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Brighton Boys in the Radio Service, The

<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> <h3>The Surprise Attack—Promotion</h3> During the week that followed, the lads were confined almost entirely to regular routine work, with nothing particularly exciting. Frank Hoskins' elbow wound healed quickly, without any serious results; and Tom Rawle, who had been under treatment at the field hospital, was able to get about the camp, although still pale and weak, and limping considerably from his injury. But on the eighth day a veritable fury launched itself upon that section of the American-French front, in the shape of seemingly endless brigades of Boches that were hurled "over the top" of their own breastworks, across No Man's Land, and upon the first-line trenches of the Allies. For several days the American and French aviators had been reporting heavy German formations in that region, evidently with the design of a terrific assault, but the allied commanders had not expected it so soon, and in truth they were not fully prepared for it. It was a surprise attack in every sense of the word, with all the terrible carnage that such a battle brings. Shortly before midnight of the preceding night a terrible bombardment had been directed against the American-French trenches, and their hidden artillery to the rear of them. This was kept up for about seven hours, and the duel of heavy guns shook the earth like a quake and was deafening. Then, just as dawn was breaking, the infantry onslaught, participated in at some points by detachments of cavalry, began. For three hours the Americans and the French fought stubbornly and with every ounce of strength and determination. Whole regiments and even brigades were wiped out on both sides, but the Boches, who had prepared every detail of the assault for weeks, were readier than their opponents and filled the gaps in their lines more quickly. By noon it became apparent that the sacrifice of lives was becoming too great to warrant the Allies trying to hold their first-line trenches much longer, and that they must give them up, at least until they could re-mobilize their forces for a counter-attack. The order was therefore given for those in the rear, including food and ammunition trains, field hospitals, etc., to fall back, in order to make way for the strategic retreat of those on the front when the moment for that retreat came. Everything moved like clockwork, and with the greatest possible speed. And throughout it all men on both sides were shooting, shouting, shrieking, fighting, falling, while others, trapped in their dug-outs, either surrendered or fought desperately on until they fell wounded or lifeless before superior numbers. Half a mile in the air, apparently over a point midway between what had been the first-line trenches of the opposing armies, a stationary balloon showed where Jerry and an observation officer were doing duty on that fateful day. Jerry was operating a telephone that ran directly to division headquarters, and hardly a moment passed when he was not repeating some observation of the other man in the basket with him, or relaying to him a query from the commander below. Every detail of that tremendous battle Jerry knew. His own occasional glimpses over the side informed him of the temporary reverses his own army was suffering, while the remarks of the officer told him where the Germans were meeting their bitterest repulses, where they were drawing up their heaviest forces of reserves, what quick changes were being made in their general line of formation, and how far back their forces seemed to extend. Slim Goodwin, busy as he was with the wireless at headquarters, found time for occasional glances upward at that balloon, to make sure that thus far his friend was still safe. And even in the thick of machine-gun fire and shrapnel, where Lieutenant Mackinson, Joe, Frank Hoskins and two or three others were laying a new line of communication, the wavering, swaying target was watched from time to time, and speculations made as to how long it could remain without being punctured by a bullet, thus forcing its two occupants to resort to their parachutes to make a landing. It was now well into the afternoon. The Germans had swept into the places vacated by the Americans and French, and still the battle raged. It was now that Slim began to wait anxiously for the new development, which his familiarity with the secret orders issued made him know was coming. And finally it did come, and in a way that staggered the Boches. The Americans and French had retreated to a general line which permitted a quick re-mobilization to the best advantage. There their front-line ranks held firm, while the new formation was being effected behind them. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when this was complete. Then, in concerted action, the lines opened at alternate points, and pairs, dozens, scores of the huge armored tanks rolled through, their big guns already blazing shells into the ranks of the disconcerted enemy. Nothing could halt them. They climbed trench parapets, descended into gullies, came out upon level land, and over their whole path swept destruction to the Germans. Unable either to resist or to stop the progress of the tanks, which were followed by whole divisions of infantry, the Boches were forced to retreat and not only abandon every foot of the ground they had gained, but to sacrifice a part of their own first line as well. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-2.jpg" alt="Scores of Huge Armored Tanks Rolled Through" title="" /> Scores of Huge Armored Tanks Rolled Through</div> It was one of the greatest and at the same time one of the most sudden reprisals of the war up to that time, and the victory that had been snatched from defeat was cheered by thousands of Americans and Frenchmen as they again took possession of their own trenches, or pushed onward across No Man's Land to occupy those which the Germans were now abandoning. The sun was setting, and soon, in great measure, at least, hostilities would be suspended for the night. Their work completed, Lieutenant Mackinson and his men were on their way back to make their report when they met Slim, who had been relieved for the night at headquarters. "What time did Jerry come down?" Joe asked, after they had passed remarks about the various thrills of the day. "Don't know," Slim answered, "but I saw them there at four o'clock, and they weren't there when I looked again, about half an hour later, so you can judge pretty well for yourself." "Guess he had a pretty good bird's-eye view of the whole thing," said