Victor Appleton - The Moving Picture Boys on the War Front

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The village where Blake and his chums were quartered was a few miles
from the front, but so few that day and night, save when there was a
lull, the booming of guns could be heard.

"There hasn't been much real fighting, of late," Private Drew informed
the boys the day after their arrival. "It's mostly artillery stuff, and
our boys are in that. Now and then a party of us goes over the top or on
night listening-patrol. Fritz does the same, but, as yet, we haven't had
what you could call a good fight. And we're just aching for it, too."

"That's what we want to get pictures of," said Blake. "Real fighting at
the front trenches!"

"Oh, you'll get it," prophesied the private. "There's a rumor that we'll
have some hot stuff soon. Some of our aircraft that have been strafing
Fritz report that there's something doing back of the lines. Shouldn't
wonder but they'll try to rush us some morning. That is, if we don't go
over the top at 'em first."

"I hope we'll be there!" murmured Joe. "And I hope we get a good light
so we can film the fighting."

"They'll be almost light enough from the star-shells, bombs and big
guns," said Private Drew. "Say, you ought to see the illumination some
nights when the Boches start to get busy! Coney Island is nothing to it,
Buddy!"

Before the moving picture boys could get into real action on the front
line trenches, there were certain formalities to go through, and they
had to undergo a bit of training.

Captain Black, to whom they were responsible and to whom they had to
report each day, wanted first some films of life in the small village
where the troops were quartered when not in the trenches. This was to
show the "boys at home" what sort of life was in prospect for them.

Aside from the danger ever present in war in any form, life in the
quaint little town was pleasant. The boys in khaki were comfortably
housed, they had the best of army food, and their pleasures were not
few. With the advent of Blake and his chums and the putting in operation
of the moving picture show, enthusiasm ran high, and nothing was too
good for the new arrivals.

But they had their work to do, for they were official photographers and
were entrusted with certain duties. Back of the firing line, of course,
there was no danger, unless from air raids. But after the first week,
during which they took a number of reels of drilling and recreation
scenes, there came a period of preparation.

Blake, Joe and Charlie were given gas masks and shown how to use them.
They were also each provided with an automatic pistol and were given
uniforms. For they had to be on the firing line and on such occasions
were not really of the non-combatant class, though they were not
supposed to take part in the fighting unless it should be to protect
themselves.

At the suggestion of Captain Black the boys had made sheet-iron cases
for their cameras and reels of film.

"Of course, if a shell comes your way that case won't be much
protection," said the United States officer. "But shrapnel won't go
through it."

Steel helmets were also given the boys to wear when they went on duty in
the firing trenches, and they were told under no circumstances to leave
them off.

"For even if there isn't any shooting from across No Man's Land,"
explained Captain Black, "a hostile aircraft may drop a bomb that will
scatter a lot of steel bullets around. So wear your helmets and keep the
cases on your cameras."

It was a week after this, during which time there had been several false
alarms of a big German attack, that one evening as they were about to
turn in after having given a moving picture show an orderly came up to
Blake.

"You and your two friends will report to Captain Black at four o'clock
to-morrow morning," said the orderly.

"Why that hour?" asked Joe curiously.

"We're going over the top," was the answer. "You may get some pictures
then."

Charles Anderson hastily consulted a small book he took from his pocket.

"What you doing?" asked Blake.

"Looking to see what time the sun rises. I want to see if there'll be
light enough to make pictures. Yes," he went on, as he found what he
wanted in the miniature almanac, "we ought to be able to get some
shots."

The gray wreaths of a fog that had settled down in the night were being
dispelled by the advance heralds of dawn in the shape of a few faint
streaks of light when Blake and his chums, wearing their steel helmets
and with the steel-protected cameras, started from the farmhouse where
they were quartered to report to Captain Black.

"All ready, boys?" the captain called. "We're going over the top at
five-seven--just as soon as the artillery puts down a barrage to clear
the way for us. You're to get what pictures you can. I'll leave that
part to you. But don't get ahead of the barrage fire--that is, if you
want to come back," he added significantly.

"All right," answered Blake, in a low voice.

He and his chums took their places in one of the communicating trenches,
waiting for the American and the French soldiers in the front ones to
spring up and go "over the top."

