Hunting Big Game in No Man's Land

There was nothing of self-consciousness about Corporal Whitcomb over the capture of a high commander of the enemy on almost the first night of his experiences at the front. As Roy Flynn put it:

"Herb's never chesty; wasn't at school, though heaps o' duffers who couldn't stay with him in anything, indoors or out, would swell up like poisoned pups. That's Herb."

Just then the object of the conversation walked into the dugout.

"When are they going to send his nibs, General Sauerkraut, to the rear, Corporal?" asked Sniper G. Washington Smith.

"As soon as the patrol arrives; to-morrow at the latest. I believe he talked some to Gardner last night; tried to bribe him. Flynn, your turn on guard duty, now, over the prisoners. Relieve Watson. The lieutenant wants one of our men with three of his over them all the time. Gaul, you go on to-night.

"Have most of you fellows washed, shaved, and eaten breakfast?" continued Herbert. "If so, we'd better all go out on the hill again for a little while and try to head off those snipers from the other side. Letty says they are getting busy after the big gun. Two bullets flattened on his sight guard a little while ago; one of them must be closer than they've been yet."

"Ain't you the feller to get him?" queried Martin Gaul.

"What's the matter, Gaul? Anything getting on your nerves?"

"No more'n on yours or anybody's. Show me the man who's in love with all this. That old gun up there would drive a stuffed dummy crazy, and bullets droppin' in here every now and then and expecting them Boches to drop in, too; and dirt and filth and crawlers and cookin' your own meals, and cold nights——"

"Do you think that's showing the right spirit? All of us are putting up with the same discomforts, the same nerve strain and we're getting sport out of it, or at least the consciousness that we must sacrifice comforts for the cause. You are the first I have heard complain. Best to chime in, old man, and cut out the kicks."

"Mebbe you'd kick, too, if you were sick," Gaul said.

"Sick? Well, now, that's different. What's the matter? Just how do you feel?"

"Sore all over. Cold, I reckon. Head aches. Pain in my face, too. Got no appetite."

"Sudden, then; eh? Saw you eating a while ago as if you never expected to get any more. You know the grub lorries get here once in so often and enough. But turn in on your cot now and cover up warm. Geddes, you heat Gaul a cup of tea and take and dry his shoes. And put on dry socks, Gaul. I'll get you some pills. Get ready, fellows! Geddes, you join us when you can. Are all your guns clean? Remember, you want your gas masks along. There's no telling when the Boches may let go some of that stuff."

Sneaking, crawling, seeking every bit of cover, getting into pits made by formerly exploded shells when the Germans had driven the French for a time a year before from this same spot, the five snipers worked over the slope and sought by every means to locate and fire upon those of the enemy who were at the same job.

Herb lay behind a pile of dÉbris once tossed up by a shell, his gun over a mass of pebbles in which he had, with a stick, pushed two narrow grooves, one for his weapon, the other as a peep-hole. To get him, a bullet would have to hit exactly in this groove, in line with it; otherwise the stones would deflect it upward.

The lad studied the entire landscape all the way to and beyond the German trenches, a third of a mile away. If, in the equal number of hiding places below, there was a decided motion of any kind he should have been able to see it.

He heard no shots from his men now scattered over the slope; evidently the Hun marksmen were not out, or were keeping very still. He lay silent, alone, under the warming, welcome sun of late autumn.

It had been a beautiful day, following almost a week of incessant rain. The sun shone in a sky almost without clouds. All along the trenches for a long distance there was not a sound of firing, not an impression on the ear that even slightly suggested two opposing armies seeking to shed each other's blood.

Far over beyond the hillside a bird, welcoming the sunshine also, caroled a lively ditty over and over again. Herbert guessed it was some kind of a linnet and wished that he might calmly arise without a sense of danger and go to spy on the singer. A plucky, little feathered adventurer it must be, indeed, to boldly invade this area of killing and to give such small heed to the deafening boom of great cannon and the frequent crackle of rifles and machine guns.

McGuire it was who crept on hands and knees or advanced in a stooping posture, according to the depth of the sheltering stones or bushes between himself and the enemy, and when within speaking distance of Herbert, began a desultory conversation.

"I—ah—know they are on the—ah—hill," he announced, meaning, of course, the Germans. "Saw one, if not—ah—two, or more. They are lying just as low—ah—as we are and are—ah—taking no chances, I presume. Is it not a most beautiful day?"

