The Khaki Boys at Camp Sterling; Or, Training for the Big Fight in France

by Gordon Bates

  CHAPTER XI

  THE RESULT OF STAYING AWAKE

  "So long, Iggy, old top. We'll be back by midnight," called out JimmyBlazes from the front seat of the automobile which was to take Roger,Bob and himself into Tremont for their Wednesday outing.

  "You'll never know when midnight comes, Iggy." Bob leaned out of thetonneau of the machine, his black eyes twinkling. "Better watch yourselfto-night, or you'll be dropping off at eight o'clock, sitting upstraight, and morning'll find you flopped over still in your uniform.You won't have any nice kind brothers around this evening to shake youawake before Taps." Bob teasingly referred to Ignace's tendency to dozeoff early in the evening while sitting on his cot. "Why not be a heroand stay awake for once just to see that your little Buddies get back O.K.?"

  "So will I," assured Ignace with deep decision. "Goo'-bye." Theautomobile now starting, he nodded solemnly and raised his hand in afamiliar gesture of farewell which Bob always called "Iggy's benedictionstyle."

  "I believe he will, at that," remarked Roger, as the car rolled down thecompany street. "You shouldn't have told him to do it, Bob."

  "Oh, he understood this time that I was only kidding him," was the lightrejoinder. "Look who's here!" he exclaimed, as the car stopped at a hailfrom a waiting group of six soldiers.

  Crowded into the tonneau with strangers, neither Bob nor Roger saw fitto continue the subject of Ignace. Both were soon exchanginggood-humored commonplaces with their soldier companions of the ride.

  Once fairly outside camp limits, the load of rollicking soldier boyswere soon raising their voices in a lusty rendering of "Where Do We GoFrom Here?" With the prospect of an afternoon and evening of freedombefore them, they were all in high spirits. Traveling a somewhat roughroad, the frequent jolting they met with whenever the car went over abump merely added to their hilarity. An unoffending motorist ahead ofthem, driving along in a somewhat rickety runabout, presently became anobject of marked concern. A running fire of military commands gleefullyshouted out at the swaying machine as it lurched along soon caused itsluckless driver to speed up and scuttle out of sound of the derisivecalls which greeted him from the rear. Uncle Sam's boys were out forfun and intended to have it.

  An hour's ride brought the revelers into Tremont. Arrived in the heartof the city, which boasted a population of about one hundred thousand,Jimmy, Bob and Roger took friendly leave of their noisy fellowtravelers.

  "Now where do _we_ go from here?" asked Roger, as the trio haltedtogether on a corner of Center Street, Tremont's main thoroughfare, andlooked eagerly about them.

  "To a restaurant for grub," was Bob's fervent response. "I know a placewhere the eats are O. K. I told you fellows that the first newspaper jobI ever tackled was on a morning paper in this town. I lived here aboutthree months. Just long enough to make good on the paper. Then I beat itback to the big town and landed with the _Chronicle_. I know everyhistoric cobblestone in this lovely burg."

  As none of the three had stopped for the noon meal at Camp Sterling,they lost no time in patronizing the restaurant of Bob's choice.

  After weeks of uncomplainingly accepting in their mess kits thewholesome though monotonous rations of the Army, a real bill of fare tochoose from was a rare treat. In consequence they lingered long at tableand, according to Jimmy, "filled up for a week," before starting out to"see the sights." This last consisted of a stroll through the principalstreets, with stops along the way at various shops, there to purchase afew trifles, such as had caught their fancy while pausing to stare intoattractive show windows. Then followed a visit to a motion-picturetheater, where a feature photoplay was going on. From there they driftedinto another "movie palace," and so amused themselves until supper time.The evening was devoted to witnessing a "real show" at Tremont's largesttheater. It was a lively farce comedy and the boys enjoyed it.

  Meanwhile, Ignace So Pulinski was putting in a most lonely afternoon andevening at Camp Sterling. Temporarily deprived of the lively society ofhis Brothers, he was at a loss to know what to do with himself. Part ofthe afternoon he spent in wandering gloomily about camp, frequentlyconsulting the dollar watch he carried, in a wistful marking of the slowpassing of the time. Aside from his bunkies, few of the men in hisbarrack had ever taken the trouble to cultivate his acquaintance. Duringhis first days in camp they had regarded him as "a joke," privatelywondering what three live fellows like Jimmy, Bob and Roger could see in"that slow-poke" to make a fuss over. After his wrathful descent uponbullying Bixton, he had undoubtedly risen in estimation. He had signallyproved his ability to take care of himself. No longer classed as "ajoke" he achieved the title of "that wild Poley" and was accorded acertain amount of grudging respect that made for civil treatment butlittle friendliness.