Every minute seemed an hour, and there were frequent consultations of
wrist watches. Suddenly, at five o'clock exactly, there was a roar that
sounded like a hundred bursts of thunder. The artillery had opened the
engagement, and the moving picture boys, at last on the firing line,
grasped their cameras and reels of film as the soldiers grasped their
guns and waited for the word to go.

The earth beneath them seemed to rock with the concussion of the big
guns.

CHAPTER XVII

BOWLED OVER

Not a man of the American and French forces that were to attack the
Germans had yet left the protecting trench. The object of the artillery
fire, which always preceded an attack unless it was a surprise one with
tanks, was to blow away the barbed-wire entanglements, and, if possible,
dispose of some of the enemy guns as well as the fighting men.

The barrage was really a "curtain of fire" moving ahead of the attacking
troops to protect them. This curtain actually advanced, for the guns
belching out the rain of steel and lead were slowly elevated, and with
the elevation a longer range was obtained.

Waiting in a trench slightly behind the troops that were soon to go into
action, Blake Stewart and his chums talked, taking no care to keep down
their voices. Indeed, they had to yell to be heard.

"Well, we're here at last," said Blake.

"Yes; and it looks as if there'd be plenty of action," added Joe.

"If it only gets lighter and the smoke doesn't hang down so," added
Charlie. "We won't get very good films if it doesn't get lighter. It's
fierce now."

"Well, if the fighting lasts long enough the sun will soon be higher and
the light better," responded Blake. "And it sounds as if this was going
to be a big fight."

By this time the German guns seemed to have awakened, and were replying
to the fire from the American and French artillery. The shells flew
screaming over the heads of those in the trenches, and instinctively
Blake and his companions ducked.

Then they realized how futile this was. As a matter of fact, the shells
were passing high over them and exploding even back of the line of
cannon. For the Germans did not yet have the range, some of the Allies'
guns having been moved up during the night.

Suddenly, though how the signal was given the moving picture boys did
not learn until afterward, there was activity in the trenches before
them. With yells that sounded only faintly above the roar of the big
guns, the American and French soldiers went "over the top," and rushed
toward the German trenches.

"Come on!" cried Blake. "This is our chance!"

"It isn't light enough!" complained Charlie, as he ran along the
communicating trench with the other two lads to the front line ditch.
"We can't get good pictures now."

"It's getting lighter!" cried Blake. "Come on!"

He and Joe were to work the cameras, with Charles Anderson to stand by
with spare reels of film, and to lend a helping hand if need be.

Along the narrow trench they rushed, carrying their machines which, it
was hoped, would catch on the sensitive celluloid the scenes, or some of
them, that were taking place in front. Mad scenes they were, too--scenes
of bursting shells, of geysers of rock and earth being tossed high by
some explosion, of men rushing forward to take part in the deadly
combat.

As Blake had said, the scene was lighting up now. The sun rose above the
mists and above the smoke of the guns, for though some smokeless powder
was used, there was enough of the other variety to produce great clouds
of vapor.

Behind the line of rushing soldiers, who were all firing their rifles
rapidly, rushed the moving picture boys. They were looking for a spot on
which to set their machines to get good views of the engagement.

"This'll do!" yelled Blake, as they came to a little hill, caused by
the upheaval of dirt in some previous shell explosion. "We can stand
here!"

"All right!" agreed Joe. "I'll go a little to one side so we won't
duplicate."

The barrage fire had lifted, biting deeper into the ranks and trenches
of the Germans. But they, on their part, had found the range more
accurately, and were pouring an answering bombardment into the artillery
stations of the French and Americans.

And then, as the sun came out clear, the boys had a wonderful view of
what was going on. Before them the French and Uncle Sam's boys were
fighting with the Germans, who had been driven from their trenches. On
all sides were rifles belching fire and sending out the leaden
messengers of death.

And there, in the midst of the fighting but off to one side and out of
the line of direct fire, stood Blake, Joe and Charlie, the two former
turning the handles of the cameras and taking pictures even as they had
stood in the midst of the volcanoes and earthquakes, or in the perils of
the deep, making views.

The fighting became a mad riot of sound--the sound of big guns and
little--the sound of bursting shells from either side--the yells of the
men--the shouting of the officers and the shrill cries of the wounded.

