Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925, 1918-12-27

ambushed and wiped out. 1t was the
only way to save my skin. There
were no witnesses against me, so
got off with reduction to the ranks and
a transfer to another regiment. They
smelled a rat, all right, but had no
proof.
$50 that is my story, Yank. Just
forget that I ever told it to you.
Enough to make fellow get the blues
occasionally, isn't it? Just pass me
fag, and take that look off your face"
I gave him the cigarette and, with
out q word, went out of the dugout
and left him alone. / was thinking of
AdrienRe.
Upon reaching the trench I paused
In wonder and fright. The sky was
alight with a red glare. The din was
terrific. A constant swishing and
rushing through the air, intermingled
with signing moan, gave tes-
timony that our batteries were
sweating blood. The trench seemed
to be rolling like ship. stood in
awe. This bombardment of ours was
something indescribable, and shud-
der passed through me as I thought
of the havoc and destruction caused
In the German lines. At that moment
I really pitied the Germans, but not
for long, because suddenly hell seemed
to burst loose from the German lines
as their artillery opened up. ]. could
hear their "fve-nines" screeching
through the air and bursting in the
artillery lines in our rear. Occasion
ally a far-off rum-hum-rump-rump
Crash Bru-u-nn-u-gg! could be heard
as one of their high-calibered shells
came over and burst in our reserve.
I crouched against the parados, hardly
able to breathe. While in this position,
right overhead, every instant getting
louder, came a German shell-hiz-z-z
bang-g-g! 1 was blinded by the flash.
Down / went, into the mud. Strug-
Cling to my feet in the red glare Of the
bombardment.
I saw that the traverse on my left
had entirely disappeared. Covered
with mud, weak and trembling. could
hear what sounded like far-distant
voices coming from the direction of
the bashed-in traverse.
seBlime me, get SIS bloomin' napper
outa tn mud; 'e's chokin' to death.
Pass me q bandage-tyke lis b'yonet
fer a. splint. Blime me, lis leg is
smashed, not 'arf hit h'aint. TIL rest
o. you blokes 'op it fer a stretcher.
'Ello, 'e's got another One-quick,
tourniquet, the poor bloke's a'bleedin'
to death. Quick. h'up against the par
apet, ERE comes another"
Whiz-z-zl Bang-g-g!
Another flare, and once again was
thrown into the mud. I opened my
eyes. Bending over me, shaking me
by the shoulder was Atwell. His voice
sounded faint and far away. Then I
came to with q rush.
"Blime me, Yank, that was a close
one. Did it get your"
He helped me to my feet and felt
myself all over. Seeing was all
right, he yelled in my ear:
"We've got to leg it out Of ERE.
Fritz is sure sendin' over 'whiZ-bangs'
and 'minnies.' Number 9 platoon in
the next fire bay sure clicked it. About
eighteen of them have gone West.
Come on, We'll see If we can do any
thing for the poor blokes."
We plowed through the mud and
came into the next fire bay. In the
light of the bursting shells an awful
sight met our eyes. The traverses were
Dashed in, the fire step was gone, and
in the parados was hole that looked
like a subway entrance. There was
mud and blood.
Every now and then, ducking as a
"whiz-bang" or minnie" came over,
we managed to get four of the wound
ed on the stretchers. and Atwell and
I carried one to the rear to the first
aid dressing station. We passed the
dugout which / had left but a few
minutes before, or 1T least, what used
to be the dugout, but now all that
could be seen was a caved-in mass of
dirt; huge square-cut timbers sticking
out of the ground and silhOuetted
against the light from bursting shells,
looking like huge giants. A shudder
passed through me as / realized that
if we had stayed In the dugout we
would have now been lying fifteen to
twenty feet down, covered by that
caved-in earth and wreckage.
Atwell jerked his head in the direc-
ton of the srnashed-in dugout, and, as
was his wont, remarked:
"How about that fancy report you
were writing out a few minutes ago?
Didn't tell you that it never paid to
make out reports in the front line?
It's best to wait until you get to head
quarters, because what's the use of
wasting all that bally time when
you're liable to be buried in a
dugout2"
Turning my head TO listen to Atwell, /
ran plump into a turn in the trench.
A shout came from the form on the
Stretcher:
"Why in the bloody ell don't you
blokes look where you're goin'? You'd
think this was a bloomin' Picadilly