  By the time the supper call sounded that evening Ignace had reached astage of loneliness that caused him to sigh gustily as he stood in lineat the counter with his mess kit to receive his portion of food.

  His china-blue eyes roving mournfully over the long room in search ofcompanionship while eating, they came to rest on the man Schnitzel. Thelatter looked equally lonely, as he arranged his meal at an unoccupiedtable at the far end of the room. Owing to the fact that it was ahalf-holiday, the mess hall was minus at least a fourth of its usualthrong. Obeying a sudden impulse Ignace made his way to where Schnitzelsat, and asked half-hesitatingly, "You care I sit here by you?"

  "Help yourself," was the laconic response. Nevertheless theGerman-American's eyes showed a trace of inquiring surprise at thissudden invasion.

  "Thank." Ignace carefully set his meat can and cup on the table, andsolemnly seated himself beside the other.

  "Too much quiet, so is because the many get the pass," ventured thePole. "I no like ver' well."

  "It's all the same to me." There was a note of bitterness in thereplying voice. "I haven't any kick coming. I suppose you miss yourbunkies," he added, making an indifferent effort at civility. "They're alively bunch of Sammies."

  Ignace stopped eating and stared fixedly at his companion. The latter'sdark, rugged features wore an expression of melancholy that woke in hima peculiar feeling of friendliness. "Y-e-a," he nodded. "I miss. Themver' good my frens, all. I call my Brothar. You speak the American good.You have go by American school?"

  Having never before exchanged a word with Schnitzel, Ignace had fullyexpected to hear the man use broken English.

  Schnitzel's fork left his hand and clattered angrily on the bare table."Why shouldn't I speak English well?" he burst forth, scowling savagely."I was born in this country. My parents came from Germany, but myfather's an American citizen. He hates the Kaiser like poison. I'm anAmerican, not a Fritzie, as a lot of fellows here seem to think. If Iwasn't I wouldn't be in this camp training to go over. I enlistedbecause I wanted to fight for my country. Some people act as if theydidn't believe it, though. There's been a lot of lies started about meright in our barrack. I know who to thank for it, too. I've stood itwithout saying a word. But if it goes on----" He stopped, one strongbrown hand clenching. "I was glad you jumped that hound the other day,"he continued fiercely. "Wish you'd hammered him good!"

  "So-o!" Ignace was not too slow of comprehension to put two and twotogether. Here it seemed was a man with whom he had something in common."You see me do him?" he asked.

  "Yes. I was there that day and saw the whole thing! I didn't blame you.I hate the sight of him. He bunks next to me, you know. I wish hedidn't. But then, what do I care? I can take care of myself. Don't let'stalk about him. It makes me sore just to think of him. Those threefellows you run with are good chaps. You were lucky to get in with them.They all treat me fine, though I hardly know them."

  Praise of his Brothers caused Ignace to launch forth into the story ofhis first meeting with them, and of all they had done for him. Schnitzellistened without comment, merely repeating, "You were lucky," whenIgnace had finished. With that he relapsed into taciturn silence,hurriedly finished his meal, and with a brief "So long" rose and leftIgnace to himself.

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nbsp; The latter, however, was not concerned by his table-mate's suddenrelapse into uncommunicativeness. He watched Schnitzel walk away, agleam of interest in his round, childlike eyes. He would have somethingpleasant to tell his Brothers on their return. They would be surprisedto learn that the "so quiet fellow who never talk" had said so much tohim.

  His letter to his mother still unwritten, Ignace decided to begin itdirectly he had cleansed and put away his mess kit. Seven o'clock sawhim established at a desk in the Y. M. C. A., laboriously wielding astubby pencil. This time he wrote in Polish and at some length. It wasalmost nine o'clock when he finished amid frequent yawns. Realizing thathe was getting very sleepy, he took a brisk walk up and down the companystreet on which his barrack was situated. He was determined to fight offsleep, so as to stay awake until his bunkies' return.

  He lingered outside in the crisp night air until call to quarters drovehim reluctantly indoors. After Taps, however, his struggle began inearnest.

