The Boy Allies

As you have probably noticed, World War I is rapidly overtaking the Civil War these days in the popularity sweepstakes among writers. It all began two years ago with Barbara Tuchman's Pulitzer Prize-winning "The Guns of August." Since that time the bookstalls have been featuring such new works on The Great War as Alistair Horne's "The Price of Glory," Brian Gardner's "The Big Push," Barrie Pitt's "1918: The Last Act," etc. In addition, Winston Churchill's "The World Crisis" has been reissued, and there is talk in the industry that Erich Maria Remarque's classic, "All Quiet on the Western Front," will also receive reprint treatment.

As one who has read some of the afore-mentioned works and has thumbed through the others, I am impressed by their over-all quality. But I am also somewhat depressed by their grim accent on blood, slaughter and futility.

Having floated serenely through that conflict with the aid of a raft of boys' books which were so popular in the Thirties ("The Boy Allies" series by Clair W. Hayes, among others), I look back vicariously on the struggle as something exciting and supremely glorious. To me it was in essence a war through which clean-cut young protagonists romped heroically, performing fantastic deeds at the expense of a well-meaning but inept foe. In short, to my generation World War I was basically a fun war.

So, as my contribution to a currently hot literary trend, I would like to reissue -- from memory -- my favorite World War I book.

"Well, well," said Field Marshal Foch, commander of all Allied forces on the Continent, "if it isn't Mal Kane and Lester Crawfish. I have heard so much about you two lads."

"It is indeed grand meeting you, sir," said Mal and Lester, as they stood there in the command tent somewhere on the western front.

"You two have certainly made names for yourselves thus far in this, the most titanic struggle that mankind has yet known," Marshal Foch went on. "Proficient with the sword, pistol and most other weapons; courageous and clean-living to a fault; superb military strategists; grammarians par excellence and masters of sixteen tongues, many of which have aided you immeasurably on your various spying missions; you have both already reached the rank of full colonel. And yet you are mere lads of fourteen."

"We shall be fifteen next month, sir," said Lester, somewhat nettled.

"Of course," said Marshal Foch. "I have just received and invitation to the party that General Pershing is throwing for you at Châteâu-Thierry. But do tell me a little bit about your backgrounds."

"There is nothing much to tell, sir," said Lester modestly. "Mal and I are two American chums who have won innumerable medals in U. S. schools for history, citizenship and grammar. We came to visit Europe with our parents back in 1914 and, finding museum-attending and such things to be rather dull, we decided that it might be fun to participate in a war."

"That's right, sir," Mal continued. "But not just any war. We had in mind a noble conflict. So we assassinated Archduke Francis Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, and ..."

"You assassinated the Archduke?" said Marshal Foch, not a little astonished. "All along I had thought ..."

"That a Serbian student had done it?" said Mal, chuckling.

"That's one on you, sir," laughed Lester. The field marshal joined in the general laughter in spite of himself.

"But seriously, sir," said Mal, "we have seen action with the Belgians at Liége, where we singlehandedly destroyed three German regiments. We then unearthed a conspiracy that threatened to wipe out the entire French army (continued on page 210) Boy Allies (continued from page 111) and won the undying gratitude of General Joffre. After that we won the Battle of the Marne, with the aid of the noble British. Whereupon we joined our dear friend Grand Duke Nicholas and his Cossacks, winning a stunning victory at--"

"Enough, enough," said Marshal Foch, smiling broadly. "Then I take it you have found the war to be highly satisfactory thus far?"

"We couldn't ask for a better conflict, sir," said Mal simply.

"It has exceeded our wildest dreams," added Lester.

"Good," said Marshal Foch. "Because I now have a vitally important mission for you. As you know, since Russia has withdrawn from the struggle, we are vulnerable in the East. At all cost we must prevent Germany from breaking its peace pact with Russia and overrunning that nation and then perhaps China and all of Asia as well. There is only one way to make up for our loss of the Russian army. I am assigning you two lads to protect the entire eastern front. Mal, you shall defend all the land from Pinsk north to the Baltic Sea. And you, Lester, shall defend all the land from Pinsk south to the Black Sea."

"All by ourselves, sir?" asked Mal.

"I am afraid so," was the reply. "I haven't a man to spare, and that is a true fact. And now off with you. Good luck and Godspeed."

Both lads saluted smartly and left the tent.

"Are you as upset as I am over what the field marshal has said?" Lester asked his chum.

"Indeed I am," replied Mal. "His grammar is slovenly. 'True fact' is an inexcusable redundancy."

• • •

"According to intelligence," said Mal, as the lads pored over maps outside a farmhouse near Pinsk, "we shall be up against eight crack German divisions under the command of General von Heinke, with whom we have come face to face on many occasions in the past."

"General von Heinke is a fine field general with a rather bizarre civilian background," Lester recalled. "A former café entertainer and mimic, he is also a master of fifteen tongues."

"One less than the number we have mastered," said Mal.

"Yes," said Lester, "he has still to learn Hindustani. At any rate, I am certain that we shall have our work cut out for us."

The two lads loaded their pistols, attached their swords to their sides, then mounted their steeds. "Let us go over our battle plans once more," said Lester. "You will protect the northern front and I shall protect the southern front. Each of us will face approximately four German divisions, with artillery and aircraft supporting them. You know, of course, what our strategy is?"

"Certainly," said Mal. "We attack."

Bidding each other good luck, the chums galloped off in opposite directions.

• • •

Forty-five miles north of Pinsk Mal found himself face to face with the enemy. "Ho there, you Boche!" shouted Mal. "Be prepared to receive hot lead and cold steel from one who has vowed to make the world safe for democracy!"

