CHAPTER XII
THE S O S WITH PISTOL SHOTS
To move from the position they were in was impossible. All that theycould do, imprisoned there as they were within a steel and leaden wallof rapidly falling machine-gun bullets, was to hope that the gunnerswould not change their aim, even by the fraction of a point, and thatneither side would send up a torch rocket to divulge their exactwhereabouts and bring sudden death or mortal injury to them all.
They knew now that they had been discovered by the enemy scouting partywhich they had observed a short time before--as they thought, withoutthe others knowing of their presence there in "No Man's Land."
They also realized now, when it was too late, that the Germans hadreturned to their own lines, after that brief consultation, in order toprocure the machine-gun with which to wipe them out.
And through it all they dared not return the fire, could not even uttera word to each other without fear of giving the enemy a closer rangeupon them.
It was a terrible three minutes for that isolated little group ofAmericans, for bullets were striking all around them, the nearest notmore than ten feet away, and there was every possibility that anotherdetachment might be flanking them, to cut them off later in theirretreat, in case the machine-gun did not effectively do its deadly work.
There was but one desperate course open to them, and that LieutenantMackinson ordered at the instant the firing ceased.
"Run!" he ordered, in a shrill whisper. "Run straight toward our ownlines for about a quarter of a mile and then detour to the south."
And off they started, each with all the speed he had in him. The renewalof the machine-gun fire compelled them to take a zig-zag course, however,and in this way for the first five minutes they all kept together.
Then Tom Rawle, who, with the lieutenant, had been a little in the lead,gradually dropped back until he was abreast of Joe and Jerry, who wererunning together, and then behind them, reaching Frank Hoskins and Slim,who were bringing up a loudly puffing rear.
Finally, as they began to pass him, too, and his lagging pace becamenoticeable, he urged them ahead and told them not to mind him.
"I got one of those bullets in the hip," Rawle told them, to thesurprise of all, for up to that moment he hadn't uttered a sound. "Itcuts down my speed, but it's nothing serious, I guess. You keep right onand I'll follow as rapidly as I can."
"I'm almost winded myself," said Slim. "I'll stick with Tom; you fellowskeep right on. We'll join you in a few minutes after you stop. Joe, I'llgive that 'whip-poor-will' call if we can't locate you. At any rate, weknow our way back to the American lines."
"Not so loud," warned Lieutenant Mackinson, as he slowed down. "I guessyou are right," he continued. "You stay along with Rawle, but the two ofyou try to follow as quickly as possible, so that we can get Tom back tothe lines for medical attention. It is necessary that I have the otherswith me, though, for we must not only accomplish our mission, but alsogive the commander that intercepted German message."
And so the little group parted, there in the blackness of night"somewhere in France," the lieutenant, Hoskins, Joe and Jerry to forgeahead as rapidly as they could in a detour that would again take themback into the enemy territory, but in another place, while Slim and thewounded Rawle came along at a slower pace.
The latter had been wounded more seriously than he knew, though, and hehad not gone more than three hundred yards further before the loss ofblood had so weakened him that he had to stop running and hobble alongin a painful, limping gait, leaning heavily upon Slim's shoulder.
"Guess I'll have to quit," he said, a little later on. "Can't go muchfurther." And even as he spoke he sank to the ground.
While Tom Rawle assured him that it "wasn't much of a wound," Slim, whowas doing the best he could to stop the flow of blood with hishandkerchief, knew that it was a bad injury, indeed, unless it was givenearly attention.
"I'll try to get one of the others to return," he said, "and then we cansend to our lines for a stretcher to get you in."
"Nonsense," said Rawle, "I can walk; I'll show you."
But it was a pitiful effort, and unsuccessful, and Tom himself had toadmit that he "guessed he was out of business" for a little while.
Thereupon Slim puckered up his lips and imitated the low butfar-carrying call of the whip-poor-will--the call that he and Joe andJerry had used so much to summon each other at Brighton.
He remained silent for a moment listening, but there was no answerexcept the distant rumble of the heavy artillery fire. He repeated thecall several times. Here and there to the north of them occasionalrockets went up from either line, but their brief light divulged nothingin the way of encouragement.
