CHAPTER XXIII
CUTTING THEIR WAY OUT
Frank sprang to his feet.
"What do you mean?" he cried.
"Just this," replied Tom, taking the confession from his pocket. "Hetold me the whole story and there it is in black and white, names ofwitnesses and all."
Frank read the confession with growing excitement, while his comradesclustered closely around him.
"Tom, old scout!" Frank exclaimed, as the whole significance of theconfession dawned upon him, "you've done me a service that I'll neverforget. Now we can see our way clear, and my mother will come into herrights."
"I'm mighty glad, old boy," replied Tom with a happy smile. "I've heldon to that paper through thick and thin, because I knew what it wouldmean to you and your mother. But now," he went on, "I've beenanswering the questions of all this bunch and turn about is fair play.Tell me how our boys are doing. How is the big drive going on? Havewe stopped the Germans yet?"
"They're slowing up," said Bart.
"We're whipping them," declared Billy.
"I wouldn't quite say that," objected Frank. "We haven't whipped themyet except in spots. Of course we're going to lick them. The wholeworld knows that now except the Germans themselves, and I shouldn'twonder if they were beginning to believe it in their hearts. Butthey'll stand a whole lot of beating yet, and we don't want to kidourselves that it's going to be an easy job. But we're holding themback, and pretty soon we'll be driving them back."
"I'll bet the old Thirty-seventh has been doing its full share," saidTom proudly.
"You bet it has," crowed Billy. "Tom, old man, you've missed somelovely fighting."
"You fellows have had all the luck," refilled Tom wistfully.
"Don't grouch, Tom," laughed Frank. "There's plenty of it yet to come.And I'll bet you'll fight harder than ever now, when you think of allyou've been through. You've got a personal score to settle with theHuns now, as well as to get in licks for Uncle Sam."
"You're right there," replied Tom, as his eyes blazed. "I can't waitto get at them. My fingers fairly itch to get hold of a rifle."
"But you ought to have a little rest and get your strength back beforeyou get in the ranks again," suggested Bart.
"None of that rest stuff for me," declared Tom. "When you boys get inI'm going to be right alongside of you."
His wish was not to be gratified that day, however, for there was alull in the fighting just then while the hostile armies manoeuvred forposition. But the pause was only temporary, and the next day the stormbroke in all its fury.
Of course Tom had to make a report at headquarters. There his story,especially as it related to Nick Rabig, was listened to with muchinterest.
When the fighting began again it was not trench work. That was alreadyin the past. Of course the armies took advantage of whatever shelterwas offered them, and there were times when shallow trenches were dugwith feverish haste. But these were only to be used for minutes or forhours, not for weeks and months at a time. The great battle had becomeone of open warfare, and it ebbed and flowed over miles of meadow andwoodland, of hill and valley.
It was just the style of fighting that suited the American troops.They wanted action, action every minute. They wanted to see theirenemies, to get at grips with them, to pit their brawn and muscle,their wit and courage against the best the enemy could bring forth. Itwas the way their ancestors had fought, man to man, bayonet to bayonet,where sheer pluck and power would give the victory to the men whopossessed them in largest measure.
"We'll be in it up to our necks in a few minutes now," muttered Bart,as they waited for the order to charge.
"It's going to be hot work," remarked Billy. "They've got a pile ofmen in that division over there, and they've been putting up a stifffight so far this morning."
"They're in for a trimming," declared Frank. "Just wait till the oldThirty-seventh goes at them on the double quick."
"Why don't the orders come?" grumbled Tom.
They came at last and, with a rousing cheer, the regiment rushedforward. The enemy's guns opened up at them, and a deadly barragesought to check the wild fury of their charge. Men went down as shotand shell tore through them, but the others never faltered. The oldThirty-seventh was out to win that morning, and a bad time was in storefor whoever stood in the way of its headlong rush.
In the front ranks the Army Boys fought shoulder to shoulder, and whenthe regiment struck the enemy line, they plunged forward with thebayonet. There was a furious melee as they ploughed their way through.
So impetuous was their dash that it carried them too fast and too far.They found themselves fighting with a group of their comrades against afresh body of enemy troops who had just been thrown in in a fiercecounterattack. For the moment they were greatly outnumbered and as theenemy closed around the little band it seemed as though they weredoomed to be cut off from the support of their comrades.
They must cut their way through and rejoin the main body. And not amoment must be lost, for the ring surrounding them was constantly beingaugmented by fresh reinforcements.
A shot tore Frank's rifle out of his hands. He looked around and sawan axe that had been left there by some one of an engineer corps.
He stooped and picked it up. He swung it high above his head. In hispowerful hands it was a fearful weapon, and the enemy detachment hifront of him faltered and drew back.
With a shout of "Lusitania!" Frank leaped forward, his eyes flashingwith the fury of the fight, his axe hewing right and left. Foot byfoot he cut his way through the crowded ranks.
Then suddenly a great blackness came down upon him and he knew nothingmore.
Army Boys on the Firing Line; or, Holding Back the German Drive Page 23