With that he charged headlong into the mass of Germans. "Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!" barked his pistol. And as many Huns fell.

Mal continued firing until his pistol was empty. Then he unsheathed his sword and ran through two dozen enemy soldiers. When the blade of his sword had snapped, he leaped off his horse and put on a dazzling display in the manly art of self-defense, punching a full 57 men into unconsciousness.

Stunned, the bulk of the enemy forces retreated to bury their dead.

"You may be members of a race whose philosophy is alien to that of ours," said Mal, disposing of 41 more Germans who had foolishly remained behind, "but your duty is nevertheless clear and you have fought hard and well."

• • •

Meanwhile in the south, Lester was also having quite a go of it, beset by several thousand Boche. "Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!" spoke the lad's pistol. And as many Huns fell.

Throwing his empty pistol into the faces of the enemy, Lester then engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the foe.

"The road to victory may be strewn with insurmountable obstacles at times," shouted Lester, running through a six-and-a-half-foot German trooper with his sword, "but I am loath to believe that the forces of right cannot ultimately triumph in the end."

"Himmel!" shouted a German. "You are nothing but a mere boy!"

"That is quite true!" said Lester, stabbing him clean through the heart, "but more than once I have accomplished man's work."

At last the Germans fell back, leaving several hundred dead and wounded on the field. But Lester had paid dearly for his victory. His right sleeve was severely torn, his helmet strap was shredded, and the heel on his right boot was missing three nails.

With the southern front quiet again, Lester galloped back toward Pinsk. On the outskirts of the city, in a forest some 50 yards from the road, a voice cried, "Lester!"

"Hark, who is that?" asked Lester, bringing his horse to a halt.

"It is I, your chum, Mal Kane," said the voice.

It is indeed Mal's voice, mused Lester.

"Lester," he said, "I am wounded unto death. But I have a message of incalculable importance. The enemy is preparing a trap for you at the extreme southern flank by the Black Sea. You must attack their center. Utilizing that course of action, you will catch them off guard and emerge victorious."

"Thank you for the message, old man," shouted Lester. "Now I shall come into the forest to assist you in this, your darkest hour."

"It is too late," was the reply. "I fear that I am done for."

Immediately Lester put his spurs to his mount. But instead of attacking in the center as Mal had ordered, he galloped south to the Black Sea. From there he made his way west for several miles and then went north again. Three days later he emerged on a plain and found, as he had planned, that he had sneaked behind the eight German divisions, all of which were at that moment locked in mortal combat with Mal.

Brandishing a pistol that he had picked up from a fallen foe, Lester shouted to the Germans, "All of you, throw down your arms! I have the drop on you! You are now surrounded by my chum, Mal, and me!"

The surprised Germans, turning around and seeing Lester covering them in the rear with his pistol, and realizing that they were indeed surrounded, surrendered to a man.

• • •

"But... but... how did you know?" asked General von Heinke.

Lester and Mal were interrogating him, as the eight captured German divisions were already en route for internment on the western front.

"How did I know that that wasn't Mal who was wounded in the forest?" asked Lester. "Very simple. At first I did indeed believe that it was he, for the voice was so like his. But you, General von Heinke, former café entertainer and mimic, you gave yourself away with your impersonation."

"But I had thought that my impression of your chum was flawless," said the general. "And I thought that I had indeed duped you and would lead you into a trap."

"You made one vital error," said the lad. "Pretending you were Mal, you made the statement 'I am done for.'"

"How dare you make a statement like that under my name!" shouted Mal, seizing the general by the throat. "Even if the expression were not a colloquialism, I would never end a sentence with a preposition. Not even if I were near death!"

"There, there, old man," said Lester, pulling his enraged chum away from the badly shaken German officer. "While you have every moral right to attack him, the international rules of warfare forbid the assaulting of a captured prisoner of war."

"You are right, of course," said Mal, walking away to temper his ire.

"Ach!" mused General von Heinke, massaging his throat, "no wonder we are having so much trouble disposing of these confounded Americans."

• • •

"Good work, lads," said Marshal Foch in his tent the following day. "You have saved the eastern front. And now I have both good and bad news for you. The good news first. You shall both be promoted to full generals during your fifteenth birthday party at Chateâu-Thierry next month. As for the bad news, well ... I hope you can take it."

"What is it, sir?" asked Mal. "Give it to us straight."

"Yes, sir," said Lester. "Do not spare us."

"Boys," said Marshal Foch, "I wish there were an easy way to say this, but ... but ... well, I'm afraid the war is over."

"What!" cried Lester stumbling backward and grasping a tent pole for support.

"Are you ... are you absolutely certain, sir?" asked the crestfallen Mal.

"Yes, it is true," said Marshal Foch, not daring to look the lads in the eye. "It is all over."

"Oh, how dreadful!" said Lester. "It has been such a grand conflict, and we have had so much fun. What is to become of us now?"

"It's back to junior high school for you shortly, I'm afraid," said Marshal Foch.

"But sir," said Mal. "There are so many things we have left unfinished. We have yet to fight with the Montenegrin army. We have yet to capture Kaiser Wilhelm. Isn't there any way at all of prolonging the struggle for a year or two? For our sakes?"

Field Marshal Foch shook his head gravely and went back to his papers, signifying that the interview was at an end.

And so, on this rather sad note we shall take leave of our two young friends for a while. But all is not as hopeless as it may seem. I am certain that my readers will want to read the next exciting book in this series, The Boy Allies at the League of Nations, or Sowing the Seeds of World War II.