Greatly to their relief the boys saw little of Noddy Nixon, for he was housed in barracks at the opposite end of the camp from those in which they were billeted. But they met him occasionally, and listened with ill-concealed disgust to his boasts, and his talk of having tried in vain to enlist before he was drafted.

"If they'd give me an aeroplane I'd go over the German lines and make 'em sit up and take notice!" boasted the bully.

"Why don't you send home for what's left of your 'Tin Fly'?" asked Ned, with a wink at his chums.

"Aw, you dry up!" commanded Noddy, for this airship, which he had once built to compete in an exhibition, was a sore point with him, as it had not justified its name.

Meanwhile, all along the line in the sector where the American troops were stationed hard fighting was going on. On either flank were French and English forces, but the boys of Uncle Sam were holding up their end of the work exceedingly well.

"When can we get into it?" sighed Ned one evening, when reports came in of heavy fighting, during which certain American units had won distinction.

"Very soon, so I hear," returned Jerry. "Our intensive training is nearly over. We may be moved up to the front any day now."

"The sooner the quicker," cried Bob. "Maybe the eats won't be so good farther front, but we'll see some action!"

Of course, there had been "action" in plenty at camp, but it was of the safe variety, and this did not appeal to the boys.

Then their chance came. One morning after drill emotion, like electricity, seemed to run through the camp.

"What's up?" came the queries from all sides.

"We're ordered to the firing line!" was the answer.

And then came cheers! Cheers that showed of what stuff America's fighters were made.

The news proved true. That evening, under the cover of darkness, so that no lurking Hun planes might detect the movement, a considerable body of troops from the training camp was sent up toward the front, to relieve some battle-scarred units.

At first, as the three chums and their comrades marched along, there was joking and laughing. Then this died away. The seriousness of the situation began to be comprehended. It was not that any one was afraid. The boys were realizing the gravity of the occasion, that was all.

"Hark! what's that?" asked Bob, as he marched along with Ned, Jerry, as corporal, being file leader. "Is it thunder?"

They stepped lightly so as to listen more intently.

"The guns!" explained a lieutenant hurrying past. "Those are the guns on the firing line you hear. There must be a night attack."

The guns of the front! Fighting was actually very near, for, though the boys in camp had often heard a distant rumble when there was a big bombardment on, this was the first time they had heard so plainly the hostile guns. It gave them a thrill, even as they felt the ground tremble beneath them.

And so, in the darkness, they moved up to their new camp—a camp on the very edge of the fighting; and from where they came to a halt, to wait for morning before being assigned to the trenches, they could see the lurid fires that flared across No Man's Land.

Tired and weary, but with an eagerness nothing could subdue, the chums and their comrades awoke the next morning as the bugle called them. At first they could not realize where they were, and then with a rush it came to them.

"On the firing line!" cried Jerry. "Just where we wanted to be! Now for some action!"

Hardly had he spoken when there sounded a terrific explosion, and the boys were fairly blown off their feet, toppling to the ground.

There was action for them!



CHAPTER X

IN THE TRENCHES

Stunned and bruised, the three chums and several of their comrades around them were incapable of action for a little while. Then, as Jerry raised himself from the ground, he heard Bob ask:

"What hit us, anyway? Are the Germans attacking?"

"Gee!" was Bob's muttered protest.

"Get up!" some one cried. "You're all right. It was a bomb from a Hun plane, but it missed its mark."

"Seems to have hit me all right," observed Ned, whose face was bleeding, though only from scratches.

"You were knocked down by the concussion," explained the officer who had told them to get up. "It was a close call all right, but no one is hurt. Fall in for roll call!"

Ned, Bob, Jerry, and some of the other soldiers scrambled to their feet. They had been on the point of answering roll call when the explosion came, and now that the danger was over, at least for the time being, they had a chance to see what had caused it.

The aeroplane from which the bomb had been dropped was not now in sight, but this is what had happened. One of the German machines passing over the front line, as they often did, had escaped the Allied craft, and had also managed to pass through the firing of the anti-aircraft guns. Whether the machine had gone some distance back, hoping to drop bombs on an ammunition dump, or whether it came over merely to take a pot shot at the American trenches, was never known.

But the aviator had dropped a large explosive bomb, which, luckily for the Motor Boys and their comrades, had fallen into an open space, though not far from one of the camouflaged stations where the soldiers were quartered before being taken up to the front-line trenches. The explosion had blown a big hole in the ground and damaged some food stores, but that was all, except that when the Americans were about to answer roll call they were knocked down by the concussion, and some, like Ned, were scratched and cut by flying dirt and stones, or perhaps by fragments of the bursting bomb.

"See, no one is hurt," went on the officer, as if to reassure those who were soon to take their places in the front-line trenches. "Good luck was with you that time."

"I hope it keeps up," murmured Bob. "It's a mean trick to shoot a man before he has his breakfast," and then he wondered why the others laughed.

They all looked curiously, and it may be said, thankfully, at the big hole made by the bomb. As the officer had said, only good luck had prevented some of the boys from filling that hole.

After this Jerry was silent and thoughtful.

"Well, what's next?" asked Ned, after an examination had shown that his wounds were merely scratches, for which he refused to go to the hospital, or even a dressing station.

"Breakfast, I hope," said Bob, and this it proved to be.

The excitement caused by the dropping of the bomb soon died away, though Ned, Bob, Jerry, and some of the other soldiers who had not yet been under hostile fire, felt their nerves a bit unsteady for some time.

But the veterans, of whom there were many, appeared to take it as a matter of course. It had happened before, they said, and probably would again.

"But that's what we came here for—war," remarked Jerry, as he and his chums finished their breakfast—no very elaborate meal, and one to which little time was given. "We've got to take our chances."

Up and down the line, on either side of the sector where the three chums were to receive their baptism of fire, already begun, could be heard dull booming. It was the firing of heavy guns, and might indicate an attack in progress or one being repelled by either side. Here the Allied and German lines were close together, in some places the front-line trenches being less than six hundred feet apart. Between was the famed and terrible No Man's Land.

"I wonder if Professor Snodgrass will ever get up as far as this," mused Ned, as they prepared to go back to their quarters and begin the day's business.

"The firing wouldn't keep him away, if he thought he could find some bugs," answered Jerry. "And if he wants to ascertain the effect of noises on crickets all he has to do is to bring the crickets here. We can supply the noise."

"I should say so!" agreed Bob. "It's getting worse, too! Listen to that!"

Indeed, with the broadening of day the noise of the big and small guns increased. Whether a great battle was impending or merely local engagements, the boys had no means of knowing.

The position to which they had been brought, and where they would spend about a week, holding the front and supporting line trenches, until relieved by a new command, ran up and over a little wooded hill. From this vantage point, which had more than once been stormed in vain by the Germans, could be seen the country beyond No Man's Land—a portion of France held by the enemy. And in the brief glimpse the Motor Boys had of it, smoke-covered and stabbed with flashes of fire here and there as it was, they saw something of what war meant.

"The professor is going to have some job on his hands if he expects to find any young ladies on the other side of that," and Ned waved his hand to indicate the terrain possessed by the Huns.

"Oh, we can get through if we attack in force," declared Bob. "And maybe that's why they brought us up—there may be going to be an attack."

"We'll have to get through—for objects big and little; that the professor may find his girls and his inheritance and," and here Ned's lips set a little grimly, "that we may help to bring back freedom to the earth."

"There may be an attack all right, if Foch, Pershing and the other generals think it's a good time for it," said Jerry. "But as for having it postponed until our arrival, well, you boys have some ideas of your ability."

"Oh, I didn't mean that!" cried Bob. "I meant that maybe we'd be in the big battle."

"I hope we are," said Ned. "We want to do our share."

This opportunity soon came to the boys. As soon as they reached their headquarters—a series of ruined buildings in which they had passed the night—they were told to get ready to go up and take their places in the trenches. But first they were given a little talk by one of the officers, who explained the necessity of donning gas masks at the first alarm. Other instructions were given, and then, when it was seen that every man had everything he needed, from the first-aid kit to the grotesque-looking gas mask, the trip to the first-line trenches was begun.

So much has been written about the World War that it seems needless to explain anything about the trenches. As all know, they were a series of ditches, about six feet deep, dug along in front of similar ditches constructed by the enemy. The distance between the two lines of trenches varied from a few hundred feet to several thousand.

The ditches, or trenches, were not in straight rows. They zig-zagged to make attacks on them more difficult. There were several rows of trenches on both sides of No Man's Land. This was so that in the event of an attack the men could fall back from one line of trenches to the other, fighting meanwhile to drive off the enemy.

The trenches were narrow, about wide enough for one man, though two might pass by squeezing. At intervals, however, were wider places where food or wound-dressing emergency stations could be established. At other places there were large excavations where dugouts were constructed, and there relief parties rested and slept if they could between periods of duty.

The bottoms of some of the trenches were covered with "duck boards," or short planks, with spaces between to let the water run out, and in certain parts of France it seemed to some of the boys to rain about three hundred out of the three hundred and sixty-five days of the year.