It took all the nerve of the three lads to stand at their posts and see
men killed and maimed before their eyes, but they were under orders, and
did not waver. For these scenes, terrible and horrible though they were,
were to serve the good purpose of stimulating those at home, in safety
across the sea, to a realization of the perils of war and the menace of
the Huns.

The fighting was now at its fiercest. The Germans had an accurate idea
of the location of the American and French cannon by this time, and the
artillery duel was taking place, while between that double line of fire
the infantry were at body-grips.

Hand grenades were being tossed to and fro. Men were emptying the
magazines of their rifles or small arms fairly into the faces of each
other.

When a soldier's ammunition gave out, or his gun choked from the hot
fire, he swung the rifle as a club or used the bayonet. And then came
dreadful scenes--scenes that the moving picture boys did not like to
think about afterward. But war is a grim and terrible affair, and they
were in the very thick of it.

Suddenly, as Blake and Joe were grinding away at their cameras, now and
then shifting them to get a different view, something that made shrill
whistling sounds, passed over their heads.

"What's that?" asked Charlie, who stood ready with a reel of spare film
for Blake's machine.

"Bullets, I reckon," answered Joe. "They seem to be coming our way,
too."

"Maybe we'd better get out of here," suggested Blake. "We've got a lot
of views, and----"

"Don't run yet, Buddies!" called a voice, and along came Private Drew.
"You'll never hear the bullet that hits you. And they're firing high,
the Fritzes are! Don't run yet. How're you making it?"

"All right so far, but it's--fierce!" cried Blake, as he stopped for a
moment to let a smoke cloud blow away.

"Yes, it's a hot little party, all right," replied the soldier, with a
grin. "I haven't had all my share yet. Had to go back with an order. Hi,
here comes one!" and instinctively he dodged, as did the others, though
a moment later it was borne to them that it was of little use to dodge
on the battlefield.

Something flew screaming and whining over their heads, and fell a short
distance away.

"It's a shell!" cried Joe, as he saw it half bury itself in the earth.
"Look out!"

Private Drew gave one look at the place where the German missile had
fallen, not ten feet away, and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, he
cried:

"It's only a dud!"

"What's that?" asked Joe.

"Shell that didn't explode," answered the soldier. "The Fritzes have
fired a lot of them lately. Guess their ammunition must be going back on
them. It's only a dud!"

He was about to pass on, and the moving picture boys were going to
resume their making of films, when another scream and whine like the
first came, but seemingly nearer.

Instinctively all four looked up, and saw something flashing over their
heads. They could feel the wind of the shell, for that is what it was,
and then the chance shot from the German gun fell about fifty feet
behind the group.

The next instant there was a tremendous explosion, and Blake and the
others felt themselves being tossed about and knocked down as by a
mighty wind.

CHAPTER XVIII

TRENCH LIFE

Blake was the first to scramble to his feet, rolling out from beneath a
pile of dirt and stones that had been tossed on him as the shell heaved
up a miniature geyser and covered him with the debris. Then, after a
shake, such as a dog gives himself when he emerges from the water, and
finding himself, as far as he could tell, uninjured, he looked to his
companions.

Private Drew was staggering about, holding his right hand to his head,
and on his face was a look of grim pain. But it passed in an instant as
he cried to Blake:

"Hurt Buddy?"

"I don't seem to be," was the answer, given during a lull in the
bombardment and firing. "But I'm afraid----"

He did not finish the sentence, but looked apprehensively at his
prostrate chums. Both Joe and Charlie lay motionless, half covered with
dirt. One camera had been upset and the tripod was broken. The other,
which Blake had been operating, seemed intact.

"Maybe they're only knocked out. That happens lots of times," said Drew.
"We'll have a look."

"But you're hurt yourself!" exclaimed Blake, looking at a bloody hand
the soldier removed from his head.

"Only a scratch, Buddy! A piece of the shell grazed me. First I thought
it had taken me for fair, but it's only a scratch. If I don't get any
worse than that I'm lucky. Now to have a look at your bunkies."

Charles Anderson seemed to need little looking after, for he arose to
his feet, appearing somewhat dazed, but not hurt, as far as was
evidenced.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Just a little bit of a compliment from our friend Fritz," answered
Drew. "That was a real shell--no dud--but it exploded far enough away
from us not to do an awful lot of damage. That is, unless your other
bunkie is worse hurt."

