Uncle Sam's Boys on Field Duty

H. Irving Hancock

Uncle Sam's Boys on Field Duty / or, Winning Corporal's Chevrons

CHAPTER I

A SQUAD-ROOM MISUNDERSTANDING

"I SEE by the paper – " began Private Green, looking up.

Instantly the doughboys in the squad room turned loose on him.

"You can never believe what you read in the papers," broke in Private Hyman.

"Cut it and study your guard manual!" yelled another.

"Is it going to rain to-night, rookie?"

"Let him alone. He wants to prove that he can read," jeered another, which witticism brought a swift flush to the face of Private Green.

For Green was as verdant as his name. He was a new recruit, just in after his probationary period at a northwestern recruit rendezvous. He was so green, in fact, that the men in the squad room, and throughout B Company of the Thirty-fourth United States Infantry accused the young fellow of having joined the Army so that he could get a wall of bayonets between his own inexperienced self and the bunco men.

The young recruit's mistake lay in pretending to know a lot more than he really did know. He had been put through the unmerciful hazing that always awaits a very "fresh" rookie, or recruit, but even that had taught him little. Private Green was always looking for the chance to prove to his new comrades among the regulars of the Thirty-fourth that he knew something after all. This afternoon his trouble had taken the form of trying to find something in a two-days' old newspaper on which he could discourse for the enlightenment of the other men.

"I see by the paper," continued Private William Green, as soon as his tormentors would let him proceed, "that we of the United States are now manufacturing the biggest and finest guns in the world."

"Meaning cannon?" quizzed Private Hyman innocently.

"Sure," nodded Private William Green.

"Take that over to the red sheds," jeered one soldier.

"What do we of the infantry care about the red legs and their troubles?" demanded Hyman, as though affronted.

For the "doughboys," or infantrymen, of the regular Army, affect supreme scorn for all other arms of the service. In especial do they profess contempt for the artillerymen, or red legs, this latter epithet being derived from the fact that red is the artillery color, and that the officers and non-commissioned officers of the artillery wear red side stripes on their trousers.

"But think what it means to this country," insisted Private William Green,"when we manufacture the biggest guns in the world."

"And we have also the loudest-mouthed and noisiest members in the peace societies," remarked Private Hal Overton, laughingly.

"What have peace-spouters got to do with big guns?" demanded Private William Green rather stiffly.

"Why, you see," explained Hal,"the peace advocates look for the millennium."

"The mill – what kind of mill?" inquired Green, with unlooked-for interest, for Private Willie had been employed in a grist mill before enlisting.

"The mil-len-nium," explained Private Overton patiently, though with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Never heard of that mill," replied Private Green rather disdainfully. "What's it for?"

"Why, you see, Greenie – pardon me, I mean Willie," continued Hal Overton, while the other soldiers in the squad room, scenting fun, remained silent, "it's like this: The millennium is the age that may come some time. The peace-spouters tell us that the millennium is coming in two weeks from autumn. That millennium is the age when all war will be abolished and soldiers will have to go to work."

"What's all that got to do with what I was talking about?" demanded Private Green, bewildered and half offended.

"Wait, and Overton will tell you," warned Hal's chum, Noll Terry, who stood by looking decidedly trim and handsome in his spotless khaki uniform.

"Of course you know all about Armageddon?" resumed Hal.

"Never heard of him," retorted Green suspiciously, for he saw the amused looks in the faces of some of the soldiers standing about. "Say – hold on! Is Army-gid-ap – "

"Armageddon," corrected Hal quietly.

"Is that the name of the new breakfast food that the rainmaker (Army surgeon) was trying to have sprung on the bill of fare of our company mess?"

"Oh, no," Hal assured him. "Nothing as bad as that. You see, Greenie – Willie, I mean – while the peace-howlers lay all of their bets on the millennium being just over the fence, there's another crowd of high-brow thinkers who look forward to the great battle when all the armies of the world will be present. That battle is going to be the one grand fight of all history, and the armies of one half of the world are going to get a sure thrashing from the armies of the other half. Any way you look at it, it's surely going to be a big scrap, Willie, and after that maybe all soldiers will be too tired to fight any more. Now, for that great battle the high-brows have invented the name of Armageddon. Don't forget the name, Willie – Armageddon. It's going to be the biggest fight the world ever saw – the only real fight in history, as we'll look back at it afterwards."

