“Cut that wheat all to pieces, boys! Don’t let any of them get away!” ordered the lieutenant, repeating a common order and it was just what the marines were doing. Clem, with a hot gun, turned a moment to speak to the officer. “Are our machine-gun crews at work?” he asked. “Yes, over there by that clump of trees. I never saw those lads do better work. I think those Huns have about enough. We win!” “Any of our boys hurt?” asked the sergeant. “A machine-gun crew of the enemy concentrated on one part of our right and did some damage,” said the officer. “Two of their shrapnel burst among the doughboys to the south, I hear. Otherwise, I believe--” “Nobody got hit here,” asserted the sergeant. “They didn’t think it worth while to lay down a second barrage and their infantry hardly fired a shot,” laughed the officer. “Got badly fooled,” said the sergeant. “Why don’t we go after them now?” “I suppose our commander thinks they’re whipped enough and there are Hun batteries to the east of the hill that must be dislodged first. Hello, another air scrap is going to be pulled off!” Five German planes were coming along, pretty low and in line, their evident intention being to seek revenge by bombing the line of “Leathernecks.” But four French battle-planes swept over to meet them, one fellow swooping low to cheer the marines for their splendid work. Two German fighting machines were high overhead in support of the big bombing planes. The French and American light fieldpieces got busy and made it so hot for the foremost plane that it turned and retreated, trying to come back higher up. But by that time the French planes had driven the others back, sending one down in flames behind the German lines. The guns turned their attention to smashing a German battery going into position beyond the wheat field and performed this duty admirably, dismounting all of the three German guns and killing every man with them. The Hun battle-planes, refusing to fight and retreating, had given two of the French planes a chance to signal the range to Allied batteries. The day was fast coming to a close. When the marines and their supporters had broken ranks and bivouacked for the night Corporal Stapley went to the commanding officer of his company and asked if he might go over to the hill and visit the captain’s grave. “He was an old Brighton boy and that is my school,” Clem said, “and he asked me if I would tell his wife, if anything happened to him. I thought I should like to write her--all that she would care to know.” “Go ahead, Stapley; that’s a noble purpose. I’ll give you a note to enclose, saying how much we appreciated him and how bravely he met his fate. Take one of the men with you--some fellow that specially liked the captain. Get back at dark.” CHAPTER XVIII BUSHWHACKING