The trenches were sometimes braced with boards and cross pieces of wood, such as is often used when a sewer is dug through the streets, and again wicker-work, or jute bagging, might be used to hold the earth firm.

Below the top of the trenches, in certain places, were projections. These were firing steps, and the men stepped up on these to aim their rifles at the enemy. In certain other places were set up improvised periscopes, so that an officer could look "over the top," and, by a series of reflecting mirrors, observe what was going on in the enemy's country.

Again, at other places in the trenches, light artillery, such as machine guns and grenade throwers were set up. Here and there were little stoves to warm the food brought up whenever a relief party could get through the rain of shells. In some places heavy concrete or wooden dugouts were constructed, well under ground, though the Germans did more of this than the Allies, the Hun trenches being very elaborate at times.

And it was to these trenches that Ned, Bob and Jerry, with their comrades, were led. There they would remain on duty for a specified time differing under varying conditions, or until an attack was either made by them or by the enemy. After that, in case the enemy were successful, trenches farther in the rear must be occupied. But in the event of the German attack being repulsed, and a counter-attack carrying the Allies forward, advanced trenches—possibly those deserted by the Huns—would be used.

"Forward!" came the command, and the three Motor Boys advanced. They did not march long in open formation. To do this would be dangerous, within range of the German guns as they were, and, too, they might be seen by a Hun observer in an aeroplane. So, in a little while the advancing squad, of which Ned, Bob and Jerry formed a part, found itself in a communicating trench. This was a ditch dug at right-angles to the front-line trenches, and through this the relief passed, and food and ammunition were brought up.

The communicating trench zig-zagged, as did the front-line ones, to provide greater safety, and the boys finally gave up trying to guess in which direction they were going. All they could see was the sky above their heads.

Suddenly, however, the trench widened, and they saw another crossing it. At this point, too, there was what seemed to be a rough door, made of planks nailed together.

"This is your dugout," said the leading officer, indicating that Ned, Bob and Jerry, with some others, were to remain there, while he led the rest farther on.

"Glad you've come," remarked a haggard-looking officer, who was to be relieved by the commander of the squad in which were the three chums.

"Has Fritz been bothering you?" asked Lieutenant Anderson, who was in charge of the relief.

"Has he? Well, rather! And then some! You have my permission to stay as long as you please! Come on, boys!" and he led his war-weary men back to a rest billet.

"Make yourselves at home, fellows," said the lieutenant. "And wipe your feet before you come in," he added with a laugh, as he looked down at his muddy boots.

The passwords had been given and received. The other relief party had passed on to allow other worn-out men to get some rest. Ned, Bob and Jerry looked about them. They were in a dirt ditch, filled here and there with puddles of water from the last rain, and the clouds still hung in the sky.

"Where are the German trenches?" asked Ned.

"Where? Right in front of us—over there," and the lieutenant pointed. "Wait, I'll show you, and everybody get this, and take a lesson from it!" he added.

He held up a steel helmet on the end of a stick. In an instant it went spinning off and fell at his feet in the trench. He picked it up, pointing grimly to a neat little hole through it and said:

"That's what will happen to any one of you if he sticks his head up. You're in the front-line trench. Don't forget it!"



CHAPTER XI

A NIGHT PATROL

Every one who saw the heavy steel hat so neatly pierced by the swift bullet was impressed by the object lesson, as the lieutenant had intended all of them should be. But, somehow or other, Bob Baker seemed more fascinated than either of his chums, and, indeed, more than any other member of that particular relief squad.

"Did a Hun bullet do that?" asked Bob, as he picked up the head protector and looked at the hole.

"That's what it did, my boy," answered the officer. "And that's what will happen to you, or any one else, if you stick your head up above the trench."

"And the Huns did that!" murmured Bob, who seemed not to be able to efface from his mind the picture of the punctured, spinning helmet. "Then we're right within range of their fire."

"Considerably so," answered the lieutenant. "In places the German trenches are only six hundred feet away, and that's nothing for the modern rifle. It can kill at over a mile."

"So, Chunky," observed Jerry, "you've been under fire now."

"Yes," said Bob, and his voice was sober, "we've been under fire."

"Of course this isn't anything!" the lieutenant exclaimed with a laugh, as he kicked aside the bullet-punctured helmet Bob had dropped. "This is just a little byplay. You'll be under heavier fire than this, but don't worry. It takes a good many bullets to get a man. However, don't think of that. Do your duty. That's what you're here for!"

The lieutenant looked somewhat anxiously into the faces of the relief squad he was to command. Every officer likes to know that he has the bravest of men in the army, and this young officer was no exception. The firing line where the Motor Boys now were—the front-line trenches—was no place for cowards.

But the faces that looked back into the young lieutenant's gave no reflection of fear. And at this he breathed in relief. There was puzzled wonder on the countenance of some, and grim determination on others, and this last was what counted.

And then began for the Motor Boys and their chums a life of the utmost tension, strenuousness, and danger, although theirs was a comparatively quiet sector at that particular stage of the war, and they were holding the trenches more to guard against a surprise attack than anything else.

"Well, there's one comfort," remarked Jerry, as he was placed in his station in the trench, with Bob on one side and Ned on the other, both within talking distance.

"What?" asked Bob. "Do we get better eats here?"

"Eats, you heathen!" exclaimed Ned. "Can't you forget that once in a while? What are you going to do if the Germans make you a prisoner? They won't feed you at all!"

"Then I won't be a prisoner!" declared Bob. "But what were you going to say about comfort, Jerry?"

"We don't have to drill," was the answer.

And this was true. All the life of the camp was now done away with, even the training camp of France, where the boys had finished their war education, so to speak. But if they did not have to drill there was plenty else to occupy them.

While on duty in the trench they had constantly to be on the alert, and this not to guard against the unexpected approach of some friendly officer, bent on determining how his sentries were performing their duty, but to be on the watch against the approach of a deadly enemy. There must be no sleeping—not even dozing—on post.

Then, too, there was work to do. There was food and water to bring up, and fire wood to scurry for when the chance offered, for it was not often possible to bring up hot rations to the front lines, and the boys heated their own as best they could, in discarded tin cans with a few twigs for fuel.

There were lines of trenches to cut, dugouts to repair after they had been blown to bits by the German guns, and there was barbed wire to replace under cover of darkness when it had been severed by the rain of steel and lead from the enemy's guns.

So the three chums and their comrades found no lack of things to keep them busy in the trenches. They had their hours off, of course, when they were permitted to go back to the dugout, and there, in comparative safety, they might try to sleep. This was not easy, for though in a manner they became used to the constant roaring and blasting of the big guns, there was always an under-current of disturbances of other kinds. They were on the firing line, and the enemy did not let them forget it.

Every day the aeroplanes went over the lines, and more than once there was a battle in mid-air above where Ned, Bob and Jerry were on duty. Once a Hun plane came down in flames, so near they could hear the thud as it struck.

At times, after a period of comparative quiet, the trenches on both sides of No Man's Land would suddenly awaken into life. This would be caused by a fear, either on the part of the Germans or the troops from America, that one or the other was starting a raid. Then the machine guns would open fire, they would be augmented by the rifles of the men, and, if the shooting kept up long enough, the rival batteries would awaken and the big guns would speak.

It was one day, when the three chums had been on duty in the front-line trench about a week, that, as they were talking about the chance of seeing Professor Snodgrass and helping him in his search for the two girls, something spun past Ned's head with a whine, and, with a vicious ping, imbedded itself in the trench wall behind him.

"What's that?" exclaimed Bob.

"That sniper again," answered Ned. "That's the closest he's come. We'd better move, fellows, or he may get one of us."

"A sniper!" exclaimed Jerry. "Has he been taking pot shots at you?"

"Several of 'em. I've tried to get him, but I can't figure out where he hides. Better move down the trench a bit. He seems to train his gun on this particular spot."

"Gee!" gasped Bob.

Bob and Jerry had moved up from their own stations to where Ned was placed, as it was a quiet period of the day, and it was while they were talking that the shot came.

"I'd like to have a try at him," said Jerry. "It's queer he can send a bullet down into this trench. It must come from above. A shot from the German trenches wouldn't reach here over the top, unless it was fired up, and landed here as it came down."

"Then it would be a spent ball," argued Bob, "and it wouldn't sing out the way that one did."

"You're right," agreed Ned. "It was fired from above—you can tell that by the slant it took as it came in. But it didn't come from an aeroplane. There hasn't been any over the trench for a long while. No, it's some German sniper, and he's out there in the woods, I believe. Up a tree, most likely, where he can fire down into our trench. He must have a long-range rifle."

"We ought to try to get him," argued Jerry. "Have you, Ned?"

"Yes, I've tried to bait him, so I could find out where he shoots from and nip him in return, but I haven't been able to."

"Then I'm going to have a shot at him," declared Jerry, who was rated as an expert in the use of the rifle, as his badge showed.

But his plan of getting revenge on the Hun, who had so nearly shot Ned, was not destined to be carried out at once. For just then the relief of the boys came up, and they were marched back to the dugout for a rest period.

It was after they had enjoyed this, and were counting on again doing their turn in the trenches that their chance came to go out on night patrol, one of the most dangerous missions in the line of duty.