"But what has all this got to do with what I was reading from the paper?" insisted Private Green.

"Why, don't you see, if we're making the biggest and finest guns, and Armageddon comes on, it'll be just like robbing a baker's wagon for us to win Armageddon. On the other hand, if millennium runs in first, and we don't need the guns, then we win, too. We've got the biggest guns for Armageddon, and the noisiest peace-howlers for the millennium. Armageddon or millennium, it's just as good a bet either way, for the United States is bound to win, going or coming."

Private William Green didn't see more than a tenth part of the point, but the laugh that followed got on his nerves.

"You fellows are nothing but a lot of horse-play idiots," he growled, rising and stalking away.

As he made his way through the little fringe of soldiers something happened to Private William Green, but Hal Overton was the only disinterested person who happened to see it.

William had joined the Army after toiling and saving for some four years. Green had saved his money, and hoped to save a lot more. He was known to have about four hundred dollars in cash, which he had so far declined to deposit with the Army pay-master. Where he kept this money was not known, beyond the fact that he sometimes carried it on his person.

Just as William was passing through the group of soldiers a hand ran expertly up under the loose hem of Private Green's blouse. A wallet left Green's right-hand hip pocket, coming away with the intruding hand. Then Private Dowley slipped the wallet into his own trousers' pocket.

Hal saw and acted with his usual quickness.

"Don't do that, Dowley," Hal advised, moving forward and resting a hand on Private Dowley's shoulder.

"Don't do what?" demanded Dowley, turning scowling eyes on Hal.

"Give him back his wallet, Dowley. That's carrying a joke too far."

"I haven't – " was as far as Private Dowley got when Private William Green, who was twenty-two years old, tall, raw-boned, freckled and sandy haired, heard the word and clapped a hand to his own hip pocket.

"I've been touched – robbed – right in the heart of United States forces!" yelled Private Green, turning and staggering back.

"Give it back to him, Dowley," urged Hal.

"What do you mean? To say that I – " sputtered Dowley, clenching his fists as though he meant to hurl himself at Hal Overton.

But Private William himself settled the problem by hurling himself weakly at Dowley and running his hands over his comrade's clothing.

"There it is," yelled William. "My wallet – right in Dowley's trousers' pocket."

"Of course," nodded Private Hal. "Dowley did it as a joke, but it looks like carrying a joke too far."

Dowley, seeing that further denial was useless, broke into a guffaw. Then he thrust a hand into his pocket, producing the wallet. William Green pounced upon it with an exclamation of joy.

"I wanted to string Greenie," explained Dowley hoarsely, "but Overton had to go to work and spoil it all."

"The joke was in bad taste," observed Private Hyman quietly. "We don't want any work of that sort here, even for fun."

"What I marvel at," remarked Hal innocently, "is how you did the thing in such a smooth, light-fingered way, Dowley."

"Light fingered? You hound!" raged Dowley, his eyes blazing. "Do you mean that I did the trick with the skill of a crook?"

He placed himself squarely before the young soldier, crowding him back and glaring into Overton's eyes.

The other soldiers in the room found suddenly a new interest in the scene. Young Overton wasn't quarrelsome; he was the soul of good nature, in fact, but he knew how to fight when he had to do it.

"Stop walking on my feet," counseled Hal, giving Dowley a slight push that sent him backward a step.

"What did you mean?" insisted Dowley, who was working himself into a greater rage with every second.

"It's time to ask what you mean," retorted Hal.

"You called me a light-fingered crook, because I played a joke on Greenie," roared Dowley. "And I'm going to make you eat talk like that."

"You're putting a wrong construction on my words," returned Hal quietly.

"You called me a light-fingered crook, didn't you?" demanded Dowley hotly.

"I spoke of your performance as a light-fingered trick."

"That's the same thing," raged the older man.

"Is it?"

"Don't play baby, and don't crawfish," sneered Dowley, scowling. "You know what you meant."

"And you seem to think you know, too."

"We must break this up," whispered Private Hyman to Noll Terry, Hal Overton's soldier chum. "I don't want to see him get hurt."

"What do you care about Dowley?" asked Noll, shrugging his shoulders.

