CHAPTER 5
A thunderous reverberation shook Jack from head to toe as a mortar shell exploded thirty feet behind him outside the trench. A second later and clumps of dirt and rocks were raining down striking his helmet and shoulders. He knew he had to keep moving otherwise the next mortar would be raining down chunks of the young Jack Cage.
He decided that following the French giant, the last friendly he had seen in hours, was the wisest choice and so, he moved off in that direction. As he cautiously walked along the zigzag pattern of the trench known as the Western Front he was hindered by the moisture accumulating on the inside of the lenses in the gas mask. Jack did not dare remove the device however. Though he had been in France only a few weeks he had seen firsthand the grim effects of exposure to Mustard Gas.
If you were lucky and exposed to a small dose you only went blind for a few days. Doughboy’s however often made the mistake of thinking the gas had dissipated just because they could no longer see the vaporous yellow haze. Removing their mask prematurely, they could also no longer smell the telltale mustard odor and would thus give the all clear to their buddies.
In a few hours everyone would start coughing and some would begin to suspect an exposure. Then the bloody noses would start along with diarrhea and cramping. Everyone would begin to feel apprehensive. Next the red fluid filled blisters would appear on exposed skin eventually rupturing causing dozens of painful open wounds.
Next, a filmy haze would obscure the vision as the eyes matted over with a greenish yellow puss. At this time fear would turn to anxious terror. Pain in the sinuses, throat, and chest would intensify and breathing would become more and more difficult as fluid built up in the lungs and the trachea began swelling shut.
In the final hours of life the victim is blind and the only sound he is aware of is the rapid beating of his heart and the bubbling in his lungs with each inhalation as he lay paralyzed waiting for death to claim him.
Jack would crawl on his hands and knees and feel his way from here to Nancy before he removed his mask. As he moved through the trench he stumbled over empty and broken ammunition boxes and kerosene cans.
He had been moving steadily for about twenty minutes and had not come across any other infantrymen, American or French. There had however been a steady barrage of mortar fire, both near and far, and so Jack knew he was not safe and needed to keep his head down.
Just then his head collided with something solid. Jack found himself lying on his back in greasy mud feeling as if someone had clubbed him. Getting to his feet he cursed and swore under his breath. He then realized that the impact had dislodged his gasmask and outside air was leaking in around the seal.
“Shit!” He said aloud fumbling at the mask.
Resigning him-self to the fact that he was now exposed to the Mustard Gas, if it was still present, he removed his gasmask and looked around to see that he had run head long into a set of heavy timbers placed across the trench. Jack rubbed his sore head and stowed his mask in its bag, cleaned off his rifle, and moved on.
About half an hour later he entered a low covered area of the trench that had been used as a mustering or resting point for troops. As he cautiously entered he discovered a hollowed out den to his left. He quickly threw himself out of view and brought his 30.06 Springfield to his shoulder. Turning on his flashlight he peered into the small room.
Jack was keenly aware of his heart racing at breakneck speed. He had enlisted eight months ago to escape the beasts that wanted to kill him. Now he was on the Western Front in France facing a new kind of ferocious creature. And it seemed to Jack that the critters in Chicago must have called ahead because this new gang seemed to have the same objective as the old gang.
Jack threw himself into the entryway and down on one knee. His light filled the niche from corner to corner. It was empty but for a table and two chairs. He switched off his light and slung the Springfield over his shoulder. Moving to the darkest corner he sat down and found his canteen and field rations.
Unsure of his exact location he was contemplating the most appropriate course of action when he heard voices approaching from behind. He was about to call out when he discerned the distinctive guttural sound of German accents.
Jack quietly pushed himself deeper into the dark corner and pulled his helmet down over his face.
As the voices approached a sudden loud “Halt” was heard. A beam of light pierced the darkness. Jacks heart once again began a mad dash for its unknown goal. Two German soldiers stood in the entry way with rifles at the ready. As the light from their hand lights filled the room Jack sat motionless.
The table and one chair were directly between the soldiers and Jack. As the beam of light moved in his direction, these objects conveniently blocked him from their view. Satisfied that the room was empty the German soldiers extinguished their lights and moved away from the entrance.
“Marsch Schwein!” one of them said motioning with his Gewehr 98 rifle.
Jack watched as four men in French uniforms marched behind the two Germans and past the opening of his hideout. As they moved by a shock of flame red hair caught Jacks eye. Four more German troops followed the men closely.
“Shit” Jack spat softly once the men had passed.
Rising slowly and silently he approached the opening. Lowering himself to the ground he removed his helmet and peeked around the corner in the direction the group had gone. They were about one hundred feet ahead of him and about to round a corner. As soon as they were out of sight Jack jumped to his feet and set out in pursuit.