So far, since the Motor Boys had come up to the firing line, there had been no really serious fighting in their immediate sector. On either side of them there had been skirmishes, but a mile or so away, so they had had no chance to participate. Also there had been night raids, but Ned, Bob and Jerry had not been in them.

This does not mean that Ned, Bob and Jerry were in no danger, for, as has been shown, a bullet came near ending Ned's career. And aside from this, there had been bombs dropped near them from Hun aeroplanes, and once a whole portion of the trench, just beyond where they were stationed, had been caved in by a shell from a German gun, and several brave lads had been killed, while others were terribly injured. But Ned, Bob and Jerry had come out unscathed.

Also there had been waves of gas—the ordinary chlorine gas, and again the more dangerous mustard variety. In fact, the Germans used their yellow-cross and their green-cross gases alternately against the sector where the Cresville chums were. But prompt use of the protective masks prevented any casualties.

So, as has been said, when the three chums were resting in the dugout, wondering what their next duty would be, an officer came in, and, when he had returned the salutes, he said:

"Volunteers are wanted for a raiding party to-night. There's a German dugout not far away, and the commander thinks we have a good chance to get some prisoners and thus learn a thing or two about what Fritz is up to in this section. There's also a chance, as I needn't mention, that none of us will come back. Now then, who wants to go?"

There was a moment of hesitation, and then, to the credit of the young soldiers, every one stepped forward.

"Um!" mused the officer. "I can't use you all. Thank you, just the same. Now let's see," and he proceeded to pick out his squad.

To their delight Ned, Bob and Jerry were selected, and at once began to prepare for the dangerous mission. None of them gave more than a passing thought to the reflection that all might safely return or none of them come back.



CHAPTER XII

BOB IS MISSING

Careful preparations had been made for this night raid. It was the constant effort of both sides, during the period of trench fighting, to get possession of facts which would allow successful attacks to be carried out later. And to do this it was needful to get close to the enemy's line. By so doing, certain things might be overheard in the talk among the soldiers, or (for the results of the listening were uncertain) better still, was the capture of prisoners. Once they were taken back of the lines, questioned and searched, much of value might be obtained.

This, as a matter of fact, worked much better for the Americans than it did for the Germans. If the Huns did succeed in capturing, during a raid, some of our boys, they got little information from them about the units with which the boys of Uncle Sam were connected. Nor did the Huns learn much as to the strength of the forces opposed to them, except, perhaps, in the way of exaggeration.

"The American captive is more inclined to utter the equivalent of 'nothing doing,'" remarked Jerry, one day when discussing the matter.

On the other hand, the German prisoners captured, almost invariably, were glad that their fate had thus been ordered. They were sure of decent treatment, they were in no more danger of being killed and, more than anything else, they would be better fed than in their own trenches.

So it is no wonder they gave valuable information under the skilful questioning of the American officers. Still this information had to be carefully checked up before being acted on, as it would not do to run into danger as a result of what some Hun captive told.

"We are going out to try our luck," explained the lieutenant who was to lead Ned, Bob, Jerry, and their comrades, numbering half a score, out on a night raid. "There's a German dugout not far from here, and near by a machine-gun nest, and if we can get close enough to rush it, and capture those we don't kill, we may make it possible for a big forward movement—if the information we get is of the right sort. So get ready. Gas masks, hand grenades—rifles will be in the way—automatic pistols, of course, and don't forget to blacken your faces."

This precaution was always taken by night raiding parties. The Germans adopted the habit of sending up illuminating devices, known as "star shells," at frequent intervals over No Man's Land. This was to guard against a party of the enemy advancing on the trenches. The shells gave a very bright light, and nothing stands out more conspicuously in such a glare than a white face. So it was the custom to blacken countenances and hands when a night-raiding party went over the top.

It was not without a little feeling of nervousness and apprehension that the three friends and their chums made their preparations. But it was an apprehension of failure rather than fear. They wanted to succeed, to get results, and they were afraid they might fail. They were not afraid, personally. Still they were taking big chances, and they all knew it.

"Ought we to leave some word for Professor Snodgrass?" asked Ned, as he and his friends were making ready about midnight.

"Word about what?" Jerry inquired.

"Well, in case we don't come back we can't help him in his search, as we promised."

"If we don't come back our friends will know it, and they can tell the professor if he inquires for us," said Jerry grimly. "Let it go at that. If we get back we'll be here ourselves in case the professor ever gets this far to the front. If we don't get back—well, he'll have to get some one else to help him. Come on!"

The last word was given, the final preparations had been made. Then silently, like shadows of the night, the figures crept out of the trench in the darkness and advanced toward the German lines.

The American barbed wire had been cut in places to let the party through. To pass the German barrier they would have to do their own cutting, and they were provided with tools for this purpose.

Silently they went down the lane of wire, now and then passing grim sentries to whom the password was given. And then, coming to the gap in the wire, Ned, Bob and Jerry, with the others, passed through. Each member of the party carried an automatic pistol and several hand grenades. These were small, hollow containers, of cast-iron, loaded with a powerful explosive, which was set off after a certain trigger or spring or firing pin (according to the type used) was released by the thrower. The explosive blew the grenade to bits, and it was scored, or crisscrossed, by deep indentations so that the iron would break up into small pieces like shrapnel. The grenades could be carried in a pouch or in the pocket, and were harmless as long as the detonating device was not disturbed.

Silently the lieutenant led his men forward. Jerry Hopkins, the only noncommissioned officer in the squad, marched next, as in the event of the lieutenant being killed the command would fall to him.

No talking was permitted, and each man knew what he was to do, so no orders were necessary. On and on they went, and presently they found themselves traveling over the battle-scarred and shell-pitted territory of No Man's Land. They had got close to the German barbed wire when suddenly, as though their movements had been watched, several star shells were sent up by the Huns.

Instantly every man in the party fell flat on his face and did not move. It was the only thing to do. They resembled, as nearly as they might, the dead which lay all about them on the desolate field.

And some of the dead had been there a long time, as it was impossible for either side to bury them, though occasionally, at night, parties went out to bring in those in whom it was hoped a spark of life still remained.

Jerry found that he had thrown himself down close beside a dead Hun. He wanted desperately to move, for his position was grimly unpleasant, but he did not dare. This was not the most glorious side of war, but it was vitally necessary.

However, thanks to the precaution of blackened faces and hands, and to the dark uniforms, the party of night-raiders must have resembled the dead all about them, for no firing followed the illumination of star shells.

Then, when it was dark again, the party rose and went on. Good luck attended them thus far, in that they reached the German barbed wire undiscovered. Then began the ticklish work of cutting it, and in this there was much danger.

For some of the wire was under great tension, and, when cut, made a twanging sound like a broken harp or piano string. And this sound carried far in the silence of that sector. Other sectors were not so quiet, for firing was going on along both lines of trenches, though what movement was under way the Motor Boys did not know.

The sound of the wire as it was cut was deadened as much as possible by having a man hold the strand on either side of the place to be cut. This helped some, but not always, as the wire twisted itself from the grips of the soldiers, and sometimes the barbs injured them.

"All cut, Lieutenant," reported Jerry, as the final strand was severed. The commanding officer had been on watchful patrol while this was being done.

"Good!" was the low-voiced answer. "Come on, now. Every man with a grenade in either hand!"

Once more the party went forward. They were past the first German barbed wire now, but the way was still not completely open, for more opposing strands were found farther on. However, this was not unexpected, for often three or more lines of this American invention were to be found opposing the American forces.

Once more the cutters were called into play, and as the last strand was severed a dog, somewhere within the Hun lines, barked. Instantly all in the raiding party crouched down, for a burst of star shells might follow immediately.

However, the dog must have been believed to be a false alarmist, or else he was barking at some other disturbance than that caused by the raiders, for darkness still reigned.

Then, after waiting a moment to make sure all was right, the lieutenant led his men forward. So far they had not been challenged by the enemy, but now this immunity was to end, for when they had passed the final wire barrier and were advancing with tense steps toward the German dugout, with grenades in readiness, there came a sharp, guttural order to halt.

It was in the German tongue, as they all knew, and they all realized that the crucial moment had come.

The lieutenant, seeing a figure in the darkness before him, shot at it pointblank with his pistol. There was a murmured exclamation, and the sentry went down, his finger pressing the trigger of his rifle, discharging it as he fell dead.

"Come on now, boys! Give it to 'em!" cried the officer.

"Forward!" shouted Jerry Hopkins, and with Ned and Bob at his heels he rushed ahead, the others stumbling after him. They had reached the German trenches, and from them now poured several defenders. The main body were in the dugout a little farther on, and it was desired to attack this, and, if possible, capture some prisoners.

"Come on! Come on! Down with the Huns!" cried the lieutenant, and his battle yell was echoed by Jerry and the others.

Then began a fight in the dark, the details of which were never very clear to the Motor Boys. Bob said he let loose all the grenades he had at the advancing party of Germans and then rushed at them, head down, as though advancing the ball for a touchdown.

Ned declared that he fired his automatic pistol until he realized that it was empty, and then, throwing it away, thought for the first time of the grenades he carried. Then he began using them.

