CHAPTER XX A PRACTICE MARCH

Had such an accident as had occurred at Camp Dixton taken place in the midst of a big city street, there would have been so much excitement and conflict that the result would have been magnified in seriousness.

As it was there was enough seriousness to it, but it was minimized by the fact that the accident happened in the midst of a military camp, and among men who are used to meeting resolutely every sort of accident and emergency.

Short and sharp were the orders issued. Those who could not be of help were halted before they reached the place, and were held in readiness for any work that would be needed.

The three friends, being among the first to reach the scene, were put in one of the rescue squads. It did not take long to understand what had happened. Trenches had been dug in many parts of the camp to give the men training under the conditions they would find in France and Flanders. But there had been some heavy rain, and[160] when a battery of heavy guns was fired too near a certain line of the trenches, the soft earth slid in on top of the men occupying the defenses. They were buried, a number of them being covered out of sight.

Fortunately there were plenty of entrenching tools on hand, and the first thing to do was to begin digging the men out. This was done under the direction of men of the engineer corps, who were experts in this work.

A hasty calling of the roll showed that twenty men had been caught in the cave-in, and within five minutes every one had been dug out. Several were unconscious, but there were pulmotors in the camp, and these were used until all but one of the victims was breathing naturally, if faintly. This one man died, and several had broken arms, legs and other injuries.

It was a serious and sad accident, and, for a time, cast a gloom over the camp. But it was one of those seemingly unavoidable things for which no one in particular was to blame. A court martial was held, and the officer in charge of the work exonerated.

Nor was the commander of the battery, the firing of the guns of which loosened the soft earth, held responsible. He had nothing to do with the trenches, and it was not his fault.

The accident had its effect, though, in causing[161] greater care to be taken in making trenches after that, and bag or basket work was used, to better bind the earth together. It was a soft and sandy soil, without much body to it, and it shifted more easily than would earth that had a clay mixture.

The accident was also used to good advantage in causing a deeper study of trench work, and the manner of making the trenches and laying them out. Many of the recruits had a deep-seated aversion to grubbing in the ground, digging trenches, but it was part of the drill work and had to be done. The lads likened it to sewer work, and no one liked it.

After the accident one of the French officers, who was an instructor in camp, gave a series of lectures on trench warfare, and at the conclusion there was not only a noticeable improvement in the trenching, but there was more enthusiasm about it.

“A trench may save our lives when we get to France,” was the way Jerry expressed it. “I’m going to learn all I can about them.”

“Same here!” echoed Ned.

What with athletic work, learning the different marching and fighting formations, doing the necessary police work, studying the mechanism of rifles and machine guns, learning how to signal, digging trenches, throwing hand grenades and dozens of other things, Ned, Bob and Jerry were kept busy[162] from morning until night. So with the other recruits.

Of course there was a certain time set aside for play and amusement, and each young soldier was told to play as hard as he worked. This was so he might come back to his tasks refreshed, and with the desire to give them the very best that was in him.

The motor boys soon realized that the making of a soldier was a task that was growing in complication. There were many new ways of fighting, and defending oneself, and all these had to be mastered.

The use of the aeroplane, camouflage, hand grenades, rifle grenades and many other new and terrible forms of fighting made new systems necessary. In gas attacks alone there was enough to study to keep them busy many days in the week, and this branch was regarded as so important that drill after drill was held merely in teaching the boys the best and most rapid manner of adjusting the masks.

All this time Ned, Bob and Jerry were progressing. They were becoming stronger physically, and better able to stand hardship and exposure. They could take long marches, carrying heavy packs, without getting over tired, and they knew how to bind up wounds, how to apply first-aid[163] dressings, and how to carry wounded comrades from the field.

Of course there was much that was unpleasant and hard. Many of their associates were different from those they had been used to, and they had to do what they were told—obey orders. No longer were they their own masters. They lived by rule and rote, and every minute of the day, save the recreation hours, had to be accounted for.

But they knew it was doing them good, and they knew it was in a good cause—the cause of humanity and world-betterment—and they did not complain, except perhaps in a good-natured way, and occasionally.

They had several more or less unpleasant encounters with Pug Kennedy and fellows of his ilk, but this was to be expected. Ned’s back completely healed and he was able to take his place in the hardest drills with his chums.

Somewhat to the surprise of the boys they found that rifle work was not rated as highly as they had expected it would be, for the reason, they were told, that it has been found that in the present war machine guns and artillery play such a big part.

Of course, for some time to come, the rifle will be the arm of the infantry soldier. But it is coming to be more and more an auxiliary, and not a direct means to an end. Hand grenades can do[164] much damage in the enemy trenches, and are easier to carry than a rifle and many rounds of ammunition.

But of course there was rifle practice, and many a day the motor boys and their chums spent on the ranges, perfecting their aim. Every encouragement was offered them to become expert marksmen, and the three friends were not far from the front when the markings were made.

The spring had given place to summer, and the camp was not any too cool. But there were shower baths, and the officers were not over severe in drills when the weather was too hot. There was plenty of chance to cool off between drills.

Occasionally the boys would have short leaves of absence, on which they made trips to town and took in a show or two, getting in on “smileage” books, or reduced rate tickets.

It was after a hard day in the trenches, practice at bayonet drill, and hand grenade throwing that Bob came into the Y. M. C. A. canteen where Jerry and Ned had preceded him and asked:

“Did you see the notice?”

“What notice?” inquired Jerry.

“Is Pug Kennedy going to be transferred?” Ned demanded.

“Nothing doing,” announced Bob, as he[165] slumped into a chair. He had lost considerable flesh and looked the better for it.

“Well, what is it?” some one asked. “Has Germany given up the war?”

“I hope not until we get a chance to have a whack at her!” exclaimed Jerry. “But shoot, Bob! What is it?”

“We’re going to have a practice march,” was the answer. “There’s just been a notice posted about it. We’re to go in heavy marching order, across country, and live just as we would if we were in an enemy’s land.”

“That’s the cheese!” cried Ned. “We can live a sort of free and easy life.”

“Don’t you fool yourself, son,” said an older man. “I’ve been on these practice marches before. How are your feet?”

“Oh, pretty good.”

“Well, they’ll need to be,” was the answer. “Toting seventy pounds on your back, through mud puddles, over rough country, uphill, downhill, isn’t any picnic. Just wait!”