Army Boys on the Firing Line | Page 3

gained at the
center. If the enemy could turn that flank and throw it back in
confusion on the main body, it might lead to serious disaster.
At the point where Frank and his comrades were fighting, there was a
nest of machine guns that commanded the space over which the new
enemy forces were bearing down on the threatened flank. Several of the
gun crews had fallen, and the guns were temporarily unserved.
There was no time to wait for orders. Another minute and the guns
would be in the enemy's hands.
"Quick, Bart! Come along, Billy and Tom!" shouted Frank, as he
rushed toward the guns.
His chums were on his heels in an instant. Quick as a flash, the guns
were aimed, and streams of bullets cut the front ranks of the attacking
force to ribbons. Volley after volley followed, until the guns were so
hot that the hands of the young soldiers were blistered.
But the hardest part of their work was done, for now fresh guns had
been brought into position and the flank was strengthened beyond the
power of the enemy to break. Frank's quick thought and instant action

had averted what might have been a calamity that would have decided
the fortune of the day.
"Good work, old man!" panted Bart, when in a momentary lull he could
gain breath enough to speak.
"Yours as well as mine!" gasped Frank, as he dashed the perspiration
from his forehead. "If you fellows hadn't been right on the job, I
couldn't have done anything worth while."
Regular crews had now been assigned to take their places, and
resuming their positions in the ranks the young soldiers plunged once
more into the hand-to-hand work at which they were masters.
The issue was no longer in doubt. The scale had turned against the
Germans and they were retreating. But they went back stubbornly,
giving ground only inch by inch, and in certain scattered groups the
fighting was as furious as ever.
As far as might be, they kept together, but as the swirl of the battle tore
them apart, Tom and Billy were lost sight of by Bart and Frank, who
were laying about them right and left among the enemy.
A sharp exclamation from Bart caused Frank to turn his eyes toward
him for a second.
"Hurt, Bart?" he queried anxiously.
"Bullet ridged my shoulder," responded Bart. "Doesn't amount to
anything, though. Look out, Frank!" he yelled, his voice rising almost
to a scream. Frank turned to see two burly Germans bearing down upon
him with fixed bayonets.
Bart sought to engage one of them, but was caught up in a mass of
combatants and Frank was left to meet the onset alone.
Quick as a cat, he sidestepped one of them, and putting out his foot
tripped him as he plunged past. He went down with a crash, and his

rifle flew from his hands.
The remaining German made a savage lunge, but Frank deftly caught
the blade upon his own, and the next instant they were engaged in a
deadly bayonet duel.
It was fierce but also brief. A thrust, a parry, and Frank drove his
weapon through the shoulder of his opponent. The latter reeled and fell.
Frank strove to pull out his weapon, but it stuck fast, and just then a
pair of sinewy hands fastened on his throat and he looked into the
reddened eyes of the antagonist whom he had tripped.
With a quick wrench Frank tore himself away, and the next instant he
had grappled with his opponent and they swayed back and forth, each
putting forth every ounce of his strength in the effort to master the
other.
Panting, straining, gasping, neither one of them saw that the struggle
had brought them to the edge of a deep shell crater. A moment more
and they fell with a crash to the bottom of the hole.
CHAPTER II
A PERILOUS JOURNEY
The shock was a heavy one. For an instant both combatants were
stunned. The flying arms and legs straightened out and lay quiet. Then
Frank staggered painfully up to his hands and knees.
Luckily he had fallen on top, and the breath had been knocked out of
his opponent's body. But even as Frank looked down upon him, his foe
showed signs of reviving. His eyes opened, and a glare of rage came in
them as they rested on Frank.
He put his hand to his belt, but Frank was the quicker and in an instant
his knife was out and pointed at the German's throat.
"Say 'Kamerad,'" he commanded.

The German hesitated, but a tiny prick of the knife decided him.
"Kamerad," he growled sullenly.
"That's right," said Frank, "but just to make sure that you won't stick
your knife