There was a deafening noise as the grenades of the Americans exploded in the faces of the advancing Huns, and they, in turn, threw hand bombs and opened fire with their rifles. The attack awoke to life sentries and guard parties all along the line, and the scene was illuminated by a burst of star shells.

"Come on! Into the trenches! They can't see us there so well!" yelled Jerry.

"That's the idea!" commanded the lieutenant. "Get to the dugout!"

So desperate and sudden had been the attack of the Americans that, after the first resistance, the Germans gave way and ran back, jumping down into the trenches whence they had come.

The raiding party asked nothing better than to follow, and for a time pursued the Huns along their own trenches, the bursting star shells above giving light enough to see.

"Are you there—Ned—Bob?" demanded Jerry, as he ran on, following the tortuous line of the trench.

"I'm here!" answered Ned.

"So'm I," added Bob. "Haven't a shot left, though."

"Here, take these," and Jerry handed over some spare grenades he had in a pouch slung at his back. "Don't pot any of our men, though. Some are ahead of us."

On ran the Motor Boys, and in another moment they came to the dugout—a pretentious affair of concrete, now well lighted, for the alarm of the attack had spread.

One of the raiding party threw a hand grenade inside the structure. There was a powerful explosion, not enough, indeed, to wreck the stout place, but sufficient to send the inmates scurrying out—what were left of them.

"Kamerad! Kamerad!" some of the wounded ones cried, and others held up their hands.

"Come on!" shouted the lieutenant. "Gather 'em in and let's get back. This place is getting too hot for us."

He spoke with truth, for on all sides the big guns were now beginning to bark, and a general engagement might be precipitated.

Some of the Americans snatched guns from the now cowed Germans, and prodded them back along the trench with the points of the bayonets. Others held hand grenades or automatic pistols ready, and the order to retreat was given.

Half a dozen Hun prisoners had been captured, but at a price, for when the lieutenant, hurrying his men back across No Man's Land, began to look over his party, he found three were missing. They had either been killed or wounded, or were left prisoners in the trenches.

"Are you there, boys?" asked Jerry again, of his chums, and he received reassuring answers from both.

"Hurt?" was his next inquiry, as they raced across the stretch, stopping every time there was a burst of star shells, and crouching down, making their prisoners do the same, to take shelter in some shell holes, some half-filled with water and others containing dead bodies.

"I'm all right," Bob answered. "Only a bit scratched by some Hun's bayonet, I guess."

"A bullet or a bayonet touched me in the side," came from Ned. "It's bleeding a bit, but not much. I'm all right."

Some of the others who were able to come back were not so fortunate, however, and two died later of wounds received in that night raid.

But the main party succeeded in getting back to the American lines, and hurried through the opening in the barbed wire, where a relief or a rescue party, whichever might be required, was in waiting.

"Good work!" commended the captain to his lieutenant. "And you got some prisoners?"

"Six!"

"That's fine. Couldn't be better. Get down now, there may be a Hun barrage in a minute. They'll be ripping mad when they find out what's happened. This was one of their main posts, and Prussians were on guard."

Jerry and Ned were each guarding a Hun prisoner, making him walk along ahead with upraised hands, while the guns, taken away from the Germans themselves, served as compelling weapons.

Into the trenches they had left a short time before the raiders made their way, and went to the dugout where they were to report. There the commanding officer of that sector met them.

Coming into the comparatively well-lighted place from the darkness, Jerry blinked as he looked at the captured Germans and then glanced to see how badly Ned was hurt.

He saw that his chum was pale, and noted blood on his hands, but Ned smiled in a reassuring way. Then, for the first time, Jerry noticed that Bob was not with them.

"Where's Chunky?" he demanded.

"Who?" asked the lieutenant. "I thought we only left Black, Jones, and Porter behind. Is there another missing?"

"Bob Baker, sir," answered Jerry. "But he was with us when we got back within our own wire. I was talking to him."

"Send out a searching party!" ordered the captain. "It is possible he was hit and didn't say anything about it, or a stray bullet may have found him after he reached our lines. Send out and see!"



CHAPTER XIII

"JUST LIKE HIM!"

Jerry and Ned both confessed, afterward, that the sinking feeling, which seemed to carry their hearts away down into their muddy shoes, was greater at the knowledge that Bob was missing than it had been when they set out in the darkness to raid the Germans across the desolate stretch of No Man's Land.

It was all so unexpected. He had gone through the baptism of fire with them—he had helped capture the Huns—and had been, seemingly, all right on the return trip. And then, on the very threshold of his own army home, so to speak, he had disappeared.

"Did any one see him fall or hear of his being hit?" asked the lieutenant, as he prepared to lead out a searching party. Ned and Jerry, of course, and by rights, would be members of it.

"No, he was right near me, Sir, and he said particularly, when I asked him, that he was only scratched," declared Jerry. "I made sure Ned was the worst hurt."

"How much are you hurt?" asked the captain, turning to Jerry's chum.

"Oh, it's only a scratch, Sir," was the quick answer. "I can't feel it now."

Ned did not speak the exact truth, but he did not want to be kept back from the search.

"Very well," said the captain. "You may go, but don't go too far. Much as we would like to find Baker we must not take too many chances and endanger this whole post. Be as quick as you can."

With their hearts torn between a desire for vengeance and apprehension, Ned and Jerry went out with the others. The riot started by the raid had quieted down, and it was possible for the searchers to advance above their own trenches without drawing the German fire.

First the sentries who had been on duty near the gap in the American wire were questioned. They had seen the party depart and come back, but they had not noticed any member of it fall as though wounded, and they were positive no Germans had been able to get near enough to capture Private Baker.

"But what can have happened to him?" asked the lieutenant.

"He may have been wounded internally, and didn't speak of it, Sir," suggested Ned, whose own wound was troubling him woefully. "Then he may have become so weak that he fell in the trench somewhere without a sound."

"That is possible. We must make a careful search."

This was done with pocket flashlights, for any general illumination would have, perhaps, drawn a German attack. But no sign of Bob was revealed. It was most mysterious, how he could disappear so suddenly and completely. Of course, in the general confusion, much more than this might have happened and not been noticed. But unless he had gone back after speaking to Jerry, he must either have fallen well within the American lines or have been captured there. And the last did not seem possible.

"Well," said the lieutenant, "we'll have to go over in No Man's Land and take a chance there. He must have gone back after something, and been potted. I'll have to go back and report and——"

He paused to listen. The tramp of approaching feet could be heard along the trench. Every man stood at attention, for it was possible that the enemy had slipped in between sentries and were going to pay a return visit.

But a moment later the murmur of voices was heard—voices that were unmistakably American. Some one asked:

"Is your squad stationed here?"

"About here, yes, Sir," was the answer, coming out of the darkness.

"It's Chunky!" cried Jerry.

"That's Bob!" added Ned, joyously.

And a moment later there came into the dim light of the flashlights the stout chum himself, escorted by three soldiers. He seemed to be all right, and he carried something that was not a grenade, in one hand.

"Where have you been, Chunky?" demanded Jerry. "We've been looking everywhere for you."

"Yes," added the lieutenant, "will you please explain why you did not report back with the rest of us?"

Bob seemed a trifle surprised at the rather stern order, but he smiled and answered:

"Why, I thought, as long as we got back all right, I was relieved from duty, so I went to get something to eat."

"Something to eat!" exclaimed the lieutenant.

"Something to eat," calmly repeated Bob. "You see it was this way. I was terribly hungry——"

"Nothing unusual," murmured Jerry, but the stout lad, paying no attention to the interruption, went on:

"So when I got back with the rest, after we captured the Huns, I smelled something cooking farther up in our trenches. I knew some of the fellows on duty there, and I felt sure they'd give me something to eat. It was liberty links they were cooking, sir, and——"

"Liberty links!" interrupted the lieutenant. "What are those?"

"They used to be called Frankfurters," explained Bob with a grin; "but since the war that's too German. So I went to get some liberty links, and I got 'em!" he added with a sigh of satisfaction.

"Well! Well!" exclaimed the lieutenant. And then, as he thought of what Bob and the others had gone through with that night, he had not the heart to add more.

"I only meant to run up in a hurry to where they were cooking 'em," explained Bob, "and come back with some for my bunkies. But I got to talking and eating——"

"Mostly eating," murmured Jerry.

"And then I forgot to come back," finished Bob.

"We told him he'd better report, Sir," said one of the escorting party. "He was with our bunch all right, and when he told us he'd been out with the night raiders and had slipped off before reporting back, we told him he'd better report. So we showed him the way, as the trenches are sort of mixed up around here."

"Very well," said the lieutenant, trying not to smile. "You may go back to your posts. Everything is explained."

And so Bob was restored to his company again, and in view of the successful raid no reprimand was given him. The capture of the German prisoners proved important, as information was obtained that proved of the greatest value afterward.

Ned's wound turned out to be only a flesh one, but it was painful enough, and kept him in the hospital a week. He would have fretted over thus being kept away while Bob and Jerry were fighting, but, as a matter of fact, his two chums received a rest period at this time, and so were out of the trenches the same time that Ned was.

