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Investigating computer related crime 2nd ed Edition
Stephenson Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Stephenson, Peter; Gilbert, Keith
ISBN(s): 9781482218435, 1420003704
Edition: 2nd ed
File Details: PDF, 5.43 MB
Year: 2013
Language: english
Investigating
Computer-Related
Crime Second Edition

Peter Stephenson and Keith Gilbert

Investigating
Computer-Related
Crime Second Edition
Investigating
Computer-Related
Crime Second Edition
Peter Stephenson and Keith Gilbert

Boca Raton London New York

CRC Press is an imprint of the

Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
CRC Press
Taylor & Francis Group
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Boca Raton, FL 33487-2742

© 2013 by Taylor & Francis Group, LLC

CRC Press is an imprint of Taylor & Francis Group, an Informa business

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Version Date: 2012912

International Standard Book Number-13: 978-1-4200-0370-3 (eBook - PDF)

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 After writing a number of books, one is tempted to run out of
dedications. However, in this case, I don’t have that problem.
Rich O’Hanley, Carolyn Spence, and Kari Budyk at Taylor &
Francis Group have been patient with my horrible schedule
beyond what any author should expect, so this book must be
dedicated to them for their vision to see that the topic is important
and timely regardless of how long it took me to get everything
in place. Thank you all. This one’s for you. Also, my wife Debbie
has had patience with the foibles that seem to go along with my
authoring efforts. Thus, as ever, part of the dedication is yours.

Peter Stephenson

I’d like to dedicate this book to my family, my loving wife,

and all of the information security mentors who have helped
me get to where I am today. If it wasn’t for the support of all
of these people, it simply wouldn’t have been possible.

Keith Gilbert

© 2010 Taylor & Francis Group, LLC

Contents

Introduction xvii
About the Authors xxiii

Section I
THE NATURE OF CYBERCRIME

1 Cybercrime as We Enter the Twenty-First Century 3

Background and Some Definitions 3
What Is Digital Crime? 4
How Does Today’s Cybercrime Differ from the Hacker
Exploits of Yesterday? 6
Reality of Information Warfare in the Corporate Environment 9
Industrial Espionage: Hackers for Hire 11
Public Law Enforcement’s Role in Cybercrime Investigations 15
The Role of Private Cybercrime Investigators and Security
Consultants in Investigations 17
Discussion Questions 18
References 19

2 The Potential Impacts of Cybercrime 21

Data Thieves 21
How Data Thieves Avoid Detection during an Attack 24
Masking Logins 24
Masking Telnet 26
How Data Thieves “Clean Up” after an Attack 27
Techniques for Detecting File Reads and Uploads 28
Misinformation 29
Denial of Service 34
Data Floods and Mail Bombs 36
Attacks from Inside the Organization 38
Attacks That Require Access to the Computer 38
Discussion Questions 39
Reference 39

© 2010 Taylor & Francis Group, LLC vii

viii Contents

3 Malware Attacks 41
A Little Background to Get Us Started 41
Viruses, Trojan Horses, and Worms 42
Types of Viruses 43
File Infector 43
Resident Program Infector 44
Boot Sector Infector 44
Multipartite Virus 44
Dropper 44
Stealth Virus 45
Companion Virus 45
Polymorphic Virus 45
Mutation Engine 46
Detection Methods 46
Pattern Scanners 46
Integrity Checkers 47
Behavior Blockers 47
Trojan Horses 48
Worms 50
Logic Bombs 50
Modifying System Files 51
Spyware, Adware, and Scareware 51
Botnets 52
Responding to Rogue Code Attacks 52
Viruses 53
Trojan Horses and Logic Bombs 54
Protection of Extended Mission-Critical Computer Systems 55
Postattack Inspection for Rogue Code 57
Summary 57
Discussion Questions 58
Reference 58

4 Surgical Strikes and Shotgun Blasts 59

Denial of Service Attacks 59
Service Overloading 60
Message Flooding 60
Signal Grounding 61
Other Attacks 61
Attacking from the Outside 62
Attacking from the Inside 62

© 2010 Taylor & Francis Group, LLC

Contents ix

Dumping Core 63
Symptoms of a Surgical Strike 64
Panics 64
Other Surgical Attacks 65
Masquerading 65
User Masquerades 66
System Masquerades 67
Spoofing 68
E-Mail 68
Web Site 69
IP Spoofing 70
Case Study: The Case of the Cyber Surgeon 71
Symptoms of Shotgun Blasts 72
“Up Yours”: Mail Bombs 72
Flooding Attacks 74
Summary 74
Discussion Questions 75
References 75

Section II
INVESTIGATING CYBERCRIME

5 A Framework for Conducting an Investigation

of a Computer Security Incident 79
Managing Intrusions 80
Why We Need an Investigative Framework 82
What Should an Investigative Framework Provide? 84
One Approach to Investigating Intrusions 84
Drawbacks for the Corporate Investigator 86
A Generalized Investigative Framework for Corporate
Investigators 87
Eliminate the Obvious 87
Hypothesize the Attack 89
Reconstruct the Crime 90
Perform a Traceback to the Suspected Source Computer 91
Analyze the Source, Target, and Intermediate Computers 93
Collect Evidence, Including, Possibly, the Computers
Themselves 94
Turn Your Findings and Evidentiary Material over to
Corporate Investigators or Law Enforcement for Follow-Up 96
Summary 98

© 2010 Taylor & Francis Group, LLC

x Contents

Discussion Questions 98
References 99

6 Look for the Hidden Flaw 101

The Human Aspects of Computer Crime and the FBI
Adversarial Matrix 101
Crackers 103
Criminals 104
Vandals 105
Motive, Means, and Opportunity 106
Evidence and Proof 107
Look for the Logical Error 112
Vanity 115
Summary 116
Discussion Questions 117
Reference 117

