Ned, Bob and Jerry on the Firing Line Part 18

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 Snodgra.s.s 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 b.u.t.t 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," a.s.sented 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!"