CHAPTER XVIII
A GRIM REALITY
The strumming ceased and the banjo fell to the floor. For a momentconfusion reigned supreme.
The shock and the glare had a paralyzing effect but it lasted only foran instant. Then the army boys pulled themselves together.
"Is anyone hurt?" shouted Frank, as he looked about him.
A groan came from a distant corner. They rushed in that direction.
Fred Anderson was trying to struggle to his feet and in an instantwilling arms supported him. His face was pale, blood was flowing froma gash in his forehead and his right leg crumpled up beneath him as hetried to bear his weight upon it.
"I guess the old pin's gone back on me, boys," he said with a faintattempt to smile. "I don't seem to have any feeling in it. I guessthe Huns got me that time."
A quick examination showed that the leg was broken just below the knee.
They quickly improvised a temporary splint and a field ambulance wascalled. The gash in the head proved to be only a flesh wound of nogreat importance. But it bled freely and gave the impression that Fredwas dangerously, perhaps mortally wounded.
It was the first time that these young novices in the art of war hadseen blood flowing from American veins from a wound inflicted by aGerman, and it brought home to them that they were really in the warand might at any instant, like their luckless comrade, come to handgrips with death.
"That sure was a close call," remarked Frank, after Fred, having beenmade as comfortable as possible, had been carried off by the ambulanceto the field hospital. "It might have blown us all to bits."
"That roof may be all right to keep out rain," said Billy, "but itwasn't built for bombs."
"It must have been a glancing blow," commented Tom. "If it had comeplump through our name would have been Dennis. It must have spent mostof its force on the ridge pole and slid off to the ground."
"Very considerate of it," said Bart, dryly.
"There may be more where that came from," suggested Billy. "There maybe a whole squadron of Hun flyers up there in the sky."
"I guess it will be healthier to stay outside for a while," said Tom."We can see the bombs coming and dodge them. It will be a new kind ofoutdoor sport."
"It's a new game all right," Bart flung over his shoulder as they madetheir way outside. "And a game where the stakes are high. You paydearly if you lose."
They all reached the open, where they found that the entire camp hadbeen aroused by the nocturnal raid. They quickly learned from theirexcited comrades that other billets had been targets for the maraudersand that several soldiers had been severely injured, while one waskilled.
Searchlights were sweeping the sky in the attempt to locate the hostileplanes. Anti-aircraft guns were popping, and the French escadrille hadalready mounted to give battle.
"There comes one!" shouted Frank, as his keen eyes caught sight of atiny blaze coming through the air. "That's the fuse of a bomb."
"And it's coming right toward us!" yelled Bart. "Run fellows--quick!"
They needed no second injunction and it was well they moved quickly,for a moment later, the messenger of death came down close to the spotwhere they had been standing and exploded with a tremendous roar.
But they had thrown themselves flat on their faces, behind whatevershelter they could find and the rain of iron missiles zipped over andall around them without inflicting much damage.
"I went down in a mud puddle that time," growled Bart, as he rosedripping.
"I notice you stayed there, though," grinned Tom.
"Any port in a storm," laughed Billy. "There's no time to pick andchoose when those ticklers are coming down. It's a case of 'the quickor the dead'."
"I was quick all right," grumbled Tom, as he rubbed his knee, "and I'dalmost rather be dead than do it again. See that stone? It got me!"
For some minutes more occasional bombs dropped down over a wide area,especial attention being devoted to the field hospital in accordancewith the usual brutal German tactics.
But there were no more casualties, and after awhile the bombardmentceased.
"Guess they're all out of ammunition," conjectured Frank, when at lastquiet reigned.
"Either that or our aviators have driven them off as they did thisafternoon," returned Bart.
"Let's go back to the mill," Tom suggested. "There'll be plenty ofventilation in the old crib to-night."
"And my cot's right beneath that hole in the roof," grumbled Bart.
"Safest place in the whole shebang," comforted Frank. "Lightning neverstrikes twice in the same spot."
"Yes, but suppose it rains," grouched Bart.
"Aw, it's good for the complexion," grinned Tom. "Anyway, you'resoaked through now, aren't you? Some fellows are never satisfied."
"Ah, stop fighting!" said Frank. "It couldn't rain if it wanted towith a moon like that."
Once back in the mill, the army boys set about repairing the havocwrought by the bomb.
Billy picked up the banjo, patted it lovingly and was relieved to findthat his favorite instrument had come through the German attackuninjured.
"Glad you're all right, old girl," he said, running his fingers overthe strings. "But I guess you're through for one night."
"Yes," chuckled Tom, as he started to unlace his shoes. "The Huns havegiven us their idea of a moonlight serenade!"
Army Boys in France; or, From Training Camp to Trenches Page 18