But the war was far from won, and every man possible was needed on the firing line, so that, in due season, the three chums found themselves back again. And under no very pleasant circumstances.

For it rained and rained, and then rained some more, though Jerry insisted that where they got the water from was a mystery.

It was a most desolate period, when the trenches were knee-deep in mud and when casualties mounted by reason of unusual activity on the part of the Huns. But the three friends and their comrades stuck grimly to the work. There were local attacks, and counter-attacks, and night raids, in all of which Ned, Bob and Jerry did their share.

Then, one day, they were given a surprise. Some new recruits were brought up to the front-line trenches, to be initiated, and among them was Noddy Nixon.

"I've come to show you fellows how to get a Hun!" he boasted in his usual style. "Give me a chance, and I'll show you how to fight, though I'd rather be in an aeroplane."

"Truth to tell, I guess he'd rather be back home, but he doesn't dare go," declared Jerry.

Not very much to their delight, the Motor Boys learned that Noddy was to be quartered near them, and he was on duty in the trenches in the post adjoining theirs.

There came a period of fierce attacks on the part of the Huns, when they laid down such an artillery barrage that for three days it was impossible for any relief to come to the men in the trenches, and they had to live on what food they had when the firing began. They did not actually starve, but there was not any too much to eat, and there was a lack of hot things, which were much needed as it rained almost constantly.

By hard work Ned, Bob and Jerry had managed to get together some wood which they kept dry in a niche in the trench, lined with pieces of tin. The wood they used to make a little fire to warm their coffee.

Coming in from several hours of duty one rainy evening, the three chums were anticipating having something hot to drink made over their little fire of cached wood.

But when Bob, who by virtue of his appetite considered himself the cook, went to get the fuel, it was not there.

"Boys, the wood is gone!" he cried.

"Who took it?" demanded Jerry.

Ned inspected the place. He picked up a piece of damp paper, and in the light of his flash torch read the scrawled writing which said:

"Borrowed your wood. Give it back to you some day.

"NODDY NIXON."

For a moment there was silence, and then Jerry burst out with:

"Well, if that isn't just like him—the dirty sneak!"



CHAPTER XIV

A DESPERATE CHANCE

Disappointment rendered the three chums incapable of action for the moment. They just stood and looked at the place where their little store of wood had been hidden. Now it was gone, and with it the hope of a hot supper from that particular source.

"What are we going to do?" asked Bob blankly.

"We ought to go down to the post where that sneak is and get the wood back," declared Ned. "And tell his chums what sort of fellow they have bunking with 'em!"

"No, don't do that," advised Jerry, who had cooled down after his first passionate outburst. "That will make trouble. Noddy would only laugh at us, and some of the others might. It isn't the first time wood has been taken."

"I was just hungry for something hot," sighed Bob, as he thought of the cold rations.

"So was I," added Ned. "Isn't there anything we can do?" he went on.

Jerry looked about. Here and there about the dugout their comrades were eating as best they could, no one, it appeared, having anything hot. It was at a critical period during the fighting, and the commissary and transportation departments were suffering from a temporary breakdown. Still the men had enough to eat, such as it was.

"Well, we might as well have grub now—even if it is cold," said Jerry, after considering matters. "No telling when we'll have to stand off a Hun raid or go into one ourselves, and then we won't have time to eat."

"That's so!" agreed Bob, more cheerfully. "It would be fierce if we didn't have anything to chew on at all. But when I catch that Noddy Nixon—well, he'd better watch his step, that's all."

"He's a coward, and lazy!" declared Ned. "Else he'd rustle his own wood. I had hard work to get that bunch. There was a German sniper who had a pretty fine bead on the place where I saw the sticks, but I went down the trench a way, and began firing at him from there."

"Did you hit him?" asked Bob eagerly.

"No, I didn't expect to. But I drew his attention to that particular spot. He thought a sharpshooter was there, and he laid his plans to get him. That took his attention off the pile of wood, and I sneaked out and got it. Now Noddy Nixon has it!"

"I hope he burns his tongue on the hot soup or coffee or whatever he heats with it," was the most charitable thing Jerry said. And the others echoed this. Their nerves were on edge from the constant fighting and danger they were in, and they were in no mood to be trifled with. And at such times trifles that otherwise would be laughed at assumed large proportions.

However, there was no help for it. The three chums, as did their comrades in the trenches, ate their supper cold, and then, cleaning themselves as best they could from the wet, sticky mud, they prepared to get what sleep they might until it was their turn to go on duty again.

The dugout was as comfortable as any of its kind, but it was not like home, of course, and its accommodations were far short of even the worst camps the Motor Boys had put up at during their many journeys. Still there was not a word of complaint. It was war—war for freedom—and discomforts were laughed at.

"Name of a name, how it rains! as our friends the French say," exclaimed Jerry, as he came into the dugout prepared to turn in, for he had been sent on a message by an officer after supper.

"Hard?" asked Ned, who, like Bob, was in a sort of bunk.

"Hard? I should say so. Look; my tin hat is dented from the drops!" and Jerry took it off and pretended to point out indentations made by the rain drops. He shook his slicker, and a spray of moisture flew about.

"Here! Quit that!" called a tall, lanky soldier from the bunk across from Jerry. "If you want to give a moving picture of a Newfoundland dog go outside! I'm just getting dry."

"Beg your pardon, old man!" exclaimed Jerry. "I didn't realize how wet I was."

He took off some of his garments, hanging them where they might possibly get partly dry by morning, and then turned in. Whether he and his chums would get a peaceful night's sleep or not, depended on the Huns across No Man's Land. If an attack was started it meant that the soldiers in the dugouts, as well as those on guard in the trenches, would have to jump into the fight. With this end in view, every one on turning in for the night had his weapons ready, and few did more than make an apology for undressing. That was left until they went on rest billet. Guns, grenades and gas masks were in readiness for instant use.

But the night passed undisturbed.

"Oh, for some hot coffee!" exclaimed Bob, as he tumbled out the next morning in answer to the call to duty.

"Dry up!" ordered Jerry. "You ought to be glad to get it cold!"

"Well, I'll try to be," assented Bob. "Where's Ned?"

"Said he was going to see if he could get a bit of wood for a fire. But if he finds any, which isn't likely, it'll be as wet as a sponge after this rain. Suffering hand grenades! will it ever let up?" cried Jerry, for it was still pouring.

Simple preparations were going on for breakfast. There was no sign yet of any of the carriers with big kettles of hot coffee or soup, and it was evident that the commissary had not yet been reorganized since the last breakdown.

Afterward the boys learned that the reason for the failure of their supplies to arrive was due to the fact that their sector was temporarily cut off by an attempted flanking movement on the part of the Germans. The Americans were in greater danger than they knew, but, at the time, all they thought of was the lack of hot rations.

"Ned ought to come back," remarked Jerry, as he and Bob prepared to eat. "He'll be reported late, and this isn't any time for that. I guess——"

But Jerry did not finish, for just then came a tremendous explosion, so close that for a moment he and Bob thought a Hun shell had been dropped in the dugout near which they were sitting under an improvised shelter.

Instantly the trench was a scene of feverish activity. Everyone expected a raid, and breakfast was hastily set aside, while the soldiers caught up their guns.

"It's all right," an officer called. "Fritz just took a pot shot at one of our trucks out on the road."

"Did he get it, Sir?" asked Jerry.

"I should say so! Look here!"

A curve in the road passed close by this line of trenches. It was a road used to take supplies to another part of the American battleline, and vehicles passed along it only at night, as it was within range of some of the German guns, though fairly well camouflaged. But this auto truck, returning in the early hours of the morning after having delivered a load of ammunition, had been caught by a shell. Afterward it was learned that the truck had broken down on the return trip and that the driver had been delayed in repairing it, so that he had to pass the danger point in daylight.

Whether or not the German battery was on the lookout for just such a chance as this, or whether it was a mere fortuitous opportunity of which advantage was taken, could not be learned. But a shell containing high explosive, though, fortunately for the driver, not a large one, landed near the automobile and shattered it.

This was the detonation which had so startled Jerry and Bob, and now, with others, they looked over the top of the trench at the ruins of the truck. It was blown apart, and the wooden body and wheels were scattered about while the engine was a mere mass of twisted and fused metal.

"Look! They didn't get the driver!" cried Bob, for as he spoke the man in charge of the truck picked himself up from a clump of bushes where he had been tossed, and limped toward the American line. He had escaped death by a miracle.

Then something else attracted the attention of Bob, Jerry, and the others. It was the sight of Ned Slade creeping along toward a pile of splintered wood—all that was left of the demolished truck.

"Who's that? What is he doing?" cried the officer in charge of that part of the trench. "Does he hope to rescue the driver? Can't he see that the man is safe and is coming in? Who is he?"

"Private Slade, Sir," replied Jerry.

"But what is he doing? That's a foolhardy piece of business, trying to reach that truck. It's under the fire of the German trench, as well as within range of their battery. What is he trying to do?"



CHAPTER XV

THE SNIPER

All stood looking from the trench at the actions of Ned Slade.