  From the sounds of deep breathing about him he guessed that he alone wasstill awake. By the time that eleven o'clock had actually arrived he wassure that it was past twelve, and that his bunkies had overstayed theirleave of absence. The setting in of this dire conjecture roused him inearnest. He had now no further need to fight off sleep.

  His face turned anxiously in the direction of the stairway; he was notaware that across the squad room a man had noiselessly left his cot andwas slipping along cat-footed toward one of the three vacant bunks justbeyond Ignace's own. Though he heard no sound, that inexplicable sensethat warns of stealthy approach wrenched the Pole's straying gaze fromthe direction of the stairway.

  A sudden echoing yell of mingled surprise and anger was followed by thesmack of a bare fist against flesh. Came a scuffle of feet and aresounding thump as two bodies hit the floor. The racket aroused thepeacefully dreaming occupants of the squad room to startled awakening.As the thumping continued, mingled with hoarse exclamations, enragedsputterings, and the thudding impact of blows, a babble of voices roseon all sides. With it came lights and an exasperated top sergeantbearing down upon the combatants with fire in his eye.

  He might have been a thousand miles away so far as the fighters wereconcerned. They had now gained their feet, and were engaged in battleroyal.

  "Stop it!" bellowed the sergeant. "Break away! Get back to your bunks,both of you."

  Despite his stentorian commands, the fight went on. Clad only in hisundergarments, his long fair hair wildly tousled, eyes two blue flames,blood trickling from his nose, Ignace was a sight to be remembered, ashe launched a powerful blow at Bixton, his hated antagonist. Bixtonlooked even worse. The coat of his pajamas hung on him in shreds. Hisleft eye was closed, and his nose was bleeding also. His face was alivid, infuriate mask against which the freckles stood out darkly.

  The sergeant now took a hand in the fight. Leaping behind Ignace hewrapped both arms about the Pole's body, and, exerting all his strength,jerked the belligerent violently backward. Beginning dimly to realizewhat was happening to him, Ignace retained just enough common sense notto resist, but allowed himself to be flung unceremoniously down on hiscot.

  "This is a nice state of affairs," lashed out the sergeant, glaring downat Ignace, who had now raised himself to a sitting posture. "Now youstay where you're put. Don't you dare move an inch off that cot." Withthis he whirled and bore down upon Bixton, who had been dragged to hisown cot by another non-com.

  "You're a nice-looking specimen," he blared forth at Bixton. "Get thoserags off you quick, and go and wash your face. Move lively. Go with him,Quinn," he directed, turning to the corporal, who stood at his elbow."He's not to be trusted. Get him back here on the jump, and don't lethim open his head. The nerve of two rowdies like that setting the squadroom in an uproar at this time of night! Not another sound from you, youruffian," he warned Bixton. "You'll get yours to-morrow."

  "It wasn't my fault," began Bixton hotly. "I started to get a drink ofwater and----"

  "Hold your tongue!" roared the sergeant. "See to him, Quinn." Turning onhis heel the sergeant took the center of the floor, and issued asuccession of sharp commands that sent the men to their bunks, andbrought order and quiet out of the humming confusion. Finally satisfiedwith the result, he next took Ignace in tow and marched him off forrepairs, sternly refusing to allow him to offer a word of explanation."You can say what you've got to say at headquarters to-morrow," was hisgrim ultimatum.

  When at five minutes to twelve Roger, Jimmy and Bob stole quietly intothe squad room, it was apparently wrapped in its usual midnight silence.Nor were any of the three aware of the many pairs of bright eyes thatmarked their entrance and followed them to their cots.

  "Are you asleep, Iggy?" whispered Jimmy softly, as, smiling to himself,he bent over the Pole's cot. He was wondering if Ignace had really takenBob seriously.

  In the darkness an arm reached out and drew his head down to a levelwith the Pole's own. Into his ear was breathed the amazing words: "Ihave give Bixton the strong poonch. To-morrow mebbe no more solder. Youno speak me more now. Morning I tell you." The voice ceased and the gripsuddenly relaxed, as Ignace flopped over on his side with a faint sigh.

  Jimmy repressed the amazed ejaculation that sprang to his lips as hestraightened up. Before sitting down on his own cot, he slid quietlyover to Roger, who was engaged in removing his shoes. "Listen. Iggy'sdone it," he whispered. "Given Bixton a trimming. He doesn't dare openhis head. He's in bad. Pass it on to Bob. I don't know what started it,but, oh, Glory, I wish I'd been here!"