O.D. turned restlessly for a long time before he could adapt his body to the topography of the ground that was his bed. He had funny feelings in his joints as if something was grinding against the bones, especially when he remained in one position long. Jimmy’s snoring told him that his new friend was asleep.

The new-comer to the environs of the front lay awake almost two hours. He thought of home, of his mother, of Mary, and of what was before him. Now and then a distant rumbling as if thunder was muttering in far-away skies came to his ears.

Jimmy had explained the rumbling as being the noise of guns that were perhaps twenty kilometers away. O.D. couldn’t put down the idea that he was near the front, the thing that he had been working toward since becoming a soldier. The idea gripped him so strongly that he couldn’t stay the restless feelings which worked through his veins fire-like.

He sat up, reached for his shoes, slipped them on, and crawled out of the tent.

The night was singularly clear for France. A growing moon and myriad stars had purged the world of shadows and given it a generous possession of silver light. Except for the soft noises made by the horses and the occasional rumble that came from the hills of Verdun, the night was quiet and suggestive of peaceful repose.

O.D. looked and listened at the things of the night. A sentry strolled leisurely along the road where the guns of his regiment were camouflaged. Far in front of him a chain of golden rockets climbed against the horizon and disappeared as if by magic. The thing that O.D. had thought was thunder came to his ears again. Then all was so quiet that he could hear Jimmy sleeping.

“I’m almost at the front,” soliloquized the man to himself. “No one else seems to know it, or feel it, but me. Guess I better try to sleep.” He turned to go back in the pup tent.

A soft, subdued thing like the drone of a bee rose and fell on the night air. O.D. jumped forward a trifle, startled by the sinister beelike noise that seemed almost overhead.

Rat-tat-tat-tat! B-o-o-m! B-o-o-m! Rat-tat-tat-tat!

The peace of the night ended in the fierce barking of machine-guns and the crash of anti-air-craft cannon. Between shots, the soft droning that came from the skies continued in a casual, business-like way that caused cold perspiration to come unbidden to O.D.’s forehead.

B—A—N—G!

A bomb exploded about four hundred yards from where O.D. stood, and the ground quivered beneath him.

The sound of waking men stirred him to speak.

“What—— What is it?” he asked.

“Nothin’ but a Boche plane droppin’ bombs. They’re goin’ at him with the archies, but might just as well use pea-shooters. Never get a plane with that stuff,” came the answer from a dark part of the woods.

W-h-i-r-r!

Something was passing directly overhead. O.D. looked up. He saw a black shadow flit between himself and the moon. Then another bomb exploded. O.D. dived into the tent. He landed on Jimmy.

“What the hell’s up?” asked Jimmy, coming out of sleep.

“Listen,” whispered O.D. in a hoarse voice.

Jimmy listened.

“Nothin’ but some Boche planes, I guess. They’ll never get us, but I hate ’em just the same. Turn over and let’s cushay encore.”

O.D. lay down again, but did not sleep until the droning had ceased and the guns had become quiet. Fatigue finally overpowered his senses and he fell into deep slumber.

“Wake up, O.D. Time to monjay.” Jimmy, fully dressed, was bending over O.D.

“What—— Oh—— Time to get up and eat, eh? What have they got for breakfast, Jimmy?”

“Bacon, hardtack, and coffee. The coffee’s got sugar in it for a wonder. Make it fast or we’ll get nothin’ but seconds.”

Sitting bolt upright in the little tent, O.D. took account of the fact that Jimmy was all ready and showed signs of having been up some time.

“You have been up and around, Jimmy; why didn’t you wake me up before?” asked O.D.

“What’s the use? You’ll get enough early rising before you’re through with this outfit. Might as well beat the army out of a little sleep when you can. When you come down to brass tacks about it, every time you cushay late and monjay a lot you’re makin’ yourself stronger and a better man for the army work. Cushay all you can, O.D. We had to get up at six and feed them soft-headed horses and bring ’em down to a little lake to water. Come on if you’re set and we’ll beat it up to the mess-line.”

O.D. and Jimmy, mess-kits and cups in hand, found their way through the woods to the long line of hungry men that extended from the smoking, rolling kitchen to a point almost one hundred yards away.

O.D. had never looked upon such a motley group of American soldiers since entering the army. Most of the boys were in their shirt-sleeves. Some wore leggings and some did not. Half of them did not have caps or hats on. They were all mud-splashed. Everybody was either talking or laughing.

“When are we goin’ to eat?” asked one man near the end of the line. A rattle of mess-kits followed that question, and soon the entire mess-line began to bawl out the cooks and kitchen police in general.

“Look at the ears on him!” shouted a Yank. A chorus of laughs followed.

O.D., falling in line behind Jimmy, heard that remark and turned red in the face.

“Why did he say that, Jimmy? Are my ears big, or what?” he asked.

Jimmy laughed.

“They’re not talkin’ ’bout you, O.D. That’s just a sayin’ in this man’s army which is more popular ’round mess-time than any other. Don’t worry ’bout these guys gettin’ fresh with you,” answered Jimmy.

The top-sergeant stopped Jimmy and O.D. as they were making their way back from mess.

“Say, Jimmy, is this the new guy?” asked the top, indicating O.D.

“Oui. Pop Henderson said I could get him in my crew.”

“Trey-beans. You’ll fix him up, then. Have you had any time on the guns?” he asked O.D.

“No. I was in the infantry.”

“What about that, Jimmy?”

“I’ll show him ’round that baby of ours. He don’t need no trainin’ for the job I’m goin’ to give him,” declared McGee.

“Well, be good to him. Luck to you, old man,” and the top hurried away to scare up some details for grooming the horses.

“We pull up to-night, O.D.—not right into the front, you know. About three kiloflappers from where our positions will be. So I want to get down to the piece and look her over. Got to get Betsy in great shape for this drive. We’re goin’ to take Metz. You heard that, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I thought Metz was the German’s stronghold and a long ways off,” answered O.D.

“Oui. What of it? We’ll take it all right. Wait till this old Yankee army gets loose at ’em.” Jimmy spoke with a confidence which O.D. hadn’t yet learned to grasp.

The day was spent by Jimmy in cleaning and getting Betsy, his faithful Schneider howitzer of 155-millimeter range, in condition for the work that was in store for it. O.D. got a chance to familiarize his fingers and sight with the parts that were henceforth to engage his attention while a member of Jimmy McGee’s gun crew.

A few minutes before supper final moving orders were announced. The regiment was to hike twenty-four kilometers and camouflage in a woody valley near Rupt-en-Woevre.

Jimmy, standing around with O.D. and Neil, hearing the orders, remarked.

“Can you imagine this stuff back in the States? Suppose a guy blew in your office just before supper and told you to grab your typewriter and hike eighteen miles or so. Why, man, you’d throw him down ten flights of stairs. Over here they tell you to load up with a hundred pounds of junk and hike twenty-odd kilometers, and you do it like you was goin’ off to a dance. Don’t know what the hell we’ll do when we do get back.”