"Look!" cried Bob, pointing to his chum. "He's picking up pieces of wood!"

"Has he gone crazy?" murmured the officer, peering through his glasses at Private Slade. "Does he think he can salvage anything from the wreck?"

Just what Ned was thinking of was not evident. He moved here and there amid the ruins of the ammunition automobile, picking up bits of wood until his arms could hold no more. It was raining heavily, and when Ned stepped into a puddle the mud and water could be seen to splash.

And then, when Ned could carry no more and turned to come back to his own trench, the Germans, in theirs, suddenly awoke to the chance they had been missing. There were sharp reports, and something besides rain drops splashed into the pools of water all about Ned.

"They're firing at him! He'll be killed!" cried Bob.

"It seems very likely!" said the officer grimly. "Who gave him permission to go out like that, and why did he do it?"

No one answered. No one knew what to say.

And now Ned, aware of his own danger, began to run toward the trench. He came on, stooping over to offer less of a target to the Germans, and he zig-zagged as he leaped forward. But through it all, through the hail of lead, he did not drop the pieces of the demolished truck he had picked up.

The firing from the German lines became hotter, and a machine gun began to splutter.

"It's all up with him now!" said the officer, with something like a groan. "I'll order our guns to shell the Hun trench, but it will be too late!"

He jumped down off the firing step, where he and the others, including Jerry and Bob, were standing, and started for the nearest telephone that connected with a battery.

Just then Ned was seen to stagger.

"He's hit!" some one cried.

But if he was the lad who had taken such a desperate chance did not stop. He dropped a piece of wood, but still he ran on, stooping over, and darting from side to side.

And at last he reached the trench where Bob, Jerry, and his other comrades awaited him. The rain had made the top of the trench slippery, and Ned, striking this while going at full speed, fairly slid down into the ditch, the wood dropping from his arms all about.

"There you are!" he cried, as he recovered himself. "Enough wood for two fires! Now we can have something hot for breakfast! Bob, start the coffee boiling! I'm like you—hungry!"

For a moment the others stood staring at him, and then the officer came back.

"Did they get him?" he cried. "If they did they'll pay for it. We'll wipe out the Hun trench in another minute!"

Then he saw Ned, standing, surrounded by the splintered, wooden parts of the ammunition truck.

"Oh, you're here," said the officer, mechanically, as Ned saluted. "Well, what in the name of General Pershing did you want to do that for?"

"I wanted some wood to make a fire for breakfast, Sir," answered Ned simply. "Some one took our supply last night, and when I saw the truck blown to pieces and noticed that the driver was safe, I thought it a good chance to get some fairly dry fuel. So I took it. Better pick it up though, or it won't be dry long," he added to Jerry, and the latter, with Bob's help, obeyed. Ned had done his share.

The officer stared at Ned as though the young soldier were a new sort of fighter, and then, with a shake of his head, turned away. It was past belief or understanding.

As the three chums moved back to where they had set up an improvised stove, where they could build a fire with the truck pieces Ned had brought in, the ground shook with the thunder of the American guns that soon enforced silence in the German trenches. It was revenge for having fired on Ned.

Technically Ned had been guilty of a breach of the regulations, but though his venture into the open had resulted in a whole battery being sent into action, nothing further was said, officially, of his conduct. Perhaps his bravery was admired by the officer who saw it.

At any rate Ned, Bob and Jerry had a warm breakfast, which they shared with some of their chums, and then the day's duty began. It was performed in the rain, that seemed never-ceasing. The bottom of the trench was a ditch of mud, in spite of the duck boards laid down.

"Too bad Professor Snodgrass isn't here," remarked Ned, as he pulled one foot up from the mud and looked at it with the remark that he wanted to make sure he still had the foot attached to his person.

"Too bad the professor isn't here! Why?" asked Bob.

"Oh, he might find some new kind of bug in this—soup!" and Ned stirred the thick mud in the bottom of the trench with the butt of his gun. "It might be more interesting than seeing how noises affect French crickets."

"Crickets!" cried Jerry. "I feel sorry for any self-respecting cricket that would stay here to be affected. But, speaking of the professor, I wish we could see him again. It would be like hearing from home, and the letters are few and far between."

"That's right," admitted Ned. They had had some missives from their people, and also the girls, Alice, Helen and Mollie, while Bob, in addition, had had a note from Helena Schaeffer, who said she was knitting for the Red Cross. But, of late, no mail had come in.

"I shouldn't be surprised to see the professor walk in on us any day," mused Jerry. "He's likely to do it."

"Then he'd better get a hustle on, or he may not find us here," observed Ned.

"Why not?" Bob inquired.

"Well, there's a rumor that we're soon going to attack again," answered Ned. "And when we go over the top we don't come back to the old trenches. We make new ones. So the professor, if he doesn't come soon, may find we have changed our address."

"Going to make an attack!" Jerry spoke softly. "Well, that's the way to win the war. I hope it will stop raining, though. I hate to fight in the rain."

But still the dreary drizzle kept up, and through it the soldiers plodded in the mud of the trench. It was nearly time for the three chums to be relieved when Ned, who had a post at the right of Jerry, suddenly gave a start, following a distant report.

"What is it?" asked his tall chum.

In answer Ned pointed to a spattery hole in the trench wall behind him.

"The German sniper again," he said. "And I'm going to see if I can't spot him. We've got to get him!"

Ned took off his tin helmet and put it on his bayonet. Then he slowly raised it above the top of the trench, at the spot where the bullet had come in. A moment later there was a vicious "ping!" and the helmet bore a deep indentation.

"Spotted!" cried Ned. "I see where he keeps himself! And now, fellows, if you'll help, we'll get Mr. Fritz Sharpshooter, and get him good! I've got his address now!"



CHAPTER XVI

OVER THE TOP

"We haven't much time," remarked Jerry, as he glanced at the watch on his wrist. "We'll be relieved in five minutes."

"That's long enough," returned Ned, with a grim laugh. "If this fellow who has tried to get me—or one of you—so often, runs true to form, he's done his last shooting. I know where he keeps himself."

"Where?" asked Bob.

Ned took his chums by the arms, and led them a little way down the trench where there was an improvised periscope. It was not being used by the officer in charge just then, and Ned peered through it.

He said nothing for a moment, and then called to Jerry:

"Take a look at that brush pile just inside the first line of German wire."

"I see it," remarked Jerry, after a look through the mirror arrangement.

"Well, that's where Mr. Fritz is keeping himself," said his chum. "It's just in line with the direction from which that last bullet came. I've been thinking for some time that he was hidden there, but I wasn't sure until I saw the flash of his gun as he nearly hit me just now. But now I'll get him!"

"That bush doesn't seem big enough to shelter a man," observed Bob, as he, too, took an observation.

"There's a hole dug under it, and he's hiding in that," said Ned. "At first I thought the sharpshooter was popping at us from some height, and I believe he was, a week or so back. But now he has changed his tactics. He's doing ground sniping, and that bit of bush hasn't any roots."

"What do you mean?" asked Jerry.

"I mean it's a bit of camouflage. The sharpshooter moves it about with him, thinking we'll believe it's natural. He scoops a hole, gets in with only his head sticking out, and puts this bit of foliage in front of him as a screen. Now, Bob, you take your helmet, and when I tell you hold it up on your gun. Jerry, you come with me down the trench a way, and please don't fire until after I do. If I miss, you get him, but I want first shot.

"I want Bob to draw his fire, if he can," explained Ned. "I'll be in reserve to shoot as soon as I see the flash. If I miss you take him. It's got to be nip and tuck, and we'll have to make it a snap shot, for he'll drop back into the hole after he fires."

"Go to it!" advised the tall lad. "I'm with you."

Quickly they made their preparations. While Ned and Jerry went a little way down the trench, Bob took off his helmet and put it on the end of his gun. He then awaited the signal from Ned.

"Show your tin hat!"

Slowly, and simulating as much as possible a soldier raising his head above the top line of the trench, Bob elevated the helmet. Hardly had he done so when there came a sharp crack, and the helmet spun around on the point of the bayonet as a juggler spins a plate on the end of his walking stick.

"Right O!" cried Ned, and, almost in the same detonation as the firing of the German's gun, Ned's rifle spoke. The clump of bushes seemed to spout up into the air, blown by some underground explosion, and then a figure was seen to half leap from what must have been an excavation.

"You got him!" cried Jerry.

"Yes," assented Ned, as he lowered his gun. "You won't have to shoot, old man. Fritz won't do any more pot-hunting."

So that was the end of one German sharpshooter.

The three chums were congratulated by their relief, which came soon after that, on ridding that part of this particular sector of a menace that had long been in evidence. More than one American had been killed or wounded either by this sharpshooter or by one who had adopted the same tactics, and Ned, Bob and Jerry had well earned the thanks of their comrades.

"Have you heard anything more about going over the top soon?" asked Jerry.

"Nothing definite," replied Ned, who had started the rumor. "But don't you feel a sort of tenseness all around—as though something were going to happen?"

"I do," answered Bob. "I think it's going to happen that I'm going to have some chow. I smell it coming!"

"You're a heathen materialist!" declared Ned.

