"Over the Top"

Had the entire bunch of fellows, from Regulars to Draftees been planning for a football game or a very strenuous social lark of some kind, they could not have appeared more happy, in the beginning, over it. The fact that the raiders had first in mind the killing of the enemy, men like themselves sent to cut down their opponents, proved what custom will do. For custom is everything, and men in a body can fit themselves to observe almost any procedure and to twist it whichever way that gives the greatest satisfaction.

In times of peace we regard the murder of one person as something over which to get up a vast deal of excitement and much indignation, but in warfare we plan for the killing of thousands as a business matter and read of it often with actual elation. Such are the inconsistencies of mankind.

"Say, Corporal, if I don't get at least a half dozen of those Huns during this little picnic you can call me a clam! These little get-theres have got to do the job!" Rankin stood gazing lovingly at his two service pistols, held in either hand, as he spoke. He was admittedly the best revolver shot amongst the gun-pit contingent.

"I'll run you a little race as to who makes the best score on real deaders!" spoke up a youthful-looking fellow who was one of the recently arrived squad of Regulars. "I sort of like to punch holes with these small cannons myself."

But Herbert heard no other boasts of the sort from the men contemplating the night raid; indeed, there was very little talk about it at all, except that some were curious as to how the program might work out, or what the hitches might be, and some, though determined to do their duty, seemed to be a bit nervous as time went on.

The boy, having now gone through enough in the crucible of death-dealing to sear him against the fear of possibilities, even of probabilities, regarded this raid only as a matter of duty, of necessity, and with very little thought about it, resolved to do his part to the very best of his ability.

"Over the top!" This has become a familiar phrase now since a large part of the present method of warfare consists in those in the opposing trenches finding a way of getting at each other over No Man's Land, often not more than twenty yards across and on an average perhaps a hundred and fifty feet, though the turns and twists of the trenches make it difficult to draw an average.

Open attacks, except by large bodies of men in what is termed a drive, are not generally successful in the military, the strategic, sense, for there are more men lost in getting across barbed wire entanglements, machine-gun and rifle fire than will pay for what they gain. A section of trench which is part of the enemy's system will very likely have to be given up, unless the entire trench is soon after taken, which may result in a general drive.

The military tactics compel that which the scientific boxer adopts and calls his art, that of self-defense. Anyone can wade in and hammer a foe if he does not care how he is hammered in turn, but often the hammering he gets is more than he can give, unless he studies to shun injury. In this case often the weaker fighter will outdo the stronger if the former avoids being punished while getting in some hard cracks on the other chap's weak spots.

And just so with trench fighting. The opposing armies are precisely like two trained-to-the-minute prize fighters with bare knuckles and out for blood; they are watching each other's every move, dodging, ducking and delivering all sorts of straights, hooks, swings and upper-cuts, all sorts of raids, bombings, grenadings, shellings, air attacks and what not?

But the raids at night are the best card that, so far, the opposing platoons or companies have learned to deliver, and they often result in a knockout blow, at least to that section of the trench attacked. The raid must be delivered as a surprise to be most effective and thus may be compared to the fist fighter's sudden uppercut or swing to the jaw.

The night came on cold, still, with gathering clouds, and the men in the lower portion of the communicating trench, and mostly within an offset that had also been dug and roofed over with heavy poles, brush and sod for camouflage, gathered to partake of the evening meal and converse in low tones.

Two enemy airplanes bent on scouting duty, started just before dusk toward the American lines, but with glee the boys heard Susan Nipper begin to talk again and the planes disappeared, one veering off out of range, the other being knocked into the customary mass upon the unkind ground.

Whitcomb, Gardner, Watson, and Rankin chummed together, as was their habit when all off duty together; not at this time cooking, as there was no place handy where a fire could be camouflaged. The men now all ate their grub cold, which was not so bad for an occasional change; the tinned meats, fresh fruit and fresh biscuits made at the barracks well satisfying a soldier's appetite.

