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No sooner had we cleaned up the job than the Fritzies returned en masse formation, compelling us to beat a discretionary retreat to their front-line trenches, where we held and are still holding, and then some. Here we remained until the middle of the following month.
"We'd look nice crawling through these mountains with a Victrola in our arms. The Fritzies always have a lot of that kind of junk with 'em. They had one on the submarine that picked me up that time." They were both now clad in the semi-military blouses worn by the German "sausage men" and felt that to a casual observer at least they were disguised.
The big battleship was now nearing the point where they could expect to meet the auxiliary naval vessel towing the target. "Pretty soft! Pretty soft!" said one chap in Whistler's gun crew disgustedly. "Pretty soft for us! We fellows going out to target practice, while those battleships already on the other side of this periscope pond may be fighting the Fritzies off Heligoland."
He had a yellow parchment face and a high, gaunt forehead going up to sparse, curly brown hair. His eyes had a glassy look about them when they met Fuselli's. He smiled amiably. "Oh, there's the kid who's seen Fritzies' helmets in the movies.... Come on, buddy, come and have a beer at the English canteen." "Can you get beer?" "Sure, over in the English camp." They went out into the slanting rain.
"But I disarmed enough Fritzies in Europe to learn my job pretty well. How's the weather, Sergeant?" "All right here, Captain Cameron," said Copley seriously. "Then I'll back out with this bunch of junk. Here's a pair of brass knuckles in the bunch. I'll use 'em on any of these fellows who try to run. We'll keep 'em hived up here till the police come. One fellow can hold 'em.
Time for a little talk this quiet night? Tell us what's doing up above." "Nothing particular," said Barker Bunn, lighting and relaxing. "But the old man has a hunch that the Fritzies are grubbing a mine a corker to get our goat. Hence this business of ears forward.
Oh, he's the Stormy Petrel; he's been piking around over the Fritzies' heads, I s'pose." Evidently Collie, or the Stormy Petrel, was an aviator who had alighted somewhere about the village with some sort of a report. "Collie can't see in the daylight," his neighbor added; "he and the Jersey Snipe have got Fritzie vexed. You going to run between here and the coast?"
The trouble was caused by what is known as a "defective" shell. I left the gun pit to help Graham over to the dressing station and I had a job on my hands; he was suffering from a bad attack of brain concussion. After attention a couple of Fritzies carried him to the rear. Returning to the gun pit I found a state of wild confusion among the fellows as to what had really happened.
Our barrage cut off a bit of Fritzie's trench an' we ran right ahead juss about dawn an' occupied it. I'll be goddamned if it wasn't as quiet as a Sunday morning at home." "It was!" said his friend. "An' I had a bunch of grenades an' a feller came runnin' up to me, whisperin', 'There's a bunch of Fritzies playin' cards in a dug- out. They don't seem to know they're captured.
We're going to circle around and hunt her up." "Do you think the Fritzies set something afloat to fool us?" demanded another man in surprise. "They're cute rascals, aren't they?" "Not very cute just now," returned somebody, dryly. "They're food for the fishes."
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