Again, as he approached the corner, he slowly peered around it just in time to see the men disappear. This time as he moved forward he climbed up the near wall of the trench and looked over the edge. He caught a glimpse of ten helmets bobbing along the trench, six German and four French, one of these covering a head of bright red hair.
About one thousand yards ahead, as his eyes followed the zig-zagging trench, he could see the timbers laid across it where he had nearly been knocked out cold.
The big red haired man had saved his life. Jack could not just leave him to rot in a German P.O.W. camp, or worse, face a firing squad.
Jack quickly formulated a rescue plan that was both bold and very dangerous.
It had been nearly an hour since he had heard any mortars fall. The sun was now setting low in the sky and the light fading. Peering over the edge of the trench Jack plotted himself a course through the craters and barbed wire between him and his goal; the large timbers spanning the trench.
He had determined that he would hide near these and that when the last of the Germans bent themselves over to pass under he would ambush them.
He needed to get ahead of the party however, and if he was spotted by the German artillery while moving across open ground he would be no more than a red smudge in a big black crater.
Jack waited until the men turned another corner so that their backs were toward him and then he was up and over the edge of the trench.
So here was young seventeen year old Jack Cage belly crawling across the Western Front about to clobber six German Storm Troopers. Once again Jack began to question his intelligence. He had to crawl well over one hundred feet before he reached any real cover. Once there he was able to make quick progress toward his goal. He arrived well ahead of his prey, however he quickly discovered that there was nowhere to hide.
“Damn” he said.
For his plan to work he would have to stay up above the approaching men, hiding around a corner of the trench would not allow him the advantage he needed in order to surprise them.
Exasperated Jack threw down his helmet. As he did so the mud he was kneeling in splashed up in his face and across his chest. With what Jack would later call a flash of brilliant discernment he threw himself down and began to wallow in the mud like an old sow.
Crawling forward to the edge of the timbers, now camouflaged as just one more pile of dirt, he laid flat with his Springfield at the ready
.
Jack was a good shot with the Springfield, however he did not think that this would account for much today considering the close quarters. He reckoned at best he would get off three shots from the five in the clip before they could return fire. The setting sun was at his back and would hopefully blind the men or at least throw off their aim.
It was at least fifty feet to the next corner and any cover the Germans could hope to reach for safety. He would wait until they were at least twenty feet from the cover of the timbers so they could not make a dash back in his direction. Once the gunfire started, he hoped the French soldiers would take advantage of the confusion and strike out at their captors. If they just tucked tail and ran Jack would be in real trouble.
He heard a splash and the harsh intonation of the German language. He lowered his head and held his breath. Once again that damn heartbeat began racing like a roadster toward the finish line. The men passed below him so close he could smell them. Jack had a tingling sensation in his belly and felt the need to jump up and run.
Once the ten passed by he raised his head and his rifle. He took aim at the rear most German, exhaled and fired. The bullet caught the man between the shoulders at the base of his neck. Jack worked the bolt of his Springfield rifle and the next German fell as the 30.06 projectile entered the left side of his skull. The bolt action slid smoothly once again in less than a second as he took aim. Firing again as a Gewehr was being raised in his general direction Jacks bullet struck the man in the chest.
Surprised and confused the fourth man in the rear of the group had just located the sniper when Jacks fourth slug slammed into his forehead.
The two Germans in the front of the company had not been idle while these events transpired. Dispatching the four Germans had taken about three seconds. In that time the two forward Germans, in a panic, had shot and killed two of the Frenchmen. The remaining two French soldiers were now embroiled in hand to hand combat with them.
With trench knife in hand Jack sprang from the timbers toward the fray. As he did so one of the Germans rolled away and fired a shot from his pistol. The Frenchman he had been entangled with became motionless where he lay in the mud.
The second German was on top of the sole surviving Frenchman so the first did not have a clear shot. He had just thrust his weapon into the fracas when Jacks knife entered his neck severing his spinal cord. His body fell forward into the scuffle confusing the final German soldier.
With the speed of thought the Frenchman took advantage and gained a dominant hold on the man, twisting the Germans body in such a way that put him on his back. The French soldier spun one leg behind the man’s neck and one on top of it. With both hands he grasped the man’s wrist and extended the arm until two distinct popping sounds were heard and the German went limp. Dumbfounded Jack stared down at the big Frenchman with the flame red hair.
“Merci beaucoup prive’. Je suis Matroye Joley” he said reaching up for Jacks hand.
Helping the big man up Jack said “Uh Sorry, je ne parle pas francais” with a clumsy Midwestern drawl.