Hot coffee in a big urn was sent down from the gun pit, and the lieutenant added a good supply of chocolate candy recently shipped over from the good old United States for the boys in the trenches and appreciated as much as anything could be. After this many indulged in pipes and tobacco, but they were careful to keep the glow of their smoke well out of sight of the prying eyes of the enemy, for who can tell when a squirming Hun may wriggle himself up to almost the very edge of his foeman's trench and spot those gathered within, or overhear their plans!

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[Pg 180]

"Or in jail? 'Bout as leave!" Watson jested.

"—— after I left school. Dad sent me over with our buyer to get on to the toy importing business, and I'll say this for the doggone Germans. They are rough, they are brags, they are all a little crazy; but they are wonderfully painstaking, remarkably thorough and persevering, and here and there, now and then you come across some mighty fine, good, upright, altogether decent chaps whom you may be glad and proud to have as friends. It is all wrong, unfair and a little small to consider all the people in any land unworthy; don't you think so? You remember what Professor Lamb used to say at school——"

"Professor Lamb?" interrupted Herbert. "Say, man, what school did you attend?"

"Brighton Academy. Best school in the——"

"Here, too! I was a junior when I enlisted; Flynn and I. Put it there, old chap!" Herbert thrust out his hand.

"Now, isn't that funny we didn't know that before about you?" Gardner said. "Yes, Watson here and I were classmates. We were chums at school, and have been chums ever since; enlisted together."

"And we're mighty glad to be under one who has the same Alma Mater," put in Watson.

"Or, as poor old Roy Flynn would say: 'We're all the same litter and bark just alike; mostly at the moon'," Herbert quoted.

"Flynn, too, eh?" questioned Gardner. "He, like many another fitted for some very different task, came out here to be unfitted. I have thought, ever since the days in camp back home, that he was admirably cut out for the law."

"A man doesn't need both feet to talk with," Watson suggested.

"And he may not lose his leg at all," Herbert protested, hoping against hope.

"It won't still his tongue, I'll wager, if he does."

As the night wore on conversation grew less and many of the men dozed, sitting on the ground and propped against the dirt wall, or each other. One little fellow slept and even snored lying across the stretched legs of two others, until they tumbled off to rest their limbs. Others knew only wakefulness and either stood about or paced up and down between the narrow walls of the trench, stopping now and then to exchange a whispered word with their fellows.

The sniper squad took turns in making pillows of each other. Once, when they were shifting positions for comfort, Watson remarked rather sharply:

"We can't yell 'Hurrah for old Brighton!' but we can all pull together, by gum!"

Rankin, who had been in turn relieved from duty at the listening post and who was very wide awake, remarked:

"Mebbe we'll all pull together for the other shore before this night's over."

Herbert waked up at that. "Pull yourself together, old man. You were telling a while ago what you're hoping to do with those guns of yours and——"

"If I have any sort of a chance," Rankin said grimly.

"We can't call you fellows together with a bugle," Sergeant West announced, in a stage whisper. "But it's a few minutes of three o'clock; everything is as quiet as a mouse. Two of our men are over there to give an alarm. All get ready. There'll be no falling in, no formation. Keep well spread out. Orders will be given only by signals. Three of us have whistles and we hope they won't get all three. One short blow means follow the leader; two means all return; three means retreat in a hurry, but with prisoners, if you can get them; a long-continued blast means retreat for your lives. I guess all understand. But no signals will be given until after we attack. We must go across absolutely without noise and we must go quickly. Get the fellow at their listening post, or any sentinel first. It's our first raid in this sector and they will hardly expect us. Now, boys, follow Gerry. He knows the lay of the land."

And over the top went the forty odd, wishing they could do so with a cheer, but keeping as silent as an army of cats after an army of rabbits—only the prey they sought was by no means as harmless as rabbits, and this fact made the need of silence greater.

Not a word came from the scouts, and if the men in the enemy's trench were apprised of the coming of the Americans they were not able to communicate with their fellows before the raiders had scrambled through, or rapidly pulled aside the barbed wire, squirmed over a pile of sand bags and leaped into the German trench.

