CHAPTER XIV

SURPRISING THE ENEMY

“Better beat it while the going’s good, C. C.,” muttered Blake in an undertone. “This is apt to be a pretty frisky scrap and not much chance for a man without a gun.”

“How about yourself?” C. C. growled in return. “I don’t see much gun and powder in yours, yet you’re sticking.”

“But I don’t see your game,” Blake insisted. “We’re here for a purpose. But you--I don’t see any reason for just giving your life away.”

“I’m not giving it away,” snapped the gloomy comedian. “I’m willing to sell it though, if somebody will just give me a chance at one of those baby-killers.”

Blake looked sharply at C. C., for there was a grimness about him that he had never seen before.

But he ventured a last protest.

“Remember you’re a civilian, C. C.” he warned. “If you’re captured you’re liable to be shot according to the laws of war. With us it’s different, for we’re in a regular arm of the service. Why, even our lieutenant would chase you out of here if he noticed you.”

“He’s too busy to notice,” said C. C. obstinately. “Anyway, I’m here now and I’m going to see what it’s like to go over the top with the boys. You just stick to your films and don’t waste your breath on me.”

“All right,” replied Blake, and there was a new respect in his tone that the other had never heard before.

Then it happened--the hoarse roar of the heavy guns laying down a barrage, Uncle Sam’s boys springing from the trenches and making their way through barbed wire and over yawning holes, calling to each other, urging on--ever on.

The moving picture boys hurried hard on the heels of the fighting men, determined this time to get--and keep--the pictures, or die in the attempt.

Suddenly, the headlong rush was halted. Almost at the first-line trenches the Germans had sprung out to meet the charge, and the deafening roar of hand-to-hand conflict swelled to a hideous clamor.

The boys never remembered afterward how they set up the machine and got the pictures, in fact, they were not at all sure that it had not been a hideous nightmare and they had dreamed it all.

At first it seemed that the attacking party was getting the worst of it, and our boys were making ready to fall back with the rest. Then the tide suddenly turned and the Allied troops surged forward irresistibly, capturing the first-line trenches and sweeping on.

With a glad shout, Blake and Joe and Charlie picked up the machine and films and started in pursuit.

“Gee, this is the life!” cried Joe in a voice hoarse from shouting.

“You bet!” yelled Blake. “These films ought to be great.”

“If we don’t lose them,” added Macaroni pessimistically.

“Guess the Rhine’s the limit now,” Joe was exulting, when they were halted once more by a desperate counter-attack from the enemy.

Once more it seemed that the attackers must fall back beneath the fierce onslaught, but once more sheer nerve and grit carried them on and over almost insurmountable obstacles.

Step by step, inch by inch, the soldiers forced their way forward, while behind them the moving picture boys were writing down indelibly the history of achievement.

“Gee, if only somebody’d give me a gun!” screamed Macaroni, beside himself with excitement. “I bet I could kill two Heinies while those fellows are killing one.”

“Where’s C. C.?” yelled Blake, close in Joe’s ear.

“Don’t know,” the other answered in the same manner. “Haven’t seen him lately. Hope the old boy hasn’t got his.”

They had not much time for conversation, for once more the boys were sweeping forward, faster and faster as the enemy lost its grip.

“Gee!” shouted Charlie, “guess maybe you knew what you were talking about, Joe, old man. It sure does look like the Rhine this time. Say, wouldn’t I like to be in on the finish!”

But the Rhine was still several hundred miles away when the victorious army was finally halted. Five miles had been covered in that brilliant dash and everyone was hilarious.

Of course, there were many who had dropped along the way, many who would never smile again, but they had died gaily, gloriously, for the cause of justice and of right. Looking on their calm, young faces, who would not rather envy than pity them?