"Dowley be hanged!" retorted Hyman. "It's your kid friend I'm thinking about."

"Oh, he won't get hurt," retorted Noll with cheery assurance.

"Your friend is pretty handy with his fists, I know, but Dowley is a big fellow, an older man, with more fighting judgment; and I miss my guess if Dowley hasn't had a big lot of practice in rough-and-tumble in all the bad spots of life."

"Will you take back and apologize for what you said?" insisted Dowley.

"If I said anything I shouldn't have said," replied Hal quietly.

"You're a liar, a cur and – "

"Stop that!" objected Hal Overton, yet without raising his voice.

"Apologize, then! Do it handsomely, too."

"You've said too much to be entitled to any apology now," Hal assured the scowling soldier.

"Apologize, or I'll – "

"Going to start now?" Hal queried smilingly.

"Yes, you – "

Dowley made a rush, with both fists clenched. Hal nimbly sidestepped, putting up his own guard at the same time.

"Attention!" shouted a soldier.

Instantly both prospective combatants dropped their hands. The door of the squad-room had opened, and now there entered a young officer, handsome and resplendent in his new fatigue uniform. Unlike the khaki-clad enlisted men, this officer was attired in the blue uniform. Down the outer side of either leg of his trousers ran the broad white stripe of the commissioned officer of infantry. On his shoulders lay the plain shoulder strap, without bars or other device, proclaiming the young man to be a second lieutenant. He was a handsome young fellow of twenty-two, erect, fine of bearing and every inch of him an intense soldier.

"Where is Sergeant Hupner?" asked Lieutenant Prescott. His glance, as he made the inquiry, appeared to be directed to Private Hal Overton.

"I don't know, sir," Hal answered respectfully.

"And neither of the corporals berthed in this squad room are present, either?"

"No, sir."

No displeasure was apparent in the young lieutenant's tone. There was no reason why the corporals, as well as the sergeant, should not be absent at this moment, if they chose. The officer's query was made only for the purpose of securing information.

"You are Private Overton?"

"Yes, sir."

"When Sergeant Hupner returns be good enough to say to him that I wish to see him at my quarters. Any time before the call for parade will do."

"Very good, sir."

"If Private Overton is not here when Sergeant Hupner returns, any other man may deliver my message," continued Lieutenant Prescott. "That is all. Good afternoon, men."

The young lieutenant turned and strode from the squad room.

"Somehow," mused Private Hyman, "it takes West Point to turn out a real soldier, doesn't it? No matter how good a man is, or how long he spends in learning the soldier trade, he's never quite the same unless he has the West Point brand on him."

"That's nothing to do with my affair," growled Private Dowley. "Now, Kid Overton, I'll attend to your case."

"Oh, cut it, Dowley," grumbled Private Hyman. "Get out and keep out, or we'll find a blanket and give you a little excitement. Eh, boys?"

"I'm going to polish off this kid for his insults to me," insisted Dowley sulkily.

"Bring the blanket, boys," muttered Hyman wearily.

From several of the men came a gleeful whoop as they started in various directions. It looked like business of a different sort now, and Dowley was not too blind to see it.

"Oh, all right, if you're all going to butt in to save this kid doughbaby from his just deserts. But he'll get his later on," snarled Private Dowley.

"I'm all ready now. There's no time like the present," smiled Hal.

But two of the soldiers were coming back with blankets. There's not an atom of fun – for the victim – in being tossed in a blanket, so Dowley started for the door.

It banged behind him. Two minutes later it banged again, this time closing on big Private Bill Hooper.

"Birds of a feather – you all know the rest," chuckled Private Hyman, winking at some of his comrades in B Company. A general laugh answered.

"Why didn't you let Dowley have his fun?" asked Private Hal Overton good-humoredly.

"Because, Hal," replied Hyman, "Dowley is a big, ugly, dangerous man. You're spunky; you're all grit, and I don't know any kid who can handle himself as well as you do. But Dowley is in another class."

"You'll do well, after this, Hal," murmured Noll Terry, when the chums were by themselves at one end of the room, "to keep your eyes open. I shall do the same."

"Why?" Overton wanted to know.

"Well, you've made an enemy of Dowley."

"Perhaps."