Bob proved a true prophet, for a few minutes later a relief squad came to the dugout with a traveling kitchen, or rather, some of the products of one in the shape of hot beef stew and coffee.

Following the ending of the career of the German sniper, the three Motor Boys, after several strenuous days in the trenches, went back again to a rest billet. There they recuperated, and really enjoyed themselves. There were letters from home to cheer them, and also a communication from Professor Snodgrass.

The little scientist said he had tried in vain to get some trace of the two missing girls, and expressed the hope of seeing the boys soon, to get the benefit of any advice they could give him. He also stated that he was progressing well with his scientific work of noting the effect of terrific noises on insects. But, somehow or other, the Motor Boys did not take as much interest in the pursuit of the scientist as they had formerly.

"The war has changed everything," declared Jerry.

"But, of course, we'll help him find the girls if we can," suggested Ned.

"Oh, of course," agreed his tall chum.

Their stay in the rest camp was made pleasant by the ministrations of the Y. M. C. A. and the Knights of Columbus representatives. The chums and their comrades spent much time in the different huts, where they were entertained and could get hot chocolate, candy or chewing gum—rations not then issued by the army commissary.

"If it wasn't for these organizations war would be a whole lot worse than it is," declared Jerry, as they came from a Y. M. C. A. meeting and moving-picture show one evening.

"And don't forget the Salvation Army!" chimed in Bob. "The fried holes those lassies turn out are the best I ever ate—not excepting those mother used to make."

"Yes, those doughnuts fill a big void, even if they have a hole in the middle," agreed Ned.

But all good things—even Salvation Army doughnuts—come to an end some time, and so did the rest period of the three friends. Back to the trenches they went, to find out that what Ned had predicted was about to happen. An attack of considerable magnitude was in preparation, and it was to be as much of a surprise to the Germans as possible.

"It's going to be over the top all right," declared Jerry, when, one evening, they received their final instructions. The attack, preceded by a brief artillery preparation, was to take place at dawn, the "zero hour" selected.

It was believed, and was proved true as after events showed, that by considerably shortening the artillery fire, the Germans would be unprepared. They were used to the big guns bombarding them for a day or more at a stretch before the infantry came over. This was to be a change.

The night before the attack was a nervous one. Yet those not on duty managed to get some sleep. For many it would be their last.

Then came the general awakening, and the moving of the men along the trenches to the posts assigned to them. Each squad of men was in charge of an officer, commissioned or noncommissioned, and in Jerry's squad were Ned and Bob.

"Go over the top with a rush when you get the signal, which will be three whistles after the barrage has ceased," were the instructions, and Ned, Bob, and Jerry, with their comrades, prepared to do this.

There was a period of tense waiting and then, with a suddenness that shook their nerves and bodies, as well as the whole earth about them, the big guns opened fire.

That the Germans were taken by surprise was evident by the failure to answer. For perhaps five minutes it seemed as though a thousand of the most terrific of thunder storms had been condensed into one.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the firing ceased. The "zero hour" had arrived.

Three shrill whistles, repeated from many points, sounded on the now silent but quivering air. Not a German gun had yet awakened.

"Over the top!" came the cry, and the friends, with thousands of other brave lads, scrambled up the ladders from the trenches and started toward the German lines.



CHAPTER XVII

"FRIED HOLES"

Ned, Bob, and Jerry were stationed in a sector which was alternately defending the lines against the Germans and attacking them in that part of the country where the trend of the war eventually led up to the terrific battles of St. Mihiel and the Argonne Forest. But, up to this time, no one had guessed that the whole nature of the war would be so quickly changed with the advent of the Americans, nor was it suspected what terrible fighting would have to be undertaken by our boys; though, of course, they were ready for the worst.

So that the battle in which the Motor Boys and their comrades were now about to engage was merely what was termed a local engagement.

Nevertheless, it meant everything—life and death—to those engaged in it, though there was never a thought of death in the hearts of any of the brave men who went over the top as the big guns ceased thundering and the shrill whistles gave the signal.

"Come on, boys!" yelled Jerry, as he led Bob and Ned forward, followed by the others in the particular squad of which Jerry had charge. "Come on!"

"Yi! Yi! Yip!" screamed a young giant from the South, as he leaped ahead of some of his chums to the side of Jerry. "Show the Fritzies how we fight!"

And together he and Jerry rushed on, followed by Ned and Bob—a quartette acting as one man.

It was the first really big battle in which the Cresville chums had taken part. They had been out on skirmish work and on night patrol, and they had come in conflict with parties of Germans, but no large bodies. They had even each been wounded slightly, but never before, in all their lives, had they had a part in such a hailstorm of death, such a turmoil of blood, mud, smoke, gas and flying bullets as now. On and over the rough shell-pitted ground they rushed toward the German trenches. On they rushed in the gray dawn of the morning, firing as they ran, hardly stopping to take aim, for they could see the gray, indefinite mass before them, and knew they were the German troops who had rushed out of their trenches to meet the onslaught.

At first the attack had been a surprise—a surprise so great that the Germans could not, at the beginning, reply even with adequate rifle fire, to say nothing of artillery and machine guns.

But, in a moment, seemingly, all this was changed. Tongues and slivers of fire began to spit out from the gray ranks opposing the Americans. There was a snarl of the lighter artillery guns, the spiteful bark of the rifles and the wicked rat-a-tat-tat of the machine guns, which the Germans depended on, more than on anything else, to stop a rush of our infantry.

Half way across No Man's Land rushed Ned, Bob, and Jerry, with their cheering, madly yelling comrades, and then the toll of death began. It was the fortune of war. Those that lived by rifles and bayonets must perish by them, and for the deaths that they exacted of the Huns their lives were exacted in return.

Jerry, who with grim-set face and blazing eyes rushed on at the side of the tall Southern giant, heard a dull thud. Then came a sort of gasping, choking cry that was audible even above the horrid din of battle. Jerry, in a glance, saw his big comrade crumple up in a heap, the whole front of his body torn away by a piece of shell. And for one terrible instant Jerry felt that he, himself, must fall there, too, so terrible was the sight. But he nerved himself to go on, and a backward glance showed that Bob had to leap over the dead body of the lad who but a moment before was yelling encouragement to others.

But it was war, and it had to be.

On and on they rushed. Now they were at the first line of the German barbed wire. Some of it had been cut by the swift firing of shrapnel before the troops came from their trenches. But enough remained to be a hindrance, and quickly the men with cutters surged forward to open the way.

It was while the Americans were held up here that the Germans took fearful and heavy toll of them with their machine guns, which were now sputtering with terrific firing. Scores of brave men went down, some never to rise again. Others, only slightly wounded, staggered for a minute, paused behind some dead comrade's body to adjust a bandage, and then went on.

Forward they rushed. Through the barbed wire now, trampling down the cruel strands, never heeding the bleeding wounds it tore in them, never heeding the storm of bullets, minding not the burst of shrapnel or high explosive.

On and on they went, yelling and shouting; maddened with righteous anger against a ruthless foe. Forward once more. Somehow, though how they did it they never knew, Ned, Bob, and Jerry stuck close to one another. Since the death of the Southerner the three chums were in line together, and stormed on. Their rifles were hot in their hands, but still they fired.

"The first-line trenches!" yelled Ned, as he pointed through the smoke.

And there, indeed, they were. They had passed over No Man's Land through a storm of death which held many back. They had mastered the barrier of the wire, and now were at the first line of the German defense. And so fierce and terrible had been the rush of the Americans the Germans had fallen back, so that, save for lifeless gray bodies, the trenches were unoccupied.

"Forward! Forward! Don't stop! Go on!" yelled the officers.

A certain objective had been set, and the commanders were fearful lest the troops, thinking that to capture the first German trenches was enough, would stop there.

But they need not have been apprehensive. The boys of Uncle Sam were not of that sort. They wanted to come in closer contact with the Boches. And they did.

On over the first-line trenches they rushed, but now the fighting became hotter, for they were in the midst of machine-gun nests, placed there for just such a contingency. Death was on every side now—horrible death. A bullet clipped Jerry's ear, but he only laughed—half madly and unconsciously, no doubt—and rushed on. A man was killed in front of him, and, falling forward, tripped the tall lad, so that, for one terrible instant Bob and Ned thought their chum had been killed. But Jerry sprang up again, and, seeing a knot of Germans just ahead of him, tossed a hand grenade among them. As a wisp of fog shuts out a view, so the smoke of the grenade hid the group of Huns for a moment. And when a swirl of the air lifted the smoke curtain, a gray heap on the ground was all that remained. It was like some vision of the night, constantly changing.

On and on they rushed, shouting and shooting, yelling and being yelled at. They panted for breath, their tongues clove to their dry mouths, they suffered horribly for water, but there was only blood about them.

Forward they surged. So great was the first rush that they fairly were carried—it did not seem that they took themselves—beyond the last of that particular line of German trenches. Now they were actually on the open ground beyond—the space where the Huns had their reserves, and these were now quickly thrown into the battle.