“It’s pretty tough, just the same,” Charlie was saying soberly, as some time later the three friends made their way toward the mess kitchen to receive their very much-needed portion of food. “If a fellow’s got to die, I suppose that way’s as good as any. But--this world’s a pretty interesting place after all, and I wouldn’t much mind spending my threescore and ten on board the old ship. I say, what have we here?”

His exclamation was caused by their sudden coming upon an excited group of doughboys, the cause of whose excitement they could not immediately discover.

They elbowed their way through to an inside position, however, and there, face almost purple with indignation, hands wildly gesticulating, who should they see but Christopher Cutler Piper, late comedian for the picture company.

“Jumping Jehoshaphat!” murmured Joe, in astonishment.

“Who left the door open?” added Charlie, irreverently, while Blake pointed excitedly behind C. C. to where two soldiers in ragged German uniforms stood sullenly waiting.

“So you kept your word, did you, C. C.?” shouted Blake.

C. C., who had turned with a scowl at the interruption, seeing the cause of it, broke into a broad, delighted grin.

“You bet I did!” he yelled, in answer to the question.

“Say, go on with your story, will you?” urged one of the doughboys impatiently.

“You were telling us how you found these--yellow dogs,” suggested another, scowling blackly upon the sullen prisoners.

“Yes,” agreed C. C., his face once more assuming the furious purple of indignation. “I was telling you how these skunks--say, what do you suppose they were doing, fellows?” he interrupted himself to glare savagely around at his audience. “They were prowling around, sticking their bayonets--into--wounded men--some of them so near dead they couldn’t lift a--finger to--save themselves----”

A murmur of rage passed round the group and the boys made an ominous movement forward, but C. C. once more claimed their attention.

“I’d found an old broken gun,” he was saying, “and I gave one Hun a whack over the hardest part of him that made him stagger and then I wrestled with the other till I got his dirty knife away from him and--and here we are,” he finished rather lamely.

There were shouts of:

“Bully for old C. C.!”

“I should say that’s pretty good--landing two at once!”

“Keep it up, old man--maybe next time you’ll land a jolly little quartette, you know!”

C. C.’s face beamed like a huge, round moon and he looked happier than the boys had ever seen him.

As the crowd dispersed, the three chums surrounded the hero of the occasion and nearly shook his hand off.

“Great work, C. C.!” cried Blake heartily. “I thought you were only kidding back there, but I’ve sure learned my mistake.”

“How about some chow, eh?” Joe suggested yearningly, when the congratulations were over.

“Yeah,” added Charlie hopefully. “Even heroes have to eat, don’t they, C. C.?”

“Shouldn’t wonder,” responded the latter, sniffing the air hungrily. “But I’ve got to dispose of these Heinies first,” this last with a disdainful glance toward the prisoners that made them scowl sullenly. “Here comes Captain Mayo now--guess I can hand them over to him.”

Captain Mayo seemed more than willing to relieve the comedian of his charges, and after a few words of real praise and a hearty grip of the hand that made Mr. Piper beam anew, the captain left them to their fate--and chow--hurrying the Germans before him, with a couple of guards.

“Get some good pictures?” queried C. C., as, with steaming plates, they settled themselves comfortably on a convenient mound of earth, a few minutes later.

“Yes, they ought to be pretty good,” Blake responded, his mouth full.

“We’re not going to lose them this time, either,” Joe added, patting the box beside him affectionately. “The Heinie that gets this gets it over my dead body, as the villain would say.”

“But they can’t be as good as those others we lost,” gloomed Blake, while Charlie looked around for something to throw at him.

“Somebody’s always taking the joy out of life,” he sighed. “We can’t even forget our troubles while we’re eating.”

“Well,” said C. C., warmed to rare enthusiasm by the day’s success and the appetizing chow, “I have a hunch that those films aren’t gone for good. I bet you that before long they’ll be turning up, large as life and twice as natural.”

The boys stared and Charlie threw up his hands in dismay.

“Now I know the world is coming to an end,” he cried. “C. C. said something cheerful!”

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