Army Boys on the Firing Line Part 2

Occasionally a man would rise from one of these gatherings and move away, apparently without attracting notice or arousing question. Why could he not do the same?

Of course there was the chance of a word being addressed to him and he could not answer without revealing his ignorance of German. But perhaps he could pretend not to hear or respond with a grunt that would pa.s.s muster.

One thing was certain. If it were done at all it must be done at once while there were many about. If he waited until things were quiet his solitary figure would be sure to attract attention.

His choice was made. Between the certainty of capture and the chance of being shot he would take the chance. If worse came to worst he had his knife and his revolver and he would sell his life dearly.

He knelt down close by his captive and began to strip off his clothes.

The man was inclined to resist, but a sharp p.r.i.c.k of Frank's knife told him that his captor was in no mind to stand any nonsense and he lay quiet. It was hard work because the man was heavy and the quarters were cramped. The coat had to be cut off in places because Frank did not dare to untie his prisoner's hands. But at last the clothes were off, and Frank slipped them on over his own.

It was with a shudder of repulsion that he saw himself clad in the detested uniform that stood for all that was hateful and brutal in warfare. It made him feel soiled. But he comforted himself with the thought that the clothes were only external and that good United States khaki lay between that abhorred uniform and his skin.

He saw that the gag was still securely in position and that his captive's bonds had not relaxed. Then as a last reminder he laid the back of his knife on the prisoner's neck and felt him s.h.i.+ver beneath the cold steel.

"I guess he'll make no attempt to give me away," he said to himself.

"He knows that he'll be all right in the morning anyway."

Slowly and with the infinite precaution that had been taught him in his scout training, Frank lifted himself out of the hole and lay flat on the ground near the edge. There he waited until he was sure that he had attracted no attention.

Then having carefully taken his bearings and fixed upon the direction of the American lines, he yawned, stretched and rising slowly to his feet strolled carelessly toward the outskirts of the camp.

CHAPTER III

AMONG THE MISSING

Frank's heart was beating like a triphammer and his nerves were at a fearful tension. The next five minutes would probably determine whether he was to live or die.

But he kept himself well in hand and to all appearances he was only a tired German soldier going to his bunk.

As far as he could without attracting attention, he kept carefully away from the low fires around which some of the Germans were sitting. But at one point he was forced to pa.s.s within the zone of light, and one of a group threw a laughing remark at him, occasioned probably by the cuts in his coat which he had been compelled to make when he had stripped his prisoner.

"_Asel!_" Frank flung back at him and pa.s.sed on, thankful that he at least knew the German term for jacka.s.s.

Nearer and nearer he drew to the confines of the camp. Here the great danger lay, for he knew that it would be closely guarded after the day's fighting.

If he were challenged what should he say? To the sentinel's "_Wer da?_" he could answer "_Freund_." But when he was told to advance and give the countersign what would be his answer?

He had it ready. But it would not suit the Germans.

At the point that he had selected for his attempt, there was an opening in the wire that had been hastily strung to guard against a possible night attack by the American forces.

Up and down in front of this a stalwart sentry was pacing. He stopped and looked sharply at Frank, as the latter approached. When he was ten feet distant the sentry presented his bayonet and called:

"_Halt_! _Wer da_?"

"_Ein freund_," responded Frank.

"_Losung_," demanded the sentinel, asking for the countersign.

"America!" answered Frank, and hurled his revolver full in the sentry's face.

The heavy b.u.t.t of the weapon landed plumb in the middle of the German's forehead. He had opened his mouth to shout, but no sound came forth.

The rifle fell from his hands and he went down like a log.

With a leap Frank got through the gap in the wire and started running like a deer toward the American lines.

There were startled shouts behind him, hoa.r.s.e commands, a rus.h.i.+ng of feet and a crackling volley of shots. The bullets whizzed and zipped close to him and he felt a sharp sting as one of them grazed the lower part of his left arm. Once he stumbled and fell headlong, but he scrambled hastily to his feet and ran on.

But now a new peril was added. Behind him a star-sh.e.l.l shot up, followed by another and another, together with strings of "blazing onions," until the broken field over which he was making his way became almost as bright as day. In that greenish radiance his flying figure stood out sharply, and the firing which had been wild now became more accurate. At the same time, a look behind him showed that a troop of men had been hastily organized and was rus.h.i.+ng after him.

This, however, gave him little concern. A bullet might catch him, but these heavy Germans, never!

But just as he was comforting himself with this thought he tripped and went down with a shock that jarred every bit of breath out of his body.

He struggled to get up but could not move. His lungs labored as though they would burst. His legs refused to obey his will. He felt as if he were in the clutches of a nightmare.

And all the time he could hear the pounding of his pursuers' feet drawing closer and closer. Would he never be able to breathe again?

Little by little, during seconds that seemed ages, his breath came back to him, in short gasps at first but gradually becoming longer, until at last he rose weakly to his feet.

He started out again, slowly at first, but, as his wind came back to him, gathering speed at every stride. But now his pursuers were perilously near. Those precious seconds lost perhaps had been fatal.

His fingers gripped the handle of his knife. He would not be taken.

Capture in that uniform meant certain death. No German should gloat over his execution. If brought to bay he would die fighting then and there, using his knife so savagely that his enemies would have to shoot him to save themselves.

Commands to halt came from behind him accompanied by bullets, but he only ran the swifter.

But just then a tumult rose from another quarter. The lines in front of him seemed to awake. Lights flashed here and there, a ma.s.s of figures detached themselves from the gloom, and in the light of a star-sh.e.l.l Frank saw a detachment of American troops coming on the run!

His pursuers saw them too and the chase slackened. There was a hurried gathering for consultation, a volley of shots, and then the Germans beat a hasty retreat, hotly pursued by a band of the Americans while another group of them rushed up and surrounded Frank.

"Why, it's a Hun!" exclaimed one of them disgustedly, as his eyes fell on the uniform. "Only a deserter, and we thought they were chasing one of our own men."

"That's one on us," remarked another. "The rest of the boys will have the laugh on us for sure."

"Do I look like a Heinie?" demanded Frank with a grin. "I can lick the fellow that calls me one."

A shout of amazement rose from the crowd as they gathered close to him.

"Sheldon! Sheldon! Old scout! Bully boy!"

They mauled and pounded him until he was sore, for he was the idol of the regiment. There was a rush, and Bart and Billy had their arms around him and fairly hugged the breath out of him.

"Frank! Frank!" they exclaimed delightedly. "We thought you were gone. The last we saw of you, you were fighting like a tiger, but then the enemy reinforcements came and we were swept away from you. We didn't know whether you were dead or a prisoner. Thank G.o.d you're neither one nor the other."