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THE KHAKI BOYS FIGHTING TO WIN
OR
_Smashing the German Lines_
By
CAPT. GORDON BATES
Author of "The Khaki Boys at Camp Sterling," "The Khaki Boys on the Way," "The Khaki Boys at the Front," "The Khaki Boys Over the Top," etc.
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE KHAKI BOYS SERIES
By CAPT. GORDON BATES
THE KHAKI BOYS AT CAMP STERLING or Training for the Big Fight in France
THE KHAKI BOYS ON THE WAY or Doing Their Bit on Land and Sea
THE KHAKI BOYS AT THE FRONT or Shoulder to Shoulder in the Trenches
THE KHAKI BOYS OVER THE TOP or Doing and Daring for Uncle Sam
THE KHAKI BOYS FIGHTING TO WIN or Smashing the German Lines
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, New York
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE KHAKI BOYS FIGHTING TO WIN
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I BURIED ALIVE 1
II A STRANGE SIGHT 9
III ANOTHER PUZZLE 18
IV RECOGNITION 26
V BATTLING ONWARD 37
VI POOR SCHNITZ 44
VII DAYS OF SORROW 53
VIII STARTLING INFORMATION 60
IX UGLY THREATS 68
X DISQUIETING RUMORS 77
XI THE SIGNALS 85
XII NEWS FROM THE AIR 92
XIII A FORWARD RUSH 101
XIV UNSEEN MARKSMEN 108
XV OVER THE CLIFF 116
XVI ONLY TWO LEFT 125
XVII BLOWN UP 132
XVIII A STRANGE MEETING 140
XIX IN SWIRLING WATERS 148
XX THE CAVE FIGHT 155
XXI A DESPERATE RESOLVE 166
XXII THE ESCAPE 172
XXIII THE SECRET PACT 182
XXIV THROUGH THE LINES 194
THE KHAKI BOYS FIGHTING TO WIN
CHAPTER I
BURIED ALIVE
Distant rumbles, like those of some far-off thunderstorm, penetratedeven to the dugout, which was constructed under a greater depth ofearth than usual. At times some fearful, though far-removed, explosionwould cause the solid ground to tremble, while articles on the rudeshelves of the shelter would fall down with resultant crashes.
"Some bombardment--that!" exclaimed one of a number of khaki-cladsoldiers who were busying themselves in varying fashion in theirbomb-proof quarters.
"I should say so!" agreed another. "If our boys keep this up long therewon't be enough Germans left for us to have a scrimmage with!"
"Don't you fool yourself, Bob!" exclaimed Sergeant Jimmy Blaise. "Thereare more Germans left alive than we have any idea of. There'll beplenty left for you to tackle."
"Now your mind's relieved on that score, would you mind passing thatoil can, Bob?" requested Roger Barlow. "There's a spot of rust on mygun, and if we're going to have another big fight soon I don't want thelock to jam at a critical time."
"Another big fight, eh?" mused Robert Dalton, as he complied with hisbunkie's request. "That's about all we've been doing lately."
"That's what we're here for," suggested Sergeant Jimmy. "And the morebig fights we have the sooner it will be over."
"You said something!" chimed in Franz Schnitzel, who, in spite of hisTeutonic name, was one of the best of Uncle Sam's doughboys. "It'sthe only way to make the stupid Germans, not to call them anythingworse, realize that we're not here to play tag with them. The heavierthe fighting, the quicker they'll be ready to give up. But what's theuse of talking about more fighting? Here we are, relieved of duty forto-day, at least, and let's enjoy it while we can. We'll be back in thetrenches soon enough."
"That's so!" agreed Jimmy. "Hello over there, Iggy!" he called to a ladsitting at a table on which glowed an electric light. "Are you writingin Polish or English?" he asked, for the lad he addressed as "Iggy,"but whose name was Ignace Pulinski, was laboring with pen, ink andpaper.
"It is English I am writ him, an to my mothar," was the answer. "Nomore Polish do I him write. I am a 'Merican now and for always."
"That's the way to talk, Iggy!" cried Bob. "Do you want any help withthat letter? It seems to be more important than usual."
"Sure him is reportment," agreed Iggy, looking up and drawing inhis tongue, which, while writing, had been stuck out of his mouth,following every laborious movement of his pen. "I am to my motharsending my share of the money that Sergeant Jimmy broke up on us."
"Oh, you mean the five thousand francs he whacked up with us, Iggy,"laughed Franz. "That's the word, 'whacked,' not broke, though no matterhow much money someone whacks up with you, you'll be broke as soon asyou haven't any."
"English him is a queer talk," sighed Iggy. "But I am writ to my motharthat I send her the two hundred dollars Sergeant Jimmy gave me. Byjolly, that's a heap of money!" and his eyes glistened. "My faothar--hework many a days and he never get so much. But I no send this to myfaothar--he is of no good. To my mothar this money goes, and she willkick for joy."
"You mean she'll dance for joy!" laughed Jimmy. "That's all right,Iggy. No offense meant," he went on as he saw his Polish friend lookat him rather sharply. "You want to learn English, you know, even ifit is a queer language, and you told us to correct you when you mademistakes."
