The Movie Boys Under Uncle Sam

OR

Taking Pictures for the Army

BY VICTOR APPLETON Author of “The Movie Boys in the Jungle,” “The Movie Boys Under Fire,” “The Movie Boys and the Flood,” etc.

Garden City New York GARDEN CITY PUBLISHING COMPANY, Inc. 1926

THE FAMOUS MOVIE BOYS SERIES

BY VICTOR APPLETON

See back of book for list of titles

COPYRIGHT, 1919, 1926, BY GARDEN CITY PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC.

CHAPTER I DANGEROUS WORK

“This sure is hot work!” exclaimed Blake Stewart, as he rose to his feet and brushed off his clothes.

“That’s what,” agreed his friend and partner, Joe Duncan, who likewise had thrown himself to the ground when a shell had landed and burst within a few yards of him. “I’ve barked my shins so often that I’ll have a case of housemaid’s knee if this keeps up.”

“My eardrums got a dose when that last shell exploded,” remarked their lanky understudy and assistant, Charlie Anderson. “But we’re still alive and kicking and that’s something.”

“Especially kicking,” grinned Blake, as he turned once more to the faithful camera with which the group were taking moving pictures of a German bombardment. “Lucky that some of that shrapnel didn’t smash this.”

[2]“It might be good dope to get into a little safer position,” suggested Joe. “Those Huns are switching their fire over this way, and we’ve had more shells drop around here in the last five minutes than we had before all the morning. Let’s shift to that shell hole over to the left.”

Blake cast an eye in the direction indicated.

“It might be a little safer,” he admitted, “but I’m afraid that part of the action would be shut off by that clump of trees. Better stick it out here a little while longer. We haven’t had such a chance for a long time and I hate to lose it.”

“All right,” agreed Joe cheerfully, for, like his partner, he was game, and would have gone through fire and water to get a good picture.

“A fellow ought to have as many lives as a cat when he sets put to do this kind of work,” grumbled Charlie.

“Quit your grouching,” laughed Blake. “You know you wouldn’t miss this for a farm. Think of the sensation this picture will make when it’s shown. Some day you’ll be sitting in a darkened theater seeing this thing unreeled, and you’ll pat yourself on the back and say proudly: ‘I helped to take that picture.’”

“Maybe,” assented Charlie grudgingly. “And then again when these are shown, I may be lying in a nice little box six feet under ground.”

[3]“Well, you’ll be over all your troubles then,” Blake was beginning to say, when Joe Duncan interrupted.

“Look at that!” he cried excitedly. “I could see the shell leaving the gun that time!”

“Easy there,” returned Blake. “Your eyesight isn’t quite as good as all that, Joe. What you saw was the bunch of wadding that followed the shell. The film got it anyway, and it looks enough like a shell to make most people believe it is one. But we’ll put the right caption on it, for there isn’t going to be any fake in this series of films. It’s going to be the real thing.”

“Right you are,” agreed Joe. “We sure don’t need any faking in pictures like these. All the reels have to do is to tell the story just as it is, and they’ll make a tremendous hit.”

It was a hot day in early September, and the position of the sun indicated that it was almost noon. Ordinarily the boys would have had some shelter from the fierce rays that beat down upon them, for they were standing just within the edge of what nature had meant to be a forest, and at this early stage of autumn the trees would have been in full foliage.

But it was a forest no longer. Shot and shell had ploughed through it until every vestige of twig and leaf had been torn away. Even the bark had [4]been stripped from the trunks, and the trees stood there in ghastly whiteness, like so many ghosts watching over a valley of the dead.

And there were plenty of dead to watch over, for all that morning there had been fierce fighting and the ground was thickly covered with motionless figures.

The American forces for some days past had been in hot pursuit of the Germans, who were making their way back to the Rhine. But that day the enemy had made a stand and put up a bitter resistance. They had taken up their position at the top of a hill, and there they had planted their artillery, which all the morning had been searching the American lines in a tremendous cannonade.

The Yankee guns had replied with a fire equally intense, and it was this spirited artillery duel that the young moving picture operators had been fixing on their films.

Suddenly there was a lull in the action and the boys looked at each other inquiringly.

“Seems to be a slowing down,” commented Joe.

“And about time,” grunted Charlie. “I didn’t know there were as many shells in the world as they’ve been firing this morning.”

