Читать книгу Over There with the Marines at Chateau Thierry онлайн

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Phil saw his opportunity. Every one of the boches had dropped his gun in order the better to pet his smarting wounds. The boy, protected by the hole of the large tree which he was endeavoring to keep between himself and the enemy’s bullets, had not been touched by even the smallest of the flying stones, sticks, bits of earth or pieces of shell. Springing out from behind the tree he ran toward the panic-stricken sextette, with rifle ready to be brought to his shoulder at a moment’s warning.

“Halt!” he cried; “Halt, or I’ll shoot!”

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Whether or not the boches could understand this much, or this little, English was a matter of no importance. They evidently knew what the Marine in khaki meant, and they obeyed, several of them yelling “Kamerad!” in tones of panic.

Phil had not forgotten all his school German vocabulary. The next order that left his lips slipped out with very good Prussian accent:

“Kom her! Hande ueber Kopf.”

The now timid Teutons advanced with hands over their heads toward their youthful captor, in strict obedience to the order.