The German field piece was in the same place as before and an artillery squad of seven or eight new men had been working the gun. Having noted the white flag, a bit of poor Tomlinson’s shirt, on a stick they had stopped shooting while Hun officers investigated the inside of the recent stronghold of the Yank squad. But the Hun artillery men were not idle. They had received orders of a more exacting character than the shooting up of a small squad of Americans; now they were to shoot at the American Army and to join in the effort to stem its advance. So each man was engrossed with his duties: the cleaning of the piece, the oiling of mechanisms, the storing of shells for immediate and rapid use when the occasion demanded. “Now then, men,” said Don, “we’ll select a moment when all of them seem particularly busy and at the word let them have it; then charge. Herb, you take the fellow at the extreme left; I’ll take the next man; Farnham, you take the third in the line; Kelly the fourth. Corporal, that big guy with the specs is yours. And hit ’em, boys; fire at command! Now then, are you ready?” What followed was a complete surprise to all concerned, Americans and Germans alike. The little bunch of avenging Yanks had planned to spring something, most unexpected, upon their foes and the Huns themselves figured upon doing their duty. Was this for them a fateful spot, or was the gun an unlucky piece, as such things are often said to be? One squad had been nearly wiped out here working the gun and now---- The big shell, fired from a French or an American large caliber gun, may have been aimed with precision from information given by an Allied airplane high in air, or it may have sent its terrible messenger partly at random, hoping that it might land somewhere even near a Hun position. And as Don said afterward, the missile must have had good luck written all over it, for it performed its mission fully. As the avengers raised their rifles and waited for the deliberate word to aim and fire, their eyes fixed upon those gray-green figures in the open grove, they heard the whine of the great shell and amid the many long streaks of flame, the volcanic-like dust, smoke and flying particles of a great explosion, the entire Hun squad, with the long gun and the boxes of shells exploding also, disappeared. For many minutes the Americans crouched there in silent awe. “First message from our lines! Good omen!” Herbert declared. “Effective, anyway, but awful,” Don said. “Our boys are coming up through the valley!” Farnham exclaimed. “Didn’t you hear that yell down there? It was a Yank cheer, sure!” They all stood, listening intently and were swiftly convinced. The firing had become very rapid; there were other sounds of battle as though an attack, fast and furious, were being made. The positions of the Hun platoon far down the hill and just below the spruces were being assailed.