Many of the Huns broke and ran, some tried to hide, some threw up their hands and shouted: “Kamerad! Kamerad!” A few stuck to their guns until overpowered, and died fighting. Many, threatened with the bayonet, surrendered at once. And the marines went yelling on, overtaking the fleeing Germans, stabbing to death, shooting or clubbing with rifles those who still resisted. Breaking up the machine-gun nests, they rounded up the prisoners until the hillside was entirely in American hands. Then the Yanks halted and sought shelter from the German artillery which now began to throw shells upon the eastern and northern side of the hill from enemy positions beyond. On the southwestern slope, where they were out of danger from this fire, the victorious regiments re-formed for further duty, bringing in all scattered units and trying to count the cost. The taking of the hill had not been entirely one-sided, except in the matter of a victory. The machine-gunners had been placed in position to hold this strategic bit of ground and to make it hot for those who attempted to take it from them, and they were past masters at that sort of thing. The reception they gave the marines exacted a heavy toll. Following fast upon the heels of the men from overseas came the wonderfully efficient American Red Cross. Ambulances rushed across the fields, many of carrying capacity only, a few fitted up for field dressing stations. Doctors and nurses, braving the enemy shells, attended the most urgent cases only, sending the majority back to the newly established evacuation hospitals which had, within two days, supplanted those of the overtaxed French, or to the bases that also had moved nearer this fighting front. And so everywhere on the hillside up which the marines had so gloriously charged, the _brancardiers_ moved with their stretchers, rapidly bringing away the wounded, whether friend or foe. And the officers who were still on duty went about among the men, detailing squads here and there for burial duty and to help and comfort their unfortunate companions. It was the work of a little more than two hours. CHAPTER XVII VICTORY Clem Stapley stood leaning on his rifle gazing far away over the green fields and woodlands of that beautiful, rolling country, not unlike his own homeland. The boy’s thoughts were filled with memories, the reaction from the strenuous experiences of the minutes just past caused him to sway a little on his feet. His company’s second-lieutenant, passing near, turned and look into the boy’s pale face. “Hurt eh? Can you walk? Better get back--” “No, sir. No! Only a trifle. A scratch on the arm; spent bullet went up my sleeve like one of those black ants. I shook it out.” “Let me see,” ordered the officer. Clem bared his arm and showed a long white and blue welt from wrist to elbow. On the fleshy part the skin had broken, and blood was trickling down. “Go get it bandaged.” “I can do it, if someone--”