CHAPTER XVI

ONLY TWO LEFT

"Whew, that was some fight!"

"I say de same by you, Bobby!"

It was Iggy who made the last remark and Bob Dalton who spoke first. They had swept on with their companions in arms, crashing their way through the German lines, and now the order had come to cease firing. It would not do for too large a number of the cheering, victorious Americans to get beyond the protection of their big guns, and this was likely if they rushed on much farther.

"Got any water in your can, Iggy?" went on Bob, as they sat, or rather, "flopped," down on the ground, exhausted, as were their comrades. "If you haven't any, I have some I'll share with you."

"I have some quiteness of vodah--I mean wat-ter--left," said Iggy. "Und jolly much goot will she taste now."

"You said something, pal!" declared a wounded soldier near by. "Some Fritzie put a slug through my canteen, and there isn't a drop in it, and I'm as dry as a boneless herring."

"Here!" cried Bob, instantly offering his water flask. "Take as much as you want. I can get more."

"Don't be too positive of that, buddy," said the wounded man. "But I certainly do appreciate a swallow of this. Guess I'm booked to go back," he said, as he looked at his mangled hand. Poor fellow! He never was to use it again.

The scenes all about Bob and Iggy were too filled with horror to bear repeating. Though the Americans had swept on victorious, driving the Huns before them and out of their trenches, yet it was at a price. Perhaps, from a military standpoint, not too heavy a price to pay for victory, but still a price.

There were dead, dying, and wounded men all about, and more back where the German resistance had been strongest. Bob and Iggy had come through the ordeal with nothing more than slight flesh wounds. They were sufficiently painful, but not serious enough to send them to the hospital. Iggy had been scratched on the arm by a ragged bit of shrapnel shell, and Bob had received a cut on the forehead by some flying missile.

And now came the blessed relief from the toil and the struggle, from the sweat and the blood of the battle.

"Cease firing!" had sounded, most welcome signal, and the men who were left alive, many of them wounded, began to think of other things than killing and trying to escape from being killed.

They sat or sprawled about, some panting to get back the breath that was so nearly spent. Others began to eat some of their emergency rations and to drink water from their canteens.

"Did you see anything of Roger and Jimmy?" asked Bob, when he had recovered something of his spent energies.

"Yes. I see tham run like what you say--Old Harry--over by that way," and Iggy pointed to the left. "Then came a big shell and so much dust and smoke that I of see tham no more."

"Say, I hope that shell didn't do for 'em!" exclaimed Bob. "Didn't you see anything of 'em after that?" he asked anxiously.

"Oh, that shell did not tham keel," declared Iggy. "Oh, no! I see tham when the smoke of it went up, and so sure I am that they was not keeled by these shell. But maybe they was keeled by some other."

"Yes, that's always the chance in this business," returned Bob gloomily. "Well, we'll soon know. If they're alive they'll join us, no doubt."

"De soonest de bester," declared Iggy.

Perhaps there is no more trying time to fighting men than just after a big battle. The excitement that forced them on against the odds of death in many forms has subsided, and there is the reaction. Perhaps this reaction is even greater after victory than after defeat. For in the latter case there is still the incentive of hurrying on, often to avoid capture, and this need of haste provides the excitement that prevents too much thinking.

But after a terrific and bloody engagement, such as that through which Bob and Iggy had just passed, and when victory has come, there often follows a reaction caused by the thought of the brave ones who, by their lives or by horrible wounds, have helped pay the price of the success of those who live and who come after.

And it was thoughts like these that filled the hearts and minds of the Khaki Boys and their comrades with gloom as they recovered themselves after the fighting.

"Say, when are we going to get some hot soup?" one lad asked.

"What flavor do you want?" shouted a companion.

"Oh, I'm not particular. Strawberry or vanilla--just so long as it's hot."

"Fat chance you have of getting soup!" declared a veteran. "Lucky, if you have a crust and some muddy water."

There was a laugh at the talk, and then some one produced a battered mouth organ. As if by magic, many who heard the not unmusical strains forgot their weariness and joined in a popular song. Some of the wounded even tried to sing, and it greatly raised the spirits of all within sound of the simple melody.

"Good work, boys! Keep it up!" cried a captain, as he hurried by on his way to dispatch messengers to the rear. "Sometimes a song's as good as a cup of coffee!"

Soon the stretcher bearers began their grisly tasks, and after the wounded had been cared for the work of burying the dead had to be begun. Many negroes were employed in this sad task, and be it said to the credit of these men and their brothers who took active parts in the fighting, that they proved themselves to be worthy of great praise and confidence.

Not much time could be spared for mere sitting around, or "loafing," on the part of the unwounded fighters. Even those, like Bob and Iggy, who had slight hurts, were expected to turn in and help now.

It was necessary to consolidate the positions gained after such severe fighting and such sacrifices, and while the German trenches were occupied by some of the American forces, it was needful to dig more, to plan dugouts, and to put up new barbed-wire entanglements.

For the Boches might be expected to make a counter-attack at any time, though it was believed they were so badly demoralized for the present that there would be no immediate resumption of hostilities on this particular sector.

And so, after a brief rest, Bob and Iggy, having partaken of some of their rations and some water, began to dig with pick and shovel; a labor that was shared by many of their chums.

It was almost night when the needful precautions had been taken against a surprise, and then the men were delighted to hear that some kitchen outfits had come up and that hot food would shortly be served.

"And, oh boy, what won't I do to it!" cried Bob. "I've got an appetite like a house afire!"

"Me, I am of a hunger, too," said Iggy. "But wish you not, Bob, dat Roger and Jimmy might be with us?"

"Do I wish it? I say I do!" cried Bob. "However, they may blow in at any moment. Maybe they've taken a lot of prisoners and have to escort 'em to the rear."

"I hope so," murmured Iggy.

"Only, if that's the case," went on Bob, "I hope it doesn't turn out as it did with Franz. We don't want Rodge and Jimmy captured and taken to some prison camp."

"Not!" declared Iggy with emphasis. But, had they known it, the plight of Roger and Jimmy at that moment could not have been much worse had they been in some Hun stockade.

Night came and passed, and there was no sign of, nor word from, the two missing ones. Bob and Iggy looked at one another the next morning, and there was fear and worry in their eyes.

"Where you think they be?" asked Iggy.

"I don't know," confessed Bob. "It looks as bad for them as it has looked for some time for Schnitz. But we must keep on hoping. If they're dead we'll know that soon enough--worse luck. But if they are listed as missing--well, what's the use?"

Iggy slowly shook his head.

"We of first was five Brothers," he said. "Then Franz go, and we was four. Now two more iss go and we iss two. Two left, only. Py jolly, maybe soon we iss only one!"