“It isn’t because they’re out of ammunition, you can bet,” remarked Blake. “Not on our side, anyway. [5]Trust Uncle Sam to keep his boys well supplied. We do things in millions in this war.”

“Right you are in that!” ejaculated Charlie Anderson vehemently.

“Perhaps they’ve slowed down to cool off the guns,” suggested Joe.

“I should think they’d be red hot by this time,” Charlie observed. “And maybe those gunners aren’t doing some sweating! They’re stripped to the waist.”

“I think the real reason is that there’s something else in the wind,” said Blake. “Perhaps our boys are going to charge. They may figure out that by this time the artillery fire has beaten down the enemy’s wires so that our men can go up and clean out the trenches.”

“Good guess, old man!” cried Joe, as a long file of khaki-clad soldiers emerged from the American lines and started up the hill. “There they go now. Great! Bully boys! Oh, how I wish I were with them!”

“Now the guns are opening up again!” exclaimed Blake. “They’re laying down a barrage in front of the boys.”

It was a sight that might well have stirred the pulse of anyone not dead to all emotion. Up the hill, wave upon wave, went the American boys, over the shell-ploughed ground, clambering over [6]the trunks of fallen trees, skirting the edge of open craters, sometimes stumbling, but always advancing. Before them went a wall of fire laid down by their own gunners to screen their advance.

But now the enemy’s guns opened up again with redoubled fury. Lanes were made in the charging lines. Men threw up their hands and fell until the ground was dotted with crumpled figures. Their places were taken at once by others, and the long lines went on and on until they burst like a storm upon the enemy’s trenches at the crest of the hill.

Then there was fighting such as the boys had not yet seen in the war. The Germans, forced from their trenches, came out into the open in swarms, and their gray uniforms mingled in a terrific struggle with the khaki of the American troops. The guns stopped, as each side was afraid of firing into its own men. It became a fierce, hand-to-hand contest.

There was little rifle fire also, for the men had resorted to the bayonet, jabbing, hacking, stabbing, at times using the gun butt as well as the point. Against the sky line on the ridge the view from below was perfect, and the boys were fairly dancing with excitement as the film clicked off the story of the fight.

[7]“Our fellows will win!” cried Blake. “The Huns can’t stand before our bayonets. When it comes to hand-to-hand fighting it’s all over with Fritz.”

“That’s right,” agreed Joe. “There’s no one in the world that can stand before our boys at close quarters.”

“The Boches are bringing up reinforcements though,” said Charlie anxiously. “Look at that bunch in gray coming down on their flank.”

“But there goes a new wave of our fellows up the hill,” put in Joe excitedly. “They’ll even it up all right.”

It was not to be an easy victory, however, for the Germans fought with the fury of desperation. It was a critical point in their line of defence, and they had been ordered to hold it at any cost. Crack troops that had been held in reserve were hurried up to meet the American onslaught. But the Yankee boys’ blood was up and they were not to be denied.

For half an hour the fight continued, and then a rousing cheer ran along the American lines. The ridge was taken, the trenches were cleared, and the beaten enemy had fallen back to his second line of defense.

“Hurrah!” yelled Blake wildly. “I knew they’d do it.”

[8]“They’re the stuff!” shouted Joe. “Oh, boy, how they did put it over them!”

“And these are the greenhorns they said were going to break and run as soon as they caught sight of a Prussian uniform,” exulted Charlie.

“They run all right,” grinned Blake, “but you’ll notice they run toward the Huns instead of away from them. It’s Fritz who’s getting exercise in running toward the Rhine.”

chanted Joe.

“There go the guns again!” exclaimed Blake.

Now that the hand-to-hand fighting was over, the German artillery had again opened up, and a perfect hail of shot and shell tore over the ridge that the Americans had captured and down the slope into the further lines.

“Look there!” exclaimed Joe suddenly, as he pointed to a spot halfway up the hill.

The others looked in the direction he indicated and saw a wounded soldier trying to crawl back toward them.

“Poor fellow,” broke out Charlie sympathetically. “He seems to be pretty badly hurt, and the shells are falling all around him. But the ambulances will be along pretty soon.”

[9]“Ambulances nothing!” cried Blake. “Charlie, you stay here and take care of this film. I’m going out to bring that fellow in. What do you say, Joe? Are you game?”