Clip after clip of cartridges had been used by the boys, and they were drawing on their reserve supply now. But the battle was not going with the same rush. The Germans were holding even as a desperate eleven holds when it is on its own goal line and the opponents are madly striving to shove it over and out of the way, that a touchdown may be made.

Following the instructions they had received, the Americans began to look for what shelter they could find—a hole in the ground, a heap of dirt, the body of some fallen man, a slain horse, a heap of rubbish, a dismantled machine gun, anything that, for a time, would fend off a bullet.

The first, or shock-wave, of troops had gotten as far as it was advisable to go, and they must wait a moment for reinforcements and for the artillery to come up. So it was that they threw themselves flat, to escape the storm of bullets that drove into their very faces.

There was no question, now, of surprising the enemy. He was fully awake to his danger, and had rushed all his available troops into the conflict. He had an unusually large number of machine guns, and on these he depended more than on artillery or rifle fire to break up the attack. And nothing more effectual could have been chosen. Only, the Americans were determined not to be stopped.

Hastily they began entrenching, digging shallow ditches in which to find shelter. It does not take much of a mound of earth to provide a shield against rifle or machine-gun bullets, and in ten minutes an advancing body of troops can provide themselves with temporary protection, while in half an hour they can almost be in trenches, though these are not as deep as the permanent ones.

While part of the advancing Americans still maintained a fusillade from their rifles and from a few machine guns that had been rushed up, others used the intrenching tools. Then, when all were under temporary shelter, they began assaulting the Boches from their vantage places.

But now the Germans had begun to fight back with their artillery, only, fortunately for Ned, Bob, and Jerry, and their comrades, the range was not yet ascertained, so that the shots flew well over their heads. The shells landed back of the American trenches which had been abandoned when the order came to go over the top, and as this ground was temporarily vacant no great harm was done.

"There go our guns again!" cried Ned into Jerry's ear, as he lay stretched out beside his tall chum.

"Yes. They're trying to drive the Huns back so we can go on. We've got to get farther than this."

The battle was now one of longer range, the first fierceness of the infantry having spent itself. Indeed, the men were practically out of ammunition, though a reserve stock was being rushed to them under the cover of the American guns.

A considerable space, corresponding to No Man's Land, separated the two lines, and over the heads of the prostrate men flew the shells of their respective batteries. So, for the time being, except for stray shooting of rifles and machine guns, the two confronting lines of infantry were comparatively safe.

It was during this lull that Bob, looking back from where he was sheltered by a little hill of earth and stones, uttered a cry.

"What's the matter?" asked Jerry quickly. "Are you hit, Chunky?"

"Hit? No! But look there! Fried holes! See 'em!"

For an instant both Ned and Jerry thought that Bob had been seriously hurt, and was out of his head. But they looked to where he pointed and saw a man in the uniform of the Salvation Army coming across the ground over which the Americans had recently stormed. And the intrepid noncombatant carried on either arm a big basket of a type well known to our American fighters.

"Fried holes!" cried Bob. "Fried holes! Salvation Army doughnuts, fellows! I'm going to get some!"



CHAPTER XVIII

THE SCHOOL JANITOR

Just how it happened that the Salvation Army worker had ventured into that place of death none knew, and none stopped to inquire. Probably the man, in his eagerness to serve, did not realize where he was nor how he got there. Naturally he would have been denied permission to go forward during an engagement—that was no time nor place for a noncombatant. But he probably had not asked. He had made his way through a rain of lead and steel to a zone of comparative safety. And there he stood, as if bewildered, with his baskets of cheer on his arms.

And now a sudden change in the battle made the zone of comparative safety one of danger. For the range of the German guns became shorter. The muzzles were being depressed to seek out those intrepid Americans who had rushed over the first Hun trenches and were waiting to rush onward again. This must not be, thought the Huns, and so they sought them out to kill them.

So it was that as Bob spied the "fried holes" the dispenser of them gave a start as a bullet or a piece of shell flew close to his head. He was in grave danger now, and realized it. But he did not falter. He gave one backward glance, not with an idea of retreating, that is sure, but to see if there were any near him in that direction whom he might serve. Then he saw the prone lines ahead of him.

"Me for some of those!" yelled Bob, as he rose from his improvised trench.

"Lie still, you chump!" shouted Ned. "Do you want to be killed?"

"No more than you did when you got the wood from the busted truck," was the answer. "But I've got to have some of those doughnuts!"

And Bob, never heeding the fact that he would be a shining target for the guns of the Germans, started to run toward the Salvation Army man.

Some of the officers, from where they were stationed among the troops, saw him.

"Come back! Come back! Who is he? What's he doing? Is he going to desert in the face of the enemy?" were some of the commands and cries.

But it needed only a glance to show that Bob never had a notion of deserting. He ran toward the man with the baskets of doughnuts on his arms. Crisp, golden-brown doughnuts they were, fresh from one of the traveling kitchens where, behind the lines, the Salvation Army lassies made them—a devoted service that will never be forgotten, but will rank with that of the Red Cross and be immortal.

And now, as might have been expected, the Germans saw the two figures—the only upright ones in that particular neighborhood. And the inevitable followed. They were fired at.

Both offered good marks, but Fate, Providence, or whatever you choose to call it, favored them, or else the Germans were wretched shots, which last, in a measure, is known to be true.

At any rate, Bob and the Salvation Army man met and Bob took charge of one of the baskets of doughnuts. That, too, was to be expected.

"Come on—run for it!" yelled the stout lad. "This place is getting hot!"

And indeed it was, for all about their feet were little spurts of earth, showing where the bullets were striking. And together they ran on toward the war-worn, weary figures of the men in the shallow trenches. Straight to where he had left his comrades Bob led the brave man, and they were received with a cheer.

Though it was desperately against all orders and discipline for Bob to do what he had done, not an officer rebuked him. And then the "fried holes" were quickly handed out to the fortunate ones in that section of the line, the officers refusing any, so that the weary men might have some little refreshment.

"Halves only—each man only take a half!" cried Ned, when he saw how many men there were and how few—in spite of the two big baskets—the doughnuts were.

Bob looked a trifle crestfallen, but he agreed with a smile, and to his eternal credit be it said that when he broke the one doughnut he saved for himself, and it came apart in two unequal pieces, he gave the larger section to a comrade on his right.

"Bravo, Chunky!" said Jerry softly, as he observed.

And then, as if in horrible contrast to this peaceful scene, the battle began again.

"Forward!" came the orders, and the three chums, with their comrades, sprang from their shelter.

And as Bob left the shallow hole he had dug for himself to see what became of the Salvation Army man, he saw him roll gently over on his side, a little hole in his forehead showing where death had entered from one of the hundreds of bullets that were now sweeping down among the troops. But there was a smile on his lips.

And there died a very brave and gallant gentleman.

Burst and roar and rumble and thunder and shriek and yell and cry and sob succeeded, accompanied and overlapped one another. The battle was on again in all its horrid fury.

Forward rushed the troops, freshened by their rest, with more ammunition of death. Forward they rushed, driving the Germans back, out of the trenches improvised by the Huns. Forward they rushed while the American guns lifted the barrage to protect them, and the German cannon crashed out their answer.

On they went, stumbling, falling, getting up again some of them, never rising again many of them. Bloody and mud-stained, powder-grimed and sweat-marked, torn and panting, cut and bruised, with dry tongues that swelled in their blackened mouths. With eyes that saw nothing and everything—the sight of comrades torn to pieces beside them, the falling of beloved officers, the tearing of great holes in the ranks, and the closing of those holes by a living wall of others who offered themselves for the sacrifice.

Forward they rushed, shouting and firing, tossing hand grenades into the midst of the dust-gray bodies of the Huns that opposed them. Onward they leaped and ran and staggered and jumped, but always onward.

A yell on their left caught the ears of Jerry and his chums.

"Are we giving way?" asked Ned, grimly despairing.

"No! It's the tanks! Look!" screamed Bob.

And the tanks it was. A score of them, great lumbering giants, impervious to everything save heavy guns, on they crawled, smashing concrete machine-gun nests as though they were but collections of vipers' eggs in a field.

These tanks turned the tide of battle at that particular point. For the Germans were putting up a stiff resistance, and were about to launch a counter-attack, as was learned later.

But with the tanks to protect them, to splatter death from their armored machine guns, to spread terror and fear among the Huns, the day was saved.

On rushed the Americans, Ned, Bob, and Jerry among them, while all about them thundered the big guns, rattled the rifles, adding their din to the tat-a-tat-tat of the machine guns.

And then the Germans, unable to withstand this withering fire and being inadequately supported by their artillery, broke in confusion and ran—ran to escape the terrible death that awaited them from the avengers of a world dishonored by the Boches.

Wave after wave of storming troops now surged over the positions lately occupied in force by the Germans. Up the wooded slopes they swept, taking possession of dominant heights so long desired. The objective was more than won, and the American position much improved.

The fury of the fighting began to die away. But it was still terrific in spots, for there were many machine-gun nests left behind when the Huns retreated, and the holders of them were told to die at their posts. Many did.

When Ned, Bob, Jerry, and some of their comrades, led by an officer, approached one of the dugouts there was no sign of life. It had been spouting death from a machine gun but a little while before, however.