"Sure. So I did. I am of a thanks to you. But my mothar, she will ofjoy have a lot when she gets this money. It--it is more as she haf everseen of a once," and there was something in Iggy's tone that put a stopto further joking on this line.
The Polish lad went on with his letter-writing. As he had said, he wasenclosing a money order for two hundred dollars. This was his share ofa reward of five thousand francs which Sergeant Jimmy Blaise won forputting out of the way a certain "Charles Black," who, it turned out,was an Austrian spy named Adolph von Kreitzen. Jimmy, who in privatelife was wealthy, had insisted on sharing his reward with the other ofthe "Five Brothers," as the Khaki Boys were often called.
"Need any help, Iggy?" asked Bob, as he saw the Polish lad shake hishead as if in despair over some knotty point in the letter.
"Well, I maybe do," was the answer. "I should tell my mothar about howI was out on night-work, and I of help capture that Russian spy ofthe name Alexandraiovitch Tarbotchanitzitschi. That is a hard name tospell."
"Spell! You can't spell that name!" and Jimmy Blaise exploded in alaugh.
"You can get your tongue around it a whole lot better than anyof us, but it can't be spelled. Just put in a wheeze, a couple ofsneezes and a hiccough. Then you'll have the name, Iggy."
"Well, I guess maybe you got it right," assented the Polish lad."I just tell my mothar I of capture a Russian spy what the Germanshave--what you call made bad. I tell her the name when I get home."
"That's the idea!" agreed Bob. "Home!" he exclaimed. "Say, fellows,where have I heard that word before?"
"That's what I was wondering," chimed in Roger Barlow. "It sort ofrhymes with bath-tub, pie, broiled steaks----"
He was interrupted by a dog-eared magazine which Jimmy tossed at him,narrowly missing hitting the electric lamp by which Iggy was writinghis letter.
"Here! Cheese it! Do you want to douse the glim?" expostulatedSchnitzel. "We won this dugout from the Germans after too much hardwork to let you put it on the blink now. It's the best place we've hadto rest in for some time. Don't go putting it on the kazook!"
"I apologize," said Sergeant Jimmy, humbly enough. "It's great to haveelectric light, isn't it? Those Huns certainly went to a lot of work tomake this place like home for their officers. Electric lights, decentberths, and places where you can take it easy and write letters."
"They never thought we'd get this far, I guess," remarked Bob.
And what he said was true. There had been a sudden and substantialadvance on the part of the American army, and they had overwhelmed theGerman lines at this sector, running the Boches several miles back.Thus long lines of well-made German trenches, including a number ofdugouts fitted up rather more elaborately than usual, were left in thehands of the Allies in general and the Americans in particular.
The one in which the five Brothers were taking their rest after somesevere fighting had been arranged with electric lights, and after thebattle the wires were repaired, the dynamo hitched on again, and theplace rendered habitable. It was an exceptionally deep dugout, andwas safe from all but the very heaviest bombardments of the Germanguns. And there had been bombardments from time to time ever since theAmericans had swept irresistibly and victoriously over the Boche lines.
"Well, this can't last forever," remarked Bob, as he nibbled at a bitof chocolate.
"What we want to do," declared Franz, as he slyly took a bit of Bob'sconfection, "is to wallop the Huns good and hard, and then put 'emwhere they can't do any more harm. Then it's us for the good old U. S.A."
"Yes, and it'll be you for the outside if you snibby any more of mylollypop!" exclaimed Bob, with a grin as he moved away from Schnitzel."I got this off a Salvation Army lassie this morning, and she said Iwasn't to give any of it away."
"Pity you didn't get some for all of us," commented Roger. "Did theyopen a fresh box?"
"Yes, just got a new lot in," said Bob. "I was going to tell you aboutit and advise you to go out and get your share when we got to talkingabout Iggy's letter."
"Him is all done now--my letter," declared the Polish lad. "I can forthe chocolate go!"
"We'll all have a go at the chocolate!" put in Jimmy. "Come on,fellows. We've been in here long enough. Let's get a bit of fresh airwithout running danger of poison gas. No telling how soon we'll be sentto the front again. Me for a large, juicy slice of chocolate!"
"We're with you!" cried his four chums.
"Well, I wish I could of see my mothar when she open this letter and ofthe two hundred dollars take out," said Iggy, as he gave the epistle toa messenger to see that it was mailed, together with cards and letterspreviously prepared by the other Khaki Boys. "She will hop--no, that isnot the word--she will dance for of joy."
"Well, let us dance out and get the chocolate while the going's good!"cried Jimmy.
As he spoke a deeper boom from some distant, great gun came to theirears, and the ground trembled.
"Sounds as though they were coming nearer," commented Bob.
"Or else they're using longer range cannon," added Roger.
"Well," said Jimmy, "as long as we----"
He never finished the sentence. In the midst of it the words weredrowned, swallowed up, obliterated in one great crash. It seemed to beexactly on top of the dugout of which the five Khaki Boys were now theonly occupants.
And coincident with the crash there came complete darkness, while thedeafening noise was followed by smaller concussions.
"It's a cave-in! The walls are collapsing!" cried Bob.
"I'm covered with dirt!" came Roger's voice faintly from the darkness."Fellows, we're buried alive! Buried alive!"
And the echoes seemed to send back, mockingly:
"Buried alive! Alive!"