“Am I?” replied Joe. “That’s my middle name. I’m with you, old man. Come along.”

A moment later, with their blood on fire, the chums were on their way up that hill of death.

CHAPTER II TO THE RESCUE

It was a perilous adventure on which the moving picture boys had entered.

The German fire had increased in intensity, and now was sweeping the woods with a perfect hail of destruction. Great shells were exploding with thunderous roars, digging deep craters in the ground and sending their missiles of death far and wide.

The boys knew that they were taking their lives in their hands by venturing over that ground, but the appeal made to them by that wounded figure was too strong for them to resist.

Moving swiftly, yet taking advantage of every shattered stump and protecting rock as they advanced, they soon reached the injured soldier.

He saw them coming, and his face lighted up with gratitude as he attempted to smile.

“Go back!” he gasped. “I guess they’ve done for me, but what’s the use of you boys getting killed?”

“That’s all right, old fellow,” answered Blake, [11]as he deftly slipped his arms around the man’s shoulders. “Here, Joe, you take his feet and we’ll try to get him into that nearest shell hole. We can give him first aid there, and every minute counts.”

Joe did as his comrade directed, and they hurried the man to a deep crater a little way down the hill. The shell that made it had heaped up the dirt in the direction of the enemy, so that the edge overhung and formed something like a shallow cave.

Under this projecting edge they laid their burden. There they were comparatively safe unless a shell should chance to drop right into the hole itself.

Blake quickly got out the surgical kit he always carried and brought forth a roll of bandage. Joe, in the meantime, had been going over the wounded man with his hands to see how badly he was hurt. A bullet had ploughed through his scalp and blood had flowed freely from the gash, but the boys, who in their various adventures had become fairly expert, recognized that this was not a serious injury. It was only when Joe felt the man’s left leg that he detected at once that it was broken.

“That’s where the Huns got me,” groaned the sufferer. “I guess I’ll go on one leg now for the rest of my life.”

“Nothing like that,” said Blake cheerfully, for to him it seemed like a simple fracture. “You’ll be [12]trotting around as well as ever in six weeks from now. Hand me some of those pieces of wood over there, Joe, and we’ll make a splint.”

The bottom of the shell hole was covered with twigs and branches which had been torn from the near-by trees by the bombardment, and they soon improvised a rough splint, creditable enough for amateurs, that held the broken bone in place. The man’s face went white during the operation.

Blake unstrapped his water bottle and washed out the ragged wound in the scalp. Then he bound it up with a surgical bandage.

“There you are,” he said briskly, when his task was finished and they had placed the patient in as comfortable a position as the narrow limits of the space permitted. “Now, just as soon as the ambulance comes down the line, we’ll get you off to the hospital and they’ll finish the job.”

“It must have been mighty tough, dragging that broken leg along,” said Joe sympathetically.

“It wasn’t any fun,” agreed the soldier. “It was all-fired good of you fellows to come after me. Another shell would likely have got me by this time if you hadn’t. But you boys were taking an awful chance. What regiment do you belong to?”

“We just don’t belong,” replied Blake with a smile. “We’re doing special work for the War Department in taking moving pictures of the fighting. [13]My friend here is named Joe Duncan. My name is Blake Stewart.”

“And mine is Tom Wentworth,” said the wounded man. “So you’re the moving picture boys,” he continued, his eyes brightening with interest. “I’ve heard about you from some of the others. They said you were as plucky as they make ’em, and I’ve found out that’s true.”

“Oh, everybody here is taking risks,” said Blake modestly. “Look at yourself, for instance. You got closer to the line of fire than we did.”

“It was pretty hot,” admitted Wentworth, “but I don’t know that it was any worse than it was at Belleau Wood and Chateau-Thierry.”

“Were you there?” asked Joe eagerly, for he always felt a special thrill when he heard the names of those places where the American troops had covered themselves with glory.

“Very much there,” replied Wentworth with a faint smile. “So much there that I thought I’d always stay there, under the ground if not on top of it.”

“That was some scrap!” exclaimed Blake enthusiastically. “Two green American regiments fighting six crack Prussian divisions and putting it all over them.”

“It was lively work,” grinned Wentworth. “I remember when we first went in. We met the [14]French coming back and their officers told ours that orders had been given to retreat. ‘Go back,’ they said, ‘the enemy’s too strong.’ Our old colonel looked at them. ‘Go back?’ he blurted out. ‘Thunder! We’ve just got here.’”