"Don't treat it as lightly as that," warned Noll Terry with great earnestness. "Dowley isn't a man to forget even a fancied injury. You noticed that Bill Hooper went out soon after Dowley, didn't you?"

"Yes; but what of it?"

"Hooper hates you; he has hated you for a long time, and Dowley has just learned to hate you. Now, you may be sure those two birds of a feather will flock together."

"Let 'em," laughed Hal indifferently.

"For what purpose will they flock together?" persisted Noll. "They now have a common interest in making life miserable for you."

"Just for my one remark to Dowley?" smiled Hal.

"I tell you Dowley is the kind of man who takes offense easily, and then can't make himself forget. Look there, quick!"

Noll, who had been half facing one of the end windows of the squad room, suddenly nudged Hal, then pointed.

"Do you see that pair over yonder, just going through under the trees?" queried Noll Terry dryly.

"Hooper and Dowley," nodded Hal.

"What do you suppose has brought that pair together so quickly after the scene here? They're drawn together by a common interest – in you."

"Let 'em talk about me, if they like," proposed Hal coolly.

"Do you imagine they're getting together just to talk about you?" demanded Private Terry half indignantly. "Wake up, Hal; keep your eyes open, and I'll do the same. They're two, but we are two, also. If you don't go to sleep, Hal, I think we can prove ourselves equal to anything that that pair may try to do. But you don't want to forget that they are certainly plotting to do something to get you into trouble. Whatever gets you into trouble also puts a bad mark on your record as a soldier and threatens to interfere with your promotion."

"If Hooper and Dowley get busy along those lines," muttered Hal, his eyes blazing, "they'll find that they have a sure fight on their hands."

"That's the way to talk, old fellow," approved Noll Terry, his eyes shining eagerly. "And don't think I'm foolish, either, in the warning that I'm giving you."

"Thank you, Noll; I guess it will be as well to be ordinarily alert, where that pair are concerned. It never does any fellow harm to have his eyes open at all times."

Readers of the previous volume in this series, "Uncle Sam's Boys in the Ranks," will need no introduction to Privates Hal Overton and Noll Terry, of the Thirty-fourth United States Infantry, stationed at Fort Clowdry, in the lower Rockies of Colorado.

Hal and Noll were bright, typical American boys when, at the age of eighteen, back in their New Jersey home town, they decided that their careers in life were to be found through enlisting in the Army.

It was in April that they enlisted, after which they were sent to a recruit rendezvous near New York City. At the recruit rendezvous the two young "rookies," as recruits are commonly termed in the service, were whipped very thoroughly into shape.

While at the recruit rendezvous the two rookies distinguished themselves by preventing the desertion of a corporal who was in arrest. For this service they were commended in orders.

On the way to their regiment in Colorado the boys were present when an attempt was made to hold up the United States mail train. An Army officer, Major Davis, of the Seventeenth Cavalry, ordered them to assist him in resisting an attack on the mail car. In the encounter that followed some of the train robbers were shot, others then surrendering to Major Davis. That same night Major Davis wired the colonel of the Thirty-fourth, speaking of the young recruits in high terms for their prompt obedience and their grit under trying circumstances. So Overton and Terry, on joining their regiment the next morning, found themselves in high favor.

Of course the young soldiers had to endure the usual amount of "hazing" when they took up their new life in the squad room. But this they did with a combination of grit and good humor that soon won them the respect of the older soldiers.

Then came a period of great excitement on the post. Despite the fact that an entire battalion of the Thirty-fourth was stationed at Fort Clowdry, a gang of burglars visited the quarters of married officers on dark nights, and invariably succeeded in getting away with substantial booty.

It was young Private Overton who, when on sentry duty up in officers' row, was first to detect the burglars as they were leaving a house that they had robbed. Before the guard arrived Private Hal Overton had a spirited battle with the decamping thieves. One of them turned out to be Tip Branders, a young bully who had once lived in the home town of Hal and Noll. Branders had robbed his own mother and had drifted west, falling in with bad company. Hal and Noll then remembered a rock-strewn, distant part of the post where they had once met Tip, and there they led a squad of soldiers, under an officer. Here, after another brief but spirited battle, the escaped burglars had been caught; and here also all the booty stolen from the quarters along officers' row was recovered.

