After the two batteries had ceased firing and the roar of the last cannon died out across the valley, there came a silence that was even more appalling than the first. It was something like the lull that follows a terrific thunderstorm, only this storm had been raging for nearly fifty-two months. In the midst of this ghastly silence, a startling thing occurred. The sky line of the crest ahead of the American troops grew suddenly populous with dancing soldiers, and, down the slope, all the way to the barbed wire entanglements, straight for the Yankees, came the German troops. For a moment there was confusion in the American ranks. It seemed that the enemy was launching his troops forward in a desperate charge. Yankee officers shouted hoarse commands. Gunners sprang to their batteries, and these were trained on the advancing foes. But the excitement soon died out. No danger threatened. The Germans came with outstretched hands, grins and souvenirs to trade for cigarettes, so well did they know the weakness of their foes. But neither Hal nor Chester had time for the Germans. They were thinking of Sergeant Bowers, who still lay just beyond his funk hole, apparently badly wounded. Hal hurried to his side. His face was chalky white, but his eyes were wide open. Chester also hurried to Sergeant Bowers’ side. The sergeant recognized them immediately and greeted them with a faint smile. The lads smiled back at him. "Is the war over?" he asked. "It’s all over, sergeant," Chester said, "and the Germans are licked," Hal explained. "Look at them out there—" and Chester waved his arm in the direction of his erstwhile enemies. "That’s good," said Sergeant Bowers. "Great sight, isn’t it? It’s tough though, to be killed on the last day of the war, and almost at the last minute." But Sergeant Bowers did not die. Tenderly Hal and Chester helped him back of the lines where he could receive proper medical attention. His wounds were dressed and within two hours the sergeant of marines announced that he was feeling as fit as ever. "Nevertheless, you’d better lie quiet for several days," said Hal. "I guess not," declared Sergeant Bowers. "Why should a big healthy man like me be idle when there is so much work to do. Of course, I’ll admit I’m naturally lazy and all that, but I don’t like to stand around and see the other fellows do all the work." "All the same," said Chester, "I’ll venture to say that when you get to bed you won’t want to get up again in a hurry." "As for that," said Sergeant Bowers, "I never do want to get up." When night fell on the battlefield the clamor of the celebration waxed rather than waned. It seemed that there was no darkness. Rockets and a ceaseless fountain of star shells made the lines a streak of brilliancy across the face of France, while by the light of flares, the front with all its dancing, boasting, singing soldiers was as clearly visible as though the sun were still high in the heavens.