"It's not doing you any good to sit here without attention," said Slimat last. "Here is your revolver right alongside you. I will be backwithin half an hour. I am going to scout around for help."
"But don't take any chances for me," Tom Rawle warned him. "I guess Icould crawl back to camp, at that."
"No, you couldn't," Slim declared, "and mind you don't try it. I'll beback for you in a very short time."
He disappeared in the direction that the rest of the party had taken,leaving Rawle there to await his return. Half an hour later he managedto find the spot again, but without the aid he had gone to get. Not atrace of the others had he been able to find.
But that was not the worst of it. Tom Rawle, helpless for all his bigbody and physical strength, lay stretched out upon the groundunconscious, a pool of blood by his side!
Slim put his water flask to the wounded man's lips and tried to rousehim, but without avail.
"_Whip-poor-will-l-l_," whistled Slim. "_Whip-poor-will-l-l._" But thesound was lost somewhere in the denseness of the night, and there wasnot even an echo for response.
Slim was growing desperate. At any time they might be discovered by anenemy scouting party, and then they would either be bullets' victims orprisoners of war. Yet he knew that he could not hope to carry Tom Rawleback to the American lines. Rawle's dead weight would have been adifficult burden for a man of twice Slim's strength, and he knew it.
What should he do? Unnecessary delay might cost the other man's life.Already his wound had caused him to lose consciousness.
As he turned the thing over in his mind there came faintly, ever sofaintly, to him from far, far to the south, as though but a breath ofwind, the familiar "_Whip-poor-will_."
"_Whip-poor-will-l-l_," shrilled back Slim.
He waited, but there was no answer. It was as though a whip-poor-willitself was mocking his plight.
"_Whip-poor-will-l-l_," Slim whistled again, and thrice, but each timethere was nothing but the grim silence for reply.
"Tom," he whispered into Rawle's ear, gently shaking the wounded man."Tom, can you get up? I'll help you back. We can make it somehowtogether."
But here again only the weak breathing of his comrade testified to theirplight.
"Better to take the one chance that's left us," muttered Slim tohimself, as he pulled Rawle's revolver from under him, to make sure thatit was fully loaded. "Yes," he continued, "it's better to risk discoverythan this fellow's life."
He took his own automatic from its holster and carefully examined italso.
Then, with a revolver in either hand, pointing them into the air andwith fourteen shots at his disposal, he began firing.
Bang-Bang-Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang-Bang-Bang!
The shots rang out on the night air like a series of interruptedexplosions. But to the trained ears of the other men of theparty--Lieutenant Mackinson, Joe, Jerry and Frank Hoskins--two milesaway, they carried their call for help.
It was the S O S of the international code, but in a new sort ofwireless--by pistol shots!
Trembling for the results that his desperate action might bring uponthem, Slim waited, bending now and then over the unconscious form of TomRawle.
But in fifteen more minutes his inventive genius was rewarded. From aconsiderable distance, but e
ach time more distinctly, now came therepeated call of "_Whip-poor-will_," and in less time than it seemedpossible that they could make it, the other group had returned.
In low commands the lieutenant then directed affairs, and in exactly theway that he had been carried out of the hold of the _Everett_ on theverge of suffocation, so they carried poor Tom Rawle back to their ownlines.
And when he had been placed upon a cot in the first emergency hospital,Lieutenant Mackinson hurried off to make his report, in the honor ofwhich all shared.
For not only had they found a location from which to wirelessadvance-line communications to field headquarters, but they had alsointercepted a message, knowledge of which resulted in a quick change ofplans by which the Americans were able to beat the enemy at his own gameon the morrow.
"Rawle was suffering more from loss of blood than from any seriousnessof the injury itself," the surgeon told them when they asked there oftheir friend's condition, on their way to their own quarters. "He willbe around all right again in a week's time."
And so, much desperate work accomplished on their first night within thefiring lines, the lads threw themselves upon their cots to dream ofspies and captured Germans and injured soldiers and calls for help bynew methods in wireless.