Joe, as they passed on, to meet again before mess. Except for spasmodic outbursts here and there, the trench duel had almost entirely subsided, and the heavy roar of the artillery also was punctuated with longer pauses. Whatever the morrow might bring, the night promised to be fairly quiet, while each side took account of stock and made necessary repairs, or altered their plans to meet the new situation. Our young friends were busy with wash basin, soap and water, taking off the grime in preparation for the evening meal and wondering where Jerry was keeping himself all the while, when suddenly a very strange thing happened beyond the enemy's line. Lieutenant Mackinson was the first to discover it and call the attention of the others. A Taube, one of the smaller, lighter, and more easily handled aeroplanes, and used in great numbers by the Germans, shot into the air at great speed from behind the Boche entrenchments. In its upward course its path was a dizzy spiral, and, if one on the ground might judge, its pilot seemed to be seeking a particular air channel. At least that was the way it looked. Then, from almost the same point from which it had come into view, half a dozen other planes rose into the air, following in the path of the first, and also flying at top speed. Up to then there was nothing so very strange about the whole procedure. It simply indicated that those manning the American and French anti-aircraft guns, and the aviators of those two armies, should get ready to repel an enemy air raid. But the queer thing occurred when every one of the pursuing planes opened up their machine-guns almost simultaneously upon the first. And even this might have been considered a well-designed hoax, were it not for the unmistakable evidence that the first aeroplane, the Taube, had been hit. Still going at maximum speed, and now on a straight line toward the American side, without seeking a further height, the Taube several times wavered, and, a moment later, almost turned over. But the pilot righted her, and even as the pursuers began gaining, and still kept up an incessant fire, he pointed her nose downward toward the American lines. Four American planes sailed off and upward to meet the oncoming German air armada. But from the ground it could be seen that the man in the observer's place in the Taube was making desperate signals. The American planes maneuvered in such a way as to encircle the Taube, and yet at close enough range to examine her without particular menace to themselves. There were several seconds of criss-crossing and rising and descending, and then as a unit the American planes left the Taube and started after the German craft, which had hesitated, as though uncertain what further course to follow. Several volleys of shots were exchanged, and the other German planes turned back toward their own lines. The Taube continued on its wavering, crippled, downward course toward the allied lines. "Looks as though a couple of our men had been reconnoitering the German lines in one of their own make of machines," said Lieutenant Mackinson, as the Taube came within a hundred yards of the ground and righted herself for a landing. There was a general rush toward it as it hit the ground. Of its own momentum it rolled to within a two minutes' run of where the lieutenant and the others had been standing. In another instant it was entirely surrounded by a crowd of curious American soldiers. But if they were surprised at seeing seated therein two men in the uniforms of the United States army, their feelings hardly compared with those of Lieutenant Mackinson, Joe, Slim and Frank Hoskins, as they recognized, stepping out of the Taube, Jerry and the observation officer with whom he had occupied the stationary balloon practically all of that day. "Who are you?" "What happened?" "Where have you been?" and a score of similar questions were fired at them by the other soldiers as Jerry shook hands with his friends, and the officer smilingly made away to file his report. "Well, to put it briefly," Jerry said, in answer to the general demands for information, "we were anchored off there most of the day in an observation balloon. Late in the afternoon a shell cut our cable, and almost before we knew it we had been carried behind the German lines. "The fight was still commanding the attention of almost everyone, and after descending a little by permitting some of the gas to escape, we jumped over the side of the basket and came down on our parachutes. I landed in a deserted barnyard, and the officer hit the earth only a short distance away. "While we were hiding there, debating just what we should do, along comes a Taube, and its pilot decides to make a landing almost at that same place. Well, the officer being a pretty good pilot, we decided to have that machine. We got it, and I guess that pilot's head aches yet where I plumped him with the butt of my gun when he wasn't expecting anything of the kind. "But some other German aviators saw the affair, apparently recognized our uniforms, and hardly gave us time to make a decent start. "Say," Jerry concluded, "they certainly did pebble us with machine-gun bullets! I saw two bounce off the propeller, and one broke a wire on the left wing, making us flap around rather uncertainly for a few minutes. It was a great race, though, and we considered our greatest danger lay in landing on this side. We knew it would be recognized for a German plane, and we were afraid we'd be fired on before we could make our identity known." Led by the lieutenant and Jerry, the party tramped back to where, shortly, mess was to be served. "That air certainly does give a fellow an appetite," said Jerry, as he splashed more of the clear cold water over his face. An orderly stepped up to Lieutenant Mackinson and handed him a large, officially stamped envelope. As he tore it open and read the brief note within, a pleased smile spread over his face. From the same envelope he extracted three smaller ones. He handed one to each of the lads who had accompanied him over on the Everett, according to the way they were addressed. Opening them, the boys could hardly suppress their jubilation. Stripped of their official verbiage, the letters informed the young men that each of them was made a corporal, Joe for valorous service in saving the lives of "three Americans entombed in a cave; Slim for heroism and presence of mind in saving and bringing back to the lines an American soldier," and Jerry "for coolness and courage, and for the information gathered behind the enemy's lines." <hr class="major" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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