling was slow, and many detours were necessary, so it was not until the fourth day of September that they caught sight of the walls of Paris, and they soon had the pleasure of driving over the beautiful smooth streets again. They went directly to the center of the city, passed down the rue de l'Opéra, through the Place de la Concorde, and over the bridge to a hospital near the Place des Invalides.
Their charges in the van were soon provided for, and carried into comfortable berths. As they were leaving the ward, they heard a weak voice calling: "Ralph; Alfred."
They were startled, and turned around with wondering glances. A nurse motioned to them, and pointed toward a figure with bandaged head and arms. They approached.
"You don't know me, I suppose?" said the voice.
"No,—no," said Ralph.
"I believe it's Tom," said Alfred.
"Right," said the voice.
The boys knelt down at his side at once. "How did it happen?" asked Alfred.
"Well, they got me first; but I brought down two of them before I was hit," Tom told them.
"What became of the machine?" was Alfred's next question.
"I don't remember anything about it," was the reply, "but they told me it made fine kindling wood."
"Too bad!" consoled Alfred. "I liked that little Morane; and to think it's all broken up."
"How did you get here?" asked Tom.
"Why, we came down with the Red Cross people," explained Ralph.
"You seem to get into all sorts of trouble, all along the line," said Tom with an attempt to laugh.
"But are you badly hurt?" inquired Alfred anxiously.
"The doctors say that there are only a few bones broken, several joints wrenched out of shape, and some of the bark peeled off, but I ought to be out in a few weeks," said Tom.
"Tell us what we ought to do now?" Alfred asked him.
"What do you mean?"
"Why, I want to know whether they will expect us to keep on in the Red Cross service?"
"You volunteered, didn't you?" replied Tom. "You helped them out of your free will, and you can leave whenever you want to, if that's what you are getting at."
"I wouldn't mind volunteering in the aviation corps," said Ralph. "I would just like–"
"So they got you this time, eh?" said a voice.
The boys turned, and saw a handsome man with the uniform of a lieutenant in the aviation service, who approached, and leaned over Tom. Tom replied with a smile, and raising his injured hand, pointed to the boys.
"Lieutenant," he said, "I want you to get acquainted with two of my American friends, who have been in the thick of it right from the start. Now you'll be conferring a special favor if you can take them in to help you out. Oh, they're bricks," continued Tom, as he saw a shade of discouragement in the lieutenant's features, "they are made of the right stuff."
"We leave for Verdun in the morning," said the lieutenant, "but I will see what can be done in the meantime."
As they left the hospital the first thought was to go to the Continental Hotel to try to get a trace of Alfred's father. Arriving there a letter was handed them, together with two telegrams from Berne, Switzerland, one of the messages having been received that very day. The missives informed him that his father had not been able to leave German territory until the twenty-eighth of August, and as he had received word that the Germans were approaching Paris he thought it unwise to make the trip to that point, but would await word from them before deciding what to do.
"How far is it from Berne to Verdun?" Alfred asked the clerk.
"About three hundred kilometers," was the reply.
"Let's see; that's about two hundred miles," said Alfred. "And it's a hundred and fifty miles to Verdun.
"Then we'll go to Verdun," said Ralph. "But how?"
The subject was debated for an hour, when it was decided to return to the hospital. They had forgotten to learn the lieutenant's name, although probably Tom knew how to reach him, they reasoned.
Arriving at the hospital they learned that Tom was asleep, and that no one would be permitted to see him, so they wandered around without the slightest idea what course to pursue. They even discussed the feasibility of walking to Verdun, but that idea was soon abandoned.
"I wonder where the aviation grounds are?" remarked Ralph.
They soon learned that several corps were located at the great race course in the Bois de Boulogne, and they were soon on the underground railway speeding to the nearest station in that vicinity. Arriving at the grounds they approached the entrance, and their hearts sank as they saw a great crowd gathered, and one after the other turned away.
"Chances of getting in seem to be pretty slim," said Alfred.
"Well, we might try it, anyhow," said Ralph, as he pushed forward.
They marched up to the gate, and passed through without the least objection on the part of the guards. This was the greatest surprise to both. They had forgotten that the uniforms they wore gave them admittance without question. Evidently they were taken for army messengers.
"See that American flag?" shouted Ralph.
"That's the place for us," replied Alfred.
Accordingly, they lost no time in making for the hangar on which the emblem appeared. They saw a Farman machine partly outside of the hangar, and in the body of it was seated a ruddy-faced chap.
"What's up?" he asked.
"Came over to help you out," said Alfred.
He looked down, and slowly said: "You did, eh?"
"Well, we've seen a little active service at the front, so far," explained Ralph, "been in battle several times, have been captured by the Germans, helped to build trenches, worked with the Red Cross people, and had a few flights in an airplane, and as we like aviation business best of all, we thought we'd come over and go to work."
The airman raised himself, sat down on the side of the car body, and commenced to laugh, although Ralph's remark was said without the least tinge of pride or boasting. Several from the adjoining hangars came in to learn the cause of the boisterous mirth.
"Well, that's fresh enough to come from real American boys," he said, after he had sobered down a little.
"That's right; we're from the United States; we came here because we saw the flag on the outside; what shall we do the first thing?" said Alfred.
"From America?" said the man, climbing down from the machine. "And you are regular Yankees? Well, well; that's too good! I'm something of an American myself. By jingo, you're the kind of fellows to have around. Want a job? Where did you get your uniforms? They look all right."
"Oh, these are Belgian uniforms. We were with them, you know, and had a pretty hot time, too," said Ralph.
This information, as they now knew, was the best credential possible, and they were soon the center of an admiring crowd. Somehow the determined matter of fact and positive way which the boys adopted had the effect of winning their way, and it was thus that they had the satisfaction of entering a service which it is a most difficult thing to do even with the best credentials.
The happiness of the boys was complete when their new friend told them to get up on the machine, and help him to take out the engine. Coats came off in a hurry, and they looked around for some substitute to protect their clothing.
Their friend supplied the necessary articles at once remarking as he did so that he ought to know their names.
After this information was supplied, he remarked: "My name is Martin; Bill Martin, Fifth Aviation Corps; don't forget the Corps or you may have trouble in getting into the grounds; and, by the way, how did you happen to get through?"
"If you mean the gates, why, we just walked right through," said Alfred.
"Just as though you had a right to do so!" said Martin, as he again commenced to laugh. "You said you were up in an airplane; where was that?"
"Up at Dunkirk, and back of the firing line, south of the St. Quentin," said Ralph.
"Do you know Tom Watkins?" asked Alfred.
"Do I know Tom? Why, we came over together; poor fellow, he got a bad fall," said Martin.
"We heard about it and saw him at the hospital today," said Alfred.
"You don't say? So you've been flying with Tom? I'm glad to know that," said Martin, as he nodded his head approvingly.