"A ripper, sure!" was Herbert's reply. "You ought to keep mighty well down, McGuire. 'Tisn't safe to show yourself too much."

"Do you—ah—know," said the ex-glove salesman, "I do not believe those fellows can shoot well enough to—ah—hit me this far away. It is very fine shooting to do so."

"They are not all poor shots, by any means," asserted Herbert.

"I think I—ah—would take chances with the best of them and how greatly I—ah—hope for the opportunity." The young man smiled in the very sweet but sad sort of way that must have helped him sell many a pair of gloves. He turned about and crept to a pile of stones and began another survey of the hunting field.

Herbert wondered where the German marksman could have been located that had harassed the gun crew earlier in the morning and that he had come out to locate and drive off. There were plenty of hiding places, to be sure, but the fellow must disclose his position now if he began shooting again. And it was the business of the sniping squad to stop this.

To the right three of Herb's men had located themselves, this offering the likeliest situation for protection to the gun. It was too far away from the German trench to be in danger from rifle fire, but here enemy snipers could venture out.

Over to the left the ground was clearer of long grass, low bushes and rocks and still beyond that, in No Man's Land, perfectly bare.

The young corporal had about given up the idea of snipers immediately opposing his position. He was thinking of returning to the pit to perform certain duties falling constantly upon a leader of even a few men, for he must do all in his power for their comfort and well being, when he heard a low exclamation come from McGuire. Herbert even recognized the halting "ah" somewhere in it, though he did not fully catch the words. But he saw the man quickly level his gun over the stone pile and fire.

There was no answering shot, and for some little time McGuire lay there inert. Herb could not fully see the precise object of the ex-salesman's marksmanship; he was aware only of a shell pit and its tossed-up earth pile, and a gun muzzle sticking above it. This gradually was lowered.

"Lay low, McGuire!" Herbert cautioned, seeing the fellow beginning to rise up and peer over his stone pile in an effort to see what effect his last shot had taken. And then he was aware that McGuire was not looking in the direction of the shell pit.

Far beyond and to one side of the shell pit, easily a distance of three hundred yards, a German sniper was crawling flat on his stomach in an effort to gain a better shelter; perhaps he believed himself unseen. He was almost hidden from Herbert.

McGuire's gun spoke again; the fellow had risen on one knee to shoot with a clearer view. The crawling German rolled over, appeared as though he were trying to tie himself into a knot and then suddenly collapsed and lay still.

Twice again and in rapid succession McGuire fired; Herbert saw all this, but not clearly, though he was about to shoot also on a chance. The other had the nearer and better view and he was now on his feet.

One of the enemy, on his knees and still farther below, had leveled his gun, but before he could pull the trigger he had pitched forward, where he lay still; another, too, had bravely risen to his feet and was taking an aim at McGuire when he also went down.

And then there was a crack from the rifle in the near shell pit.

Out of the corner of his eye Herbert saw McGuire fall to the ground; he knew by that momentary instinct that is never failing what this meant. But he did not then turn his head. Instead his eyes were leveled along his pet gun barrel and beyond to where merely the helmet, the forehead and the eyes of a man showed above the shell-pit mound.

Herb had to make quick, sure work of it. But with the crack of his rifle, knowing just where that bullet would go, the boy could not resist a sickening, pitying sensation, for proof of his accurate aim came when the German half rose out of the shell pit and lay prone across his fallen gun.

The corporal, himself now almost unmindful of danger, stooping, crossed to where McGuire lay, and knelt beside him. A glance told him enough. With something like a sob Herbert began to work his way back to the gun pit.

"Dead instantly," was his remark to Lieutenant Jackson. "But he died a hero's death. Outshot the German snipers, as he said he could, and got three of them before a fourth got him. Poor chap, he was as brave as ten tigers and as gentle as a lamb. Our first man to go."

"There will likely be others, Whitcomb. You must get used to it. The fortunes of war, you know."

But a fellow of Herbert's make-up never could, nor did he ever, get used to such a thing. Though not the less determined to do his duty, he was now more than ever down on and disgusted with the whole useless, hateful, miserable business of war.

Down the slope toward the German trenches lay four dead Germans, perhaps some of them not quite dead; possibly still suffering, bleeding, dying slowly, and where they could not be reached because of the unremitting desire of both sides to take every advantage of an enemy. There was no such thing as the white flag for purposes of succoring the wounded in No Man's Land.