Читать книгу Over There with the Marines at Chateau Thierry онлайн

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“What did we need?” asked Tim, who heard the remark.

Phil had no opportunity to reply. The major was giving orders again.

“Attention!”

“Squads, right!” the superior officer added, and immediately there was a swinging half-about along the line, and a column of American Marines, four abreast, was marching up the street that led away from the detrucking point.

Then followed a hike of four kilometers (two and a half miles) along the Paris-Metz road. After journeying on hobnailed soles this distance, the order was given to fix bayonets.

Phil and Tim were good enough soldiers by this time to accept everything as it came and not to look for too much that was not in evidence. They had had try-out experience at Verdun and, along with other rapidly seasoning warriors of their regiment, had given a good account of themselves. And yet, in spite of all this curiosity-crushing experience, they could not help looking just a little expectantly for a camouflaged line of “bloomin’ boches” upon whom to use their one-tined pitchforks when the order was given to “fix bayonets.”