CHAPTER VII

DAYS OF SORROW

"We're smashing through! We're smashing through!"

It was Jimmy who cried this. A turn of the battle had thrown him in contact with Roger, Bob, and Iggy after some hours of fighting, and once more they were pressing onward again.

There had been only time for a hurried word of inquiry--enough to learn that none of the four was injured at all seriously, though each one had had narrow escapes.

"Seen anything of Schnitz?" cried Jimmy, as he leaped forward to the attack again.

"He was with us a little while ago," shouted Bob. "I guess we'll find him up ahead!"

They did not know the fate that had befallen poor Franz.

"Are you all right, Iggy?" asked Roger.

"Sure I iss! Of what is left of me. But I a piece of my tin hat dit leaf behind," and he showed where a bullet or a fragment of shrapnel had shorn away part of his steel helmet.

"Close call that," commented Bob.

"Oh, well, I should of worry haf dot it iss not mine head," said Iggy, with a smile.

And while the four, together with a vast army of Americans, were pressing on, the Germans were being driven back. It is no wonder that Jimmy had cried out that the Allies were smashing through.

For the spear-head had been bent back. No longer was it a menace, and, in their turn, the Americans were forcing one into the German line--a broader spear-head, with the consequent chance of dividing the foe's line and turning either flank.

"Come on, boys! Come on!" cried a lieutenant. "Let's finish the job. Only a few hundred more yards, and we'll have reached our objective!"

And on they rushed, some falling, destined never to see the final glory of the American arms, others staggering along, exhausted or wounded, but never slacking while they had life to move.

And finally, after a desperate struggle, the triumphant cry that Jimmy had raised was shouted all along the line:

"We're smashing through! We're smashing through!"

And, indeed, the German line was smashed at this particular sector. They were fleeing now--the Huns. Throwing aside their guns and equipment, there was a mad struggle to get away--anywhere for safety.

Back the Germans were pushed. They were in desperation, many of them. They feared the American guns, they feared the American infantry, and they feared the "_Teufel Hunds_"--the "devil dogs"--of Marines. And the fear was translated into flight.

"Cease firing!" came the whistled order, and it was with thankful hearts that Jimmy and his three Brothers dropped down on the shell-scarred earth, too exhausted to longer hold their guns or even to stack them. It had been a battle to the death, and death had been the portion of many.

Almost before the panting breath of the tired soldiers had been throttled down to normal came the order:

"Dig in!"

It was expected, but it was none too welcome. Nevertheless, they all knew the necessity of doing as they were told. At any moment the Germans might bring up reserves and make a counter-attack. This must be guarded against.

And so the weary Sammies had to scratch holes in the ground, like veritable animals, to obtain shelter. Still no one murmured. They knew their very lives might depend on this rude shelter.

But as night settled down it began to be evident that the Boche had had enough. He was not going to make a counter-attack--at least not until his scattered forces were collected.

And then came a rest period, when such food as was available was eaten. It was not much--merely the emergency rations, but the soldiers were glad enough to eat them. They had advanced so far that it was impossible to bring up the kitchens in time.

"Where are you going, Jimmy?" asked Roger, as, after the hasty meal, he saw the young sergeant get up and move about.

"I'm going to see if I can get any word of Franz," was the answer. "You say he was with you fellows until just before you met me."

"Yes," said Bob. "He was with us when we were going to attack the house where the machine guns were. One of our shells saved us the trouble. Then we all went on and got into a sort of little gully. Right after that I missed Franz."

"I didn't see him after that, either," added Roger. "I hope he--I hope he's all right," he faltered.

"Oh, I guess he is," said Jimmy, but he could not get much conviction into his voice. Truth to tell, Jimmy did not really believe Franz was all right. Of course, he might have been swept to the right or the left in the waves of fighting and have been kept temporarily with some other detachment than his own. But several hours had now passed since the word had been given to cease firing, and Franz had not rejoined his own company.

"I'm going to see if I can get any trace of him," declared Jimmy.

"Maybe I'd better come along," suggested Roger. "Two can hunt better than one."

"All right," Jimmy assented. "Bob, you and Iggy stay here. Keep your ears and eyes open. Franz may come back while we're away."

Jimmy and Roger obtained permission to go back over the battleground to look for their comrade. It was a gruesome task, and the sights they saw were not pleasant. Here and there the stretcher bearers were busy taking the wounded to the nearest first-aid stations.

Roger led the way to the last place he had seen Franz. This was the little gully spoken of, where Schnitz had become separated from his companions just before he discovered the three German machine gunners, whom he made prisoners. But, of course, Roger and Jimmy knew nothing of this.

They searched as best they could in the fast-gathering darkness, but found no trace of Franz Schnitzel, nor did they get any word about him. Many to whom the two spoke knew the sergeant, but they declared they had not seen him except during the early part of the battle.

"Maybe he'll show up to-morrow," said Roger hopefully, when he and Jimmy turned back to join Bob and Iggy.

"Maybe he's back with the boys now," suggested Jimmy, trying to believe what he said.

But when they joined their chums there was no word from the missing "Brother," and it was with sorrowful hearts that they passed the night. Some of them were on guard duty, and through the long watches they waited eagerly for some word. But none came.

Then followed days of sorrow, for when morning dawned, bringing with it the work of constructing new trenches, Franz had not appeared, and when the roll was called he was listed as "missing in action."

"He's either dead or a prisoner," decided Jimmy, on the third day, when it was certain that Schnitz was not among the wounded.

"If he were dead wouldn't we find his body?" asked Bob.

"Not necessarily," answered Jimmy. "If a shell landed near him he----"

But he could not finish. It was not necessary. His comrades understood what he meant.

As for Franz, he was beaten and kicked to his feet and made to stagger on in the midst of his captors. The blow on his head had only stunned him. It was not serious, though very painful, and he felt in a daze as he was stripped of his weapons and most of his possessions and made to march in a round-about way toward the German lines. At this point the two forces were close together, and, as Franz had surmised, the Americans had fairly rushed over the machine-gun nest, or rather, they had passed on either side of it. And the Huns were preparing to use the weapon in a sort of rear action when Franz captured them, only, himself, to fall a like victim a little later.

"Traitor! Dog! Pig!" were some of the mildest epithets cast at Franz, as he was half-dragged along. Nor was it all mere words. He was kicked and cuffed, for the Germans seemed to like to vent their spite on him.

But Schnitz was game. Not a complaint did he utter. But he wondered what would be his fate and whither he was being taken.

"Another prison camp, I suppose," he reflected bitterly.