It was his
first day under fire.
A boy fell injured between the barbed wire in front of his trench and
the enemy, in that No Man's Land of so many tragedies. His comrades,
afraid of hitting him, stopped firing.
"Go on!" he called to them. "No matter about me. Shoot at them!"
So they fired, and he writhed for a moment.
"I got one of yours that time!" he said.
The Germans retired, but the boy still lay on the ground, beyond
reach. He ceased moving, and they thought he was dead. One may believe
that they hoped he was dead. It was more merciful than the slow dying
of No Man's Land. But after a time he raised his head.
"Look out," he called. "They are coming again. They are almost up to
me!"
That is all of that story.
CHAPTER XVIII
FRENCH GUNS IN ACTION
The car stopped. We were at the wireless and telephone headquarters
for the French Army of the North. It was a low brick building, and
outside, just off the roadway, was a high van full of telephone
instruments. That it was moved from one place to another was shown
when, later in the day, returning by that route, we found the van had
disappeared.
It was two o'clock. The German wireless from Berlin had just come in.
At three the receiving station would hear from the Eiffel Tower in
Paris. It was curious to stand there and watch the operator, receivers
on his ears, picking up the German message.
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