There flashed across Tom Walton’s mind the picture of General Pershing as he had seen him on the preceding day in conference with the officers who were to direct and carry out the gigantic project which he and the other great commanders had formulated; and in the recollection Tom found new confidence and determination. Whatever indecision may have possessed him fell away; it was as though he suddenly had been shorn of shackles which weighted him down; he breathed in deeply of the powder-tainted air, and his only sensation was that of a great and noble strength of purpose. Tom examined his watch again. But ten minutes more! Suddenly, almost with as great a shock as it had begun, the firing ceased. If the expression can be made, the tremendous silence that fell upon the area came like a crash. For the men had become gradually tuned up to the dreadful uproar, and to have it abruptly break off set their heads ringing. “Get ready, boys!” Captain McCallum’s perfectly controlled voice spoke out down the trench, and the lads could hear other captains giving like orders to their own men. And then the artillery began again, but it was more subdued than before. Tom looked upward and realized that the first streaks of dawn were stretching out across the sky. He was immediately aware of something else, also. The smoke screen was being laid down! This was the final of the preliminary moves to their “going over.” It began only a few yards out from the trench line and gradually moved off toward where the enemy had been undergoing such terrific punishment. Lieutenant Gaston was alternating his attention upon the smoke screen and his watch. Tom looked at his own timepiece. It was 5.25 on the morning of September 12, 1918, four years to a day since the Germans had established the St. Mihiel salient! Men were readjusting their steel helmets or tugging impatiently at uniform and equipment. Captain McCallum raised his right arm and the men as best they could in their cramped quarters came to attention. “Thiaucourt!” the commander shouted. A great cheer came from every throat. It was taken up and echoed by companies on their right and on their left. The captain again raised his right hand. His eyes were on his watch. The second hand was ticking round to 5.30. The men stood with outstretched hands grasping the wall of the trench in front of them to leap up and out. Abruptly the captain’s hand fell. “Let’s go.” And with a wild shout of exultation men of that company, and men of other companies on either side, miles up and down the trench, were up and over, in pursuit of the smoke screen—and the Hun. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER V THIAUCOURT AT ANY COST