"I'm afraid he is," observed Blake, for Joe had not yet moved, and dirt
covered him thickly.

The center of the fighting seemed to have passed beyond the group of
moving picture boys by this time. Blake, Charlie and Drew turned to
where Joe lay and began scraping the dirt from him.

He stirred uneasily while they were doing this, and murmured:

"It's all right. Put in another reel."

"Touched on the head," said the soldier. "We'd better get him back of
the lines where he can see a doctor. Your machine got a touch of it,
too."

Anderson hurried over to the overturned camera. A quick examination
showed him that it had suffered no more damage than the broken support.

"It's all right," he announced. "Not even light-struck, I guess. I'll
take this and the boxes of film," and he shouldered his burden.

"Well, I'll take your bunkie--guess I can manage to carry him better
than you, for we've had practice in that--and you can shoulder the other
picture machine," said Drew, as he moved over to Joe. "We won't wait for
the stretcher-men. They won't be along for some time if this keeps up.
Come on now."

"But can you manage, hurt as you are?" asked Blake.

"Oh, sure! Mine's only a scratch. Wait, I'll give myself a little first
aid and then I'll be all right."

With the help of Blake the soldier disinfected his wound with a liquid
he took from his field kit, and then, having bound a bandage around his
head, he picked up the still unconscious Joe and started back with him
to the rear trenches.

They had to make a detour to avoid some of the German fire, which was
still hot in sections, but finally managed to get to a place of
comparative safety. Here they were met by a party of ambulance men, and
Joe was placed on a stretcher and taken to a first dressing station.

Meanwhile, Anderson put the cameras with their valuable reels of film in
a bomb-proof structure.

"Is he badly hurt?" asked Blake anxiously of the surgeon.

"I hope not. In fact, I think not," was the reassuring answer of the
American army surgeon. "He has been shocked, and there is a bad bruise
on one side, where he seems to have been struck by a stone thrown by the
exploding shell. But a few days' rest will bring him around all right.
Pretty close call, was it?"

"Oh, it might have been worse," answered Drew, whose wound had also been
attended to. "It was just a chance shot."

"Well, I don't know that it makes an awful lot of difference whether
it's a chance shot or one that is aimed at you, as long as it hits,"
said the surgeon. "However, you are luckily out of it. How does it seem,
to be under fire?" he asked Blake.

"Well, I can't say I fancy it as a steady diet, and yet it wasn't quite
as bad as I expected. And we got the pictures all right."

"That's good!" the surgeon said. "Well, your friend will be all right.
He's coming around nicely now," for Joe was coming out of the stupor
caused by the blow on the head from a clod of earth.

At first he was a bit confused--"groggy," Private Drew called it--but he
soon came around, and though he could not walk because of the injury to
his side, he was soon made comparatively comfortable and taken to a
hospital just behind the lines.

As this was near the house where Charlie and Blake were quartered, they
could easily visit their chum each day, which they did for the week that
he was kept in bed.

As Charles had surmised, the films in the cameras were not damaged, and
were removed to be sent back for development. The broken tripod was
repaired sufficiently to be usable again, and then the boys began to
prepare for their next experience.

The engagement in which Joe had been hurt was a comparatively small one,
but it netted a slight advance for the French and American troops, and
enabled a little straightening of their trench line to be made, a number
of German dug-outs having been demolished and their machine guns
captured. This, for a time at least, removed a serious annoyance to
those who had to occupy the front line trenches.

Though Joe improved rapidly in the hospital, for some time his side was
very sore. He had to turn his camera over to Charlie, and it was
fortunate the lanky helper had been brought along, for the work would
have proved too much for Blake alone.

Following that memorable, because it was the first, going "over the
top," there was a period of comparative quiet. Of course there was
sniping day and night, and not a few casualties from this form of
warfare, but it was to be expected and "all in the day's work," as
Private Drew called it.

Blake, Joe and Charlie were complimented by Captain Black for their
bravery in going so close to the front line in getting the pictures;
then he added:

"You can have it a little easier for a while. What we want now are some
scenes of trench life as it exists before an engagement. So get ready
for that."

