"Stand ready, boys. We attack at dawn!"

The word passed in a whisper down the long line of the trench, where the
American army boys crouched like so many khaki-clad ghosts, awaiting the
command to go "over the top."

"That will be in about fifteen minutes from now, I figure," murmured
Frank Sheldon to his friend and comrade, Bart Raymond, as he glanced at
the hands of his radio watch and then put it up to his ear to make sure
that it had not stopped.

"It'll seem more like fifteen hours," muttered Tom Bradford, who was on
the other side of Sheldon.

"Tom's in a hurry to get at the Huns," chuckled Billy Waldon. "He wants
to show them where they get off."

"I saw him putting a razor edge on his bayonet last night," added Bart.
"Now he's anxious to see how it works."

"He'll have plenty of chances to find out," said Frank. "This is going
to be a hot scrap, or I miss my guess. I heard the captain tell the
lieutenant that the Germans had their heaviest force right in front of
our part of the line."

"So much the better," asserted Billy stoutly. "They can't come too thick
or too fast. They've been sneering at what the Yankees were going to do
in this war, and it's about time they got punctures in their tires."