The boys laughed.

“That’s real American talk,” chuckled Blake.

“American as she is spoke,” added Joe.

“You must have got some mighty good pictures this morning,” went on Wentworth with interest, though a twinge in his broken leg contorted his features as he spoke.

“You bet we did,” answered Blake enthusiastically. “Wasn’t it great the way that bunch of doughboys went up the hill? Say, we’ll have the people holding on to the arms of their seats when they see that film in the States.”

“I knew the boys would take that crest if they could only get to the top before the shells swept them away,” said Wentworth. “When it comes to hack and stab, the Heinies aren’t in it with our boys. The cold steel makes them squeal. They’re all right in a crowd, but we’ve got their goat when it’s man to man.”

The shelling had died down somewhat while they were talking, and Joe, who had thrust his head cautiously above the edge of the crater, gave a sudden exclamation.

[15]“Hullo!” he cried. “The whole regiment’s on the move! They’re swarming out of the trenches like bees out of a hive. They must have ordered a general advance.”

“We mustn’t miss that!” exclaimed Blake. “We’ve got to go along with them. But first we’ll have to see that this man gets to the hospital.”

“Don’t bother about me,” said the wounded soldier. “You’ve done plenty for me as it is. Our ambulances will be along soon and pick me up. You boys just go along.”

“Not on your life, we won’t,” replied Blake. “The pictures can wait.”

“Here come some stretcher-bearers now,” observed Joe.

He jumped out of the hole, waving his hands to attract attention. A group of men with litters came hurriedly toward him.

“Lend a hand here, fellows!” cried Joe. “We’ve got one of the boys here with a messed-up head and a broken leg.”

It was but the work of a moment for willing hands to lift Tom Wentworth out of the hole and arrange him comfortably.

“I’ll never forget the way you boys risked your life to save mine,” he said gratefully, as the men grasped the handles of the stretcher and prepared to start off with him.

[16]“Nothing at all, old man,” answered Blake heartily.

“All in the day’s work,” smiled Joe.

“And now for a quick sneak back to the camera,” Blake remarked, when the bearers with their burden had gone. “I hope that Charlie has been right on the job. It’ll be too bad if he’s missed any of this fighting.”

“Let’s hope a bullet hasn’t keeled him over while we’ve been away,” said Joe with some anxiety.

“Nothing like that,” answered Blake, as his quick eye caught sight of their assistant.

“But he’s turning the crank with his left hand,” cried Joe in alarm. “I wonder if anything could have happened to his right.”

They broke into a run.

Charlie saw them coming and a look of relief came into his eyes.

“So you’re back again safe and sound,” he cried. “I was afraid that perhaps a shell had dropped into the hole and knocked you out.”

“We’re all right,” ejaculated Joe. “But how about yourself? Why are you working left-handed? Did you get hurt?”

For answer, Charlie held up his right hand that was smeared with blood.

“Only a scratch,” he said. “A bullet grazed the back of my hand. Didn’t break any bones, but I [17]bled like a stuck pig. Didn’t have time to bind it up or I’d have missed some of the picture, so I just kept plugging along with the good old left.”

“Give me the crank,” commanded Blake, at the same time taking it from his associate. “Joe, bind that hand up for him. Your nerve is all right, Charlie, but I’d rather lose the picture than have you neglect yourself. How about it, Joe? Is it a bad wound?”

“No, I guess not,” replied Joe, as he fixed a bandage around the injured hand while Charlie involuntarily winced. “But it must hurt a lot. Charlie will have to be a southpaw for a while, but that’s all.”

“I’m mighty glad it’s no worse,” said Blake in a tone of relief. “I’d have felt partly responsible if it were, since I skipped the job and left it to Charlie.”

“Say, it was the best thing you ever did,” broke in Charlie enthusiastically. “I caught the whole action while you were making your way toward that fellow and believe me it’s some sweet film. It’ll make the chills go up and down the people’s spines when they get a squint at it.”

“Well, now let’s be hiking along,” remarked Blake, as Joe completed his work. “The regiment’s on the move and all the rest of the fighting will be done on the other side of the hill. We’ll have a splendid view of it there, too, so get a move on.”

[18]They gathered up the camera and the tripod and hurried along in a line parallel with the advancing troops.