Both young soldiers had now received great credit for their daring and clever work. Moreover, both had gone on rapidly in the thorough learning of their new work as soldiers of the regular Army.

And now the month of August had come around. Both young soldiers were now on the high road to efficiency and success in their strenuous new life.

Readers of the "High School Boys' Series" and the "West Point Series" will be quick to recognize another young man who has been briefly introduced in the opening of this present volume – Lieutenant Dick Prescott, a graduate of the United States Military Academy at West Point, and just recently appointed to his regiment, the Thirty-fourth. With Lieutenant Prescott was Lieutenant Greg Holmes, who will be remembered as Prescott's close chum in the High School and West Point days.

Prescott we now find as second lieutenant of B Company; Holmes was now second lieutenant of C Company of the same battalion of the Thirty-fourth.

Both were splendid young officers, and manly to the core. In the few days that Lieutenants Prescott and Holmes had been at Fort Clowdry they had made a fine impression on the enlisted men. Soldiers are quick to judge and estimate the worth of their officers.

Sergeant Hupner soon entered the squad room. The first sergeant being absent for a couple of days, Hupner was acting first sergeant. To him Hal gave Lieutenant Prescott's message.

"I'll go up to the lieutenant's quarters at once," nodded Hupner. "He's a fine young officer, isn't he?"

"Yes," agreed Private Overton. "But I haven't yet met any but mighty fine officers in the service, so the lieutenant isn't any cause of surprise to me."

Hupner was back within twenty minutes.

"Attention," he called. "Men, in the absence of the captain and first lieutenant until Wednesday, Lieutenant Prescott is company commander. He has just notified me, as acting first sergeant, to inform the men that B and C Companies march from the post on Friday for a two weeks' period of training in field duty. Every man will promptly see to it that all his field outfit is in proper order. Any man wishing further instruction or advice will apply to me at any time up to our departure."

Then Sergeant Hupner hurried forth to acquaint the men in the other squad rooms of B Company with the news.

"Field work? Hurrah!" shouted Private Terry, always eager to experience new phases of the soldier's life.

"You've never been off on field work, have you?" asked Hyman dryly.

"No; that's why I'm so pleased about it," Noll answered.

"And that's the only reason," added Hyman. "Take it from me that it's a period of hard work, tedious marching, blistered feet, aching muscles and all but crumbling bones. It's nothing but a big, torturesome hike through the mountains."

"I'll enjoy it," insisted Private Terry.

"Wait," advised Hyman.

Soon after the buglers of the post were sounding first call to afternoon parade. It was not until the men were falling in ranks that Bill Hooper and the morose Dowley heard about the coming tour of field duty.

"That will be our chance," muttered Hooper to Dowley, after the men had been dismissed at the conclusion of parade. The two were again by themselves, their scheming heads together.

"I don't believe the chance will be as good off in the field as it will be here at barracks," grunted Dowley.

"That's because you haven't been in the Army long enough to know," retorted big Bill Hooper.

"Blast the Army!" snarled Dowley.

"However did you come to enlist, anyway?" asked Hooper curiously.

"I had reasons of my own," replied Dowley shortly.

"Did the sheriff have anything to do with those reasons?" grinned Hooper darkly.

"Don't get too curious!" warned the other.

"Oh, I'm not nosey," laughed Hooper. "And we can't afford to quarrel. We're both pledged to getting Overton kicked out of the service."

"Are you sure that he and Terry really expect to work their way up to becoming commissioned officers?"

"I have it on the best of authority," declared Private Hooper.

"Whose?"

"Their own."

"Did they tell you so?"

"Not they! Those kids are too close-mouthed for that. At least, they didn't tell me direct, and I don't believe they've told any other enlisted men on the post. But I heard them talking it over, one day when they didn't know I was around. They expect to be made corporals before their first year is out. In three years they hope to be sergeants, and then they scheme to take the enlisted men's examination for commissions as second lieutenants."

"Lieutenants? Shave-tails?" guffawed Dowley. "Hooper, they'll never even be corporals. It's a bob-tail discharge for theirs!"

Second lieutenants, when their commissions are very new, are often referred to as "shave-tails." A "bob-tail" is a dishonorable discharge, after court-martial. To a real soldier a "bob-tail" means unspeakable disgrace.