Not a man hesitated, and the first signal of any kind they heard was the bark of Gerry's revolver as he sent down the foremost and lone Hun he encountered just as the fellow tried to raise his gun.

At short range the handier, expertly used revolver won and it was so throughout the mÊlÉe that followed.

As the Americans landed, some few dashing on and into a wide shelter or dugout lined with berths and concrete-floored, in which fifty men reposed or waited for night duty, the short, sharp, rapidly repeated bark of the ready pistols sounded almost like, though less regular than, a machine gun.

But the revolvers were used only against those that opposed them; the foeman who indicated surrender, who was without a weapon or who dropped it, or who held up his hands was fully disarmed and pushed aside between guards, quickly signified by Sergeant West.

It was not all surrender, however; at the very rear of the dugout a dozen men quickly leveled their Mausers and discharged a volley, point-blank, at the Americans who had entered, the most of them being still in the trench fighting the Huns who had rallied from either end.

The snipers' squad, all light and active young fellows, had been the first into the trench; the first into the dugout, they were in the fore when the volley came. Herbert, a gun in both hands, leaped to prevent two Germans from seizing their guns; Gardner on the other side held up three men; Watson blazed away at a commander who blazed away at him, without making a hit, and half a dozen Regulars behind were coming on to perform a like duty. But it was Rankin who saw more of the resisting squad at the far end of the dugout.

The young man, a gun in each hand, became transformed instantly into a sort of fire-spouting mechanism; the red streaks of flame from his weapons stabbed the semi-darkness almost with one continuous glare and when the twelve shots were expended every man of the opposing force had fallen. But not alone! The last to stand before that burst of fury aimed true; and as more Regulars rushed into the place to make good the surrender of the other Huns some stumbled over brave Rankin's body.

The whistle sounded once, twice, thrice. Was the work so soon completed? That meant hurry, but with prisoners and, of course, the American wounded and dead.

As though long drilled for this work, knowing precisely what to do and being not once confused, the boys hustled the Huns before them, some guarding against any possible flank attack; and Herbert, feeling for the moment like a young Hercules, lifted Rankin over his shoulder and, climbing again the ramparts of the enemy's trench, staggered rapidly back again over No Man's Land, keeping up with his comrades. And a little behind him came other stalwart fellows, carrying also their precious human burdens, some groaning, some quiet, two limp and fast growing cold.

Then came rest, though there was readiness against counter-attack, which did not then occur. With the coming of dawn a few new men guarded the communicating trench and the raiders returned to the gun pit. Herbert listened to Sergeant West's terse report to Lieutenant Jackson:

"Very successful, sir. Captured twenty and left about thirty-five enemy dead and wounded. Two of ours dead; four wounded. Got a lot of their guns and smashed a machine-gun they were trying to use in the trench."

Then he added in an altered voice:

"Want to recommend every man for bravery, but especially Corporal Whitcomb, Privates Gardner and Watson for holding the dugout against odds until more men arrived, and Corporal Long and Privates Finletter, Beach, Thompson and Michener for capturing the machine-gun. If I may mention it, we would all be glad to make another raid at any time."

Herbert saluted. "May I add to that, Lieutenant? Thank you! I want to tell you what Rankin did before he died." And with a voice a little unsteady at times the boy related briefly the heroic work of the young fellow who had shot faster and truer than eight or nine men against him and had made it possible for the few Americans in the dugout to take the prisoners they did.

"I think this, more than anything that has occurred yet, shows clearly the superiority of the Americans' expertness with the revolver and what may be done with it against odds, if men are taught to shoot accurately and with great rapidity," he added.

"I am going to report that to our captain," said Lieutenant Jackson, "and I hope it goes to Washington. I know what I'd do if I had the say. I'd give each man two pistols and a lot of training and omit a lot of this liquid-fire business and grenades. A poor shot can do nothing, nor can a man attempt it who is unfamiliar with the weapon, but an expert could stop half a dozen men with bayonets before the latter could get near enough to use them."