“Pardonnez-moi” he apologized as he stood to his full height in front of Jack. “I am Matroye Joley and I owe you a debt of gratitude. You have saved my life private… ehh?”
Jack looked up and across the colossus that stood before him. The man had to be three feet wide and close to seven feet tall. Jack also caught sight of three faded gold stripes on the sleeve of the big man’s coat indicating his rank as a Captain in the French Infantry.
“Private Jack Cage, First Division sir!” Jack said snapping to attention.
“At ease Private.” Captain Joley said with a smile as he moved to the body of one of the men Jack had killed. Reaching in to the breast pocket of the dead soldier’s jacket Captain Joley removed a leather document binder bearing the image of the German Eagle. After slipping the binder inside his own coat he picked up one of the Gewehr 98’s and began moving off in the direction from which they had come.
“Come Jack, if we travel all night we will make Arras by morning.” Joley urged.
Jack did not hesitate, falling in behind the French officer. The men moved slowly and quietly through the trench stopping often to peer around every corner and bend. The sun finally gave up and darkness engulfed the Western front. Moving through the trench now became difficult and dangerous.
“Shall we leave this great latrine for a while Jack?” Captain Joley asked.
Jack gave the big Captain a wide eyed and questioning stare and then peaked out over the edge of the trench. He could see small fires burning in all directions. He suspected that they were still deep behind German lines.
“If you think it’s a good idea, sure, why not?” Jack tried to sound brave.
Captain Joley gave him a wry grin and then was up and over the edge moving quickly while staying low to the ground. Jack cursed under his breath, tightened his helmet strap and once again followed the Captain.
Movement here in the open was much easier and much faster however darkness was the only protection from being discovered by the enemy. The two had to be alert and on their guard.
They had been walking for two hours when Jack reached out grabbing the Captains shoulder and pulling him toward the ground. The mechanical sound of steel tracks could be heard approaching quickly from behind.
Lying flat on the ground the two men could see an armored car driven by continuous steel track treads coming down a low hill one hundred yards behind them. Atop the car was mounted a turret gun and eight infantrymen ran along behind trying to keep up. The vehicle bounced roughly along changing direction often in an attempt to avoid large craters created by mortar fire.
As the car came closer it changed course veering directly toward Jack and the Captain. Pressing his face to the ground Jack again became aware of his heart fluttering in his chest attempting to escape and fly away.
Headlights from the car illuminated the two men clearly. Expecting gunfire to erupt from the turret any moment every muscle in Jack’s body was tense and ready to spring up and fight.
Veering away as suddenly as the car had turned in their direction, it moved off when it was only fifteen feet from driving over them. The eight armed German soldiers turned to follow but not before three of them passed within three feet of Jack and Captain Joley.
Jack could hear their heavy breathing and see the perspiration on their faces. As the German’s moved away Captain Joley and Jack rose to their feet. The Captain noticed a curious look on Jack’s face.
“Jack, are you all right?” he asked.
“They were just kid’s, and they were scared to death.” Jack replied.
“It seems you are not the only young man who would rather be somewhere other than here tonight Jack.” Captain Joley said in a kind and wise tone. “Come, I would like to be in friendlier territory by sunrise.”
The two soldiers continued to march steadily toward their goal encountering two additional German patrols but avoiding them easily in the darkness. As the light of the morning sun began to glow in the east Captain Joley guided them back into the trench. He was confident that they had escaped enemy lines and were now safe.
“Halte! Qui s’approche?” A harsh voice questioned only a few yards away.
At the sound of the voice Jack instinctively dove for cover and found himself submerged in one last unusually deep, slimy, feculent, mud puddle.
“Je suis Capitaine Joley. Mot de passé est Babbette.” Captain Joley responded.
“Soulevez vos armes au-dessus de vos têtes et avancez lentement.” The harsh voice replied.
“Jack?” Captain Joley turned to translate the instructions.
Jack was attempting to get out of the shallow pit but every time he tried to establish his footing in the greasy mud his feet flew out from under him and he landed squarely on his back side.
Captain Joley began to laugh out loud. In fact the big man released such a howling convulsion of merriment that it seemed his chest would
explode.
Exasperated, Jack slammed his fists down into the puddle sending droplets of black goo soaring through the air.
The big red headed Frenchman sauntered over and offered Jack the barrel of the Gwyer 98 as a rescue aid which he gladly accepted.
Upon pulling the Private out the Captain, still snickering, slapped Jack squarely and solidly on the back sending mud and slime splattering every direction, and rejuvenating his laughing fit when a great gob of the goo landed squarely in the face of the approaching French guard.
Jack too began laughing uncontrollably.
Chasing El Dorado Page 5