Army Boys in the French Trenches Or, Hand to Hand Fighting with the Enemy by Randall, Homer

"Remember how different it used to be when we had a baseball game on hand?" laughed Frank. "Then a gleam of sunshine was like money from home after you'd been broke for a week."

"That cloud a little while ago looked as though it might have had thunder and lightning behind it," observed Bart, "but it was only a false alarm."

"Nothing but wind, like a German bulletin," grinned Billy, stretching himself.

"Or their U-boat prophecies," added Frank. "But cheer up, fellows, this sunshine can't last forever."

There came at last just the kind of weather wanted. A soft drizzle set in at nightfall, not enough to make the ground muddy, but enough to make the steaming and saturated air lie heavy on the earth. Everything indicated that there would be a fog at dawn.

"I guess to-morrow's the big day," remarked Frank, as he looked out at the settling mists.

"High time," grumbled Tom. "I'd grow stale if we had to wait much longer."

The regiments slept on their arms that night, and an hour before dawn all were astir and in their places. There was no special artillery fire, such as usually preceded big attacks. It was given to the tanks to level the entanglements of the enemy and open up the gaps for the troops to swarm through.

The hour dragged by until within ten minutes of the time appointed for the assault. Then a monotonous hum filled the air as the motors of the tanks tuned up. Down through the black lines of waiting soldiers the gray monsters slowly made their way, passed through the gaps made in the defences and led the way into the desolate stretch of No Man's Land.

Even to the friendly eyes that watched them there was something weird and frightful in their aspect. It was as though the huge brutes of the prehistoric world had taken form before them. Even those monsters had never carried within them such death-dealing power.

As the sea closes in the wake of a ship, the troops fell in behind the tanks, and the silent procession took up the march toward the German lines.

Hardly a sound beyond the labored breathing of the tanks broke the stillness. It might have been an army of ghosts.

On they went, and with every step the conviction grew that the surprise would be complete. No thunder broke from the enemy guns. No fiery barrage swept the dense ranks, exacting its toll of wounds and death. For once the Hun was asleep.

Nearer and nearer. Then like so many thunderbolts at a hundred different points they struck the German lines and the tanks went through!

CHAPTER XIII

CAUGHT NAPPING

Nothing could stand before the terrific impact of the war tanks.

There was a grinding, tearing, screeching sound, as wire entanglements were uprooted. These had been strengthened in every way that German cunning could invent, but they bent like straws beneath the onslaught of the gray monsters. A cyclone could not have done the work more thoroughly.

There was no need now for further secrecy, and with a wild yell the Allied troops swarmed through the gaps, sending a deadly volley before them, supplemented by thousands of grenades.

At the same instant, the Allied artillery opened up and laid a heavy barrage fire over the heads of the onrushing troops.