The Brighton Boys at Chateau-ThierryDriscoll, James R.
General
The Brighton Boys at Chateau-Thierry
Driscoll, James R.
World War, 1914-1918 -- Campaigns -- France -- Juvenile fiction
And another laugh followed, but it was cut short by a shell which
tore through the air only a little above the heads of the men, and
exploded not a hundred feet behind the last line. It was immediately
followed by a second that landed about the same distance from the
front of the first line and ricocheted, turning and twisting, then
lying still--not ten steps ahead of the line. There was a little
squirming, and two fellows were obliged to step almost over the
menacing thing. Pulling down their steel helmets and lowering their
heads, they veered apart, while some arms went up in front of faces
and eyes. But the shell proved a “dud.” Had it exploded it would
doubtless have sent half a dozen boys to the graveyard and the
hospital.
“One back and one front and the next one--”
“A clean miss!” shouted Clem.
The words were no more than said when his prediction came true. The
shell went high and wide. But that which immediately followed was
of a far more deadly character than shells. Shrapnel and whiz-bangs
could not cover the ground, but it seemed as though the rain of
machine-gun bullets that suddenly swept down from the thickets and
rocks of the great hillside which loomed ahead must reach every inch
of space.
“Double quick! Charge!” came the order, echoed from mouth to mouth by
under-officers and still, like one man, that khaki-clad host went at
it on the run. Every man saw that the more quickly the work was done
the better chances he and his fellows had for surviving that leaden
hail.
“Smash ’em! Tear ’em to pieces!” Clem found himself yelling again and
again and he heard similar shouts on all sides of him.
“Give ’em ballyhoo!” howled young Giddings.
And they did--if that expresses something like annihilation! Before
the Huns could do more than fire a round or two from a score of
well-placed machine-guns on the hillside the marines, like waves of
avenging devils, were upon them with a fury that those long-practised
death-dealers of the Fatherland had not before experienced and
totally unprepared for. They were used to seeing their accurate
shooting from such an array of fire-spitters stop their enemies and
drive them back but no such result was in evidence now.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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