This Blake and Charlie did, while Joe sat in the sun and tried to learn
French from a little boy, the son of the couple in whose house the
moving picture boys were quartered.

Though the American and French soldiers, with here and there a Canadian
or English regiment, lived so near the deadly front line, there were
periods, some lengthy, of quiet and even amusement. Of course, the
deaths lay heavy on all the soldiers when they allowed themselves to
think of their comrades who had perished. And more than one gazed with
wet eyes at the simple wooden crosses marking the graves "somewhere in
France."

But officers and men alike knew how fatal to spirit it was to dwell on
the sad side of war. So, as much as possible, there was in evidence a
sense of lightness and a feeling that all was for the best--that it must
be for the best.

Now and then there were night raids, and occasionally parties of German
prisoners were brought in. Blake and Charlie made moving pictures of
these as they were taken back to the cages. Most of the Germans seemed
glad to be captured, which meant that they were now definitely out of
the terrible scenes of the war. They would be held in safety until after
the conflict, and they seemed to know this, for they laughed and joked
as they were filmed. They appeared to like it, and shouted various words
of joking import in their guttural voices to the boys.

A week after coming out of the hospital Joe was able to take up light
work, and did his share of making pictures of trench life. He had a big
bruise on one side, a discolored patch that had an unpleasant look, but
which soon ceased to give much pain except after a period of exertion.

"Well, you're a veteran now--been wounded," said Blake to his chum.

"Yes, I suppose you can call it that. I don't care for any more,
though."

The plan in operation at this particular section of the front where the
moving picture boys were quartered and on duty was for the soldiers to
spend five or six days in the trenches, taking turns of duty near No
Man's Land, and then going back to rest in the dug-outs. After that they
would have a day or so of real rest back of the lines, out of reach of
the big guns.

And there the real fun of soldiering, if fun it can be called amid the
grim business of war, was to be had. The officers and men vied with one
another in trying to forget the terrible scenes through which they had
gone, and little entertainments were gotten up, the moving picture boys
doing their share.

Thus they obtained views of trench life both grave and gay, though it
must be admitted that the more serious predominated. There were many
wounded, many killed, and, occasionally, one of the parties going out on
patrol or listening-duty at night would never come back, or, at most,
one or two wounded men would come in to tell of a terrific struggle with
a party of Huns.

Sometimes, though, the tale would be the other way around, and the
Americans would come in with a number of captives who showed the effects
of severe fighting.

CHAPTER XIX

GASSED

"Well, there's one thing about it," remarked Joe to Blake one day, as
they sat in the shade beside the French cottage waiting for orders.
"This isn't as nervous work as traveling on a ship, waiting for a
submarine."

It was three weeks after the first and only engagement they had taken
part in, and, meanwhile, they had filmed many more peaceful scenes of
army life on the front.

"Especially when you know there's a traitor in the cabin across the hall
that may signal any minute for you to be blown up," Blake responded to
his friend's remark. "You're right there, Joe. But how's the side?"

"Coming on all right. Hurts hardly at all now. I wonder what became of
those two fellows?"

"Which two?"

"Secor and Labenstein."

"Oh, I thought you meant those two German officers who tried to hire us
to send some word back to their folks about them."

This had been the case: In a batch of prisoners brought in after a raid
which was most successful on the part of the Americans, two captured
German officers of high rank who spoke English well had offered Blake
and Joe a large sum if they would send word of their fate and where they
were held prisoners to an address in Berlin.

But the boys would do nothing of the sort, and reported the matter to
Captain Black. The result was that the officers were searched and some
valuable papers, containing some future plans of the enemy, were
discovered. The officers were sent to England under a strong guard, as
it was felt they were particularly dangerous.

"I suppose Secor and Labenstein are somewhere, plotting to do their
worst," went on Blake. "Having gone as far as they did, they wouldn't
give up easily, I imagine. I can understand Labenstein's acting as he
did, but that Secor, a Frenchman, if he really is one, should plot to
injure his own country--that gets me!"

"Same here! I wonder if we'll ever see him again--either of them, for
that matter."

"I hope not I don't like--snakes!" exclaimed Blake.

"Yes, that's what they are--snakes in the grass," agreed Joe. "But I
wonder what our next assignment will be."

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