The Oklahoma City times. [volume] (Oklahoma City, Okla.) 1908-1984, 1918-06-08

Bayonet clasped close, he leaped on
the parados, through hail OF fire he
ran unscathed, dropped to trench level
again and fired point blank at the white
sogRy face Of the hindmost Boche in
the traverse corner.
Fire-again. fire The Huns drop
ped like ninepins before this one man
assault.
What had happened3 The Hun mind
moves slowly-another dropped with a
bullet through his throat-another. and
another.
Surrounded Save our skin"-the
Boche rally cry, and ll2 pudgy dirt
streaked hands fluttered skyward, as
their rifles dropped in the mud Of their
own trench
Mercy Kamerad mercyW The same
old whine.
One Among Millions.
Sixty-two prisoners marched sullenly
ahead of Private John Chipman and two
of his comrades, behind him $50 yards
of enemy trench was quietly occupied
by the men Of the Goth.
whats this?" asked the officer, as
Private Chipman swayed in front Of
him. "Sixty-two prisoners-man"
But Chapman was lying unconscious
Blood spouted from torn and lacerated
right hand CHASTITY gaps lurked where
fingers had been before A Boche bomb
had found a mark. Another British
hero had been listed on the annals OF
those who offer and give life FOR
valor."
Private Chapman, now corporal, Is
Monochrome. The Victoria cr..s on his
breast, a proud little woman by his side,
the love of his comrades in his heart
A hero-one hero from among the
millions.
In the Muddy Trench.
There is Sergeant Jackson. To look
at the sergeant casually or when he IS
sitting, one would think him still fit
as he is willing for duty.
Surgery has made big strides since
1914, but 1t is camoutlage and pluck
which stand by Sergeant Jackson. Both
of his own legs fe in sope muddy
grave in Flanders, the art ot the new
time camoufleur has eased the pain
iuness of his appearance.
For Valor" on state days and grand
occasions CLEANS DULY from the dulier
tunic of the sergeant.
The trench was narrow, muddy, we
A dozen other sections had lived IN H.
moved into ii, moved out OF It, beer
killed in it, buried in it. Patched IN
places, hummocks OF mud still marked
where a shell had scattered. a deeper
water hole marked the old landing
place of bomb. :,
From the parapet in front protrude.d
horribly from the covering load OF sand,
bags the bleaching, muddied bones OF
the enemy who had held the trench be-
iore-weeks before.
His Life for Theirs.
II was an advanced fire trench The
men in il handled bombs as they had
handled bowls in those days way back
when there was no war, nor violent
death, nor disruption 49,
The bombs rested easily in close
packed boxes. Women at home had
toied and sweated and prayed as they
turned them from the machines, ex-
amined them with expert swiftness, re-
jected those with infinitesimal flaws
and marked passed" the perfect death
dealers for their men folk to handle.
There was stir in the forward
trench. Fresh ammunition had arrived,
box covers we're being loosened, sup
plies being counted, checked and coun-
ter checked. There is vast accountancy
colossal bookkeeping in war.
Ii was when the last box was opened
that Sergeant Jackson saw the danger
The box lay close to the parapet, on
its tiny bed of oozy mud.
The sergeant stopped for moment,
then sprang to his full height. No
thought of enemy sniper, nor boche
plane crossed his mind. He yelled a
warning to his dozen comrades:
"Out of the trench--back-back J .
Not a minute too soon, not a second
before time. Then the sergeant moved
himself-not back to the communication
trench, not around the traverse, not
headlong down dugout steps. For
wardl He flung himself full length
and face down across the box Of bombs.
The Madness Of Heroism.
Mad"
Well maybe so. But the madness of
heroism His comrades, ignorant OF
the danger, but knowing there must be
some good reason when the sergeant
shouted the short, urgent command,
huddled round the traverse and down
the communication line.
There was dull reverberation. The
ground shook Then silence.
Pm going back fellows y One OF
the privates spoke. Something awful
has happened"
The boys faced round and back They
we're not going to let one go alone. A
mass of debris met their scared eyes
as they reached the trench they had
lust vacated There was no sign OF
Jackson.
Then a faint groan came from the
farther side OF mound of earth leak
ing sandbags and wooden spllntefed
grating.
They saw Jackson then-what was
left of Jackson. Both legs blown away
his body lying inert in yelling
stream OF his life's blood.