"Nor of me, neither," declared Iggy, who seemed to have recovered all his spunk and spirit. "It is of a betterness to shoot lots when of a gas mast you are delivered, yes?" "Right, old top!" shouted Jimmy. "Hello!" he went on, as he saw the major of the battalion approaching. "I guess here's where we get orders!" And they got them--orders to advance. And this time they went forward with yells, for it was said that the gas attack was over--the kindly wind had done its work well. "There they are! There are the Huns!" cried Roger. His chums looked, and saw dimly through the smoke, a gray line, like some great worm, that would oppose their progress. "Come on! Come on! Eat 'em up!" shouted Jimmy. The others needed no urging. At the Huns they went--firing and being fired at. For a time it was a battle of rifles--the artillery and machine-guns seemed to have been silenced temporarily. On rushed the Sammies, in their own peculiar but comparatively safe, open formation. Rushing, dropping, firing, up again, now down, but ever going onward, led by their officers. The Huns received the fire, and that it was deadly was evidenced by the gaps torn in the gray ranks. Then they would close up, fire as though by platoons, and come on slowly. Suddenly the comparative slowness of the rifle fire was broken by the staccato explosions of a machine-gun. It opened on the left of the position taken up by Jimmy and his chums, and in an instant had mowed down several doughboys. "Take what cover you can!" shouted a lieutenant. "Where's that gun? Did any one notice?" "Over in that red mill!" some one shouted. Afterward it developed that this was Franz, who was an expert shot and quick in judgment. Dropping flat in the low-growing grain, many eyes of the Sammies turned in the direction of the red mill. It was a French one, of picturesque construction. And as Jimmy and his chums looked they saw a little wisp of smoke come from one of the windows. Then came another staccato discharge, but this time with less deadly effect. "We've got to get that gun!" cried the lieutenant. "Volunteers wanted to rush the red mill! Who'll come with me?" CHAPTER IX TRAPPED Characteristic it was of the lieutenant to ask who would come with him. American officers do that. A German would have said "Go!" The American said "Come!" And characteristic it was of the Sammies that everyone within the sound of the young officer's voice answered, as one: "_I will_!" "Keep your heads down! You may get them knocked off soon enough when the rush comes," went on the lieutenant, for in their eagerness to answer and be selected for the dangerous mission, some had partly raised themselves from their prone positions. "There's no question but that's a German machine-gun in that old mill; is there?" asked the lieutenant.