7 Analyzing the Remnants of a Computer

Security Incident 119
What We Mean by a Computer Security Incident 120
We Never Get the Call Soon Enough 122
Media Forensic Analysis: Computer Crimes at the Host 123
Disk Structure: A Brief Tutorial 124
Slack Space 125
Unallocated Space 126
Windows Swap Files and Web Browser Caches 127
Processing Forensic Data 128
Part One: Collection 128
Collection Techniques 129
Analysis Tools and Techniques 133
Chaining 135
UNIX and Other Non-DOS Computers 135
Cyber Forensic Analysis: Computer Crimes Involving
Networks 136
Software Forensic Analysis: Who Wrote the Code? 138
The Limitations of System Logs 140
The Logs May Tell the Tale—But What If There Are No Logs? 141
Multiple Log Analysis 143
Summary 145
Discussion Questions 146
References 146

© 2010 Taylor & Francis Group, LLC

Contents xi

8 Launching the Investigation 147

Launching the Investigation 147
Analyzing the Incident 148
Analyzing the Evidence and Preparing Your Presentation 148
Securing the Virtual Crime Scene 150
Clear Everyone Away from the Computer under
Investigation 150
Examine for Communications Connections, Document
All Connections, and Unplug Communications from the
Computer 151
Assess the Need for Live Response and Conduct as
Necessary 152
Pull the Plug 153
Collecting and Preserving Evidence 154
Rules of Evidence 156
Interrogating Suspects and Interviewing Witnesses 170
Preparation and Strategy 172
The Interview 174
Establishing Credibility 175
Reducing Resistance 176
Obtaining the Admission 177
Developing the Admission 177
The Professional Close 178
Developing and Testing an Intrusion Hypothesis 179
Investigating Alternative Explanations 180
You May Never Catch the Culprit 181
Damage Control and Containment 182
Summary 183
Discussion Questions 183
References 183

9 Determining If a Crime Has Taken Place 185

Statistically, You Probably Don’t Have a Crime 185
Believe Your Indications 187
Using Tools to Verify That a Crime Has Occurred 189
UNIX Crash Dump Analysis 190
Identifying the UNIX Release and Hardware
Architecture 192
The Message Buffer 192
Other UNIX Utilities 193
Recovering Data from Damaged Disks 194

© 2010 Taylor & Francis Group, LLC

xii Contents

Recovering Passwords 196

Physical Password Recovery 197
Password Cracking 197
By Inference 198
Examining Logs: Special Tools Can Help 199
Investigating Noncrime Abuses of Corporate Policy 200
Clues from Witness Interviews 202
Maintaining Crime Scene Integrity until You Can Make
a Determination 204
Case Study: The Case of the CAD/CAM Cad 205
Case Study: The Case of the Client/Server Tickle 206
Summary 207
Discussion Questions 207
Reference 208

10 Cover-Ups Are Common 209

Case Study: The Case of the Innocent Intruder 209
The Importance of Well-Documented Evidence 212
Maintaining a Chain of Custody 213
Politically Incorrect: Understanding Why People Cover Up
for a Cyber Crook 215
Before the Investigation 215
During the Investigation 216
After the Investigation 217
When Cover-Ups Appear Legitimate 217
Summary 220
Discussion Questions 220
Reference 220

11 Involving the Authorities 221

When to Involve Law Enforcement 221
Who Has Jurisdiction? 223
What Happens When You Involve Law Enforcement
Agencies? 225
Making the Decision 228
Summary 231
Discussion Questions 231

12 When an Investigation Cannot Continue 233

When and Why Should You Stop an Investigation? 233
Legal Liability and Fiduciary Duty 234

© 2010 Taylor & Francis Group, LLC

Contents xiii

Political Issues 236

Before the Investigation Begins 236
During the Investigation 237
After the Investigation Is Completed 238
Civil versus Criminal Actions 239
Privacy Issues 240
Salvaging Some Benefit 240
Summary 241
Discussion Questions 241

Section III
PREPARING FOR CYBERCRIME

13 Building a Corporate Cyber “SWAT Team” 245

Why Do Organizations Need a Cyber SWAT Team? 245
What Does a Cyber SWAT Team Do? 246
Standard Practice Example 246
Who Belongs on a Cyber SWAT Team? 262
Stopping the Bleeding: IIRTs 263
Training Investigative Teams 264
Summary 265
Discussion Questions 265

14 Privacy and Computer Crime 267

The Importance of Formal Policies 267
Who Owns the E-Mail? 269
The Disk Belongs to the Organization, But What about the
Data? 270
The “Privacy Act(s)” 270
The Computer Fraud and Abuse Act 271
Electronic Communications Privacy Act 271
The Privacy Protection Act 272
State and Local Laws 273
Wiretap Laws 273
Fourth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution 273
Summary 274
Discussion Questions 274
Reference 274

© 2010 Taylor & Francis Group, LLC

Random documents with unrelated
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ability of the lads with blood in their eyes. The humane part of it comes
afterward.”
“And a little before at times also,” asserted the lieutenant. “There is
the morale to keep up—the general good fellowship and well-being. If
the boys know they’re going to be treated right if they get winged, then
they’re heartened up a whole lot; you know that.”
“I do,” Don eagerly admitted. “Don’t think I’m throwing any rocks at
the splendid efficiency of the Red Cross; if anyone knows about them I
ought to, from every angle of the service. But I have also seen the kind
of work that threw a scare into the Huns, and believe me that was not a
humane, not a nursing proposition, as you know.”
“Yes, I know that, too. And it may be funny, but I’ve had a sort of
homesick feeling to get back and see more of it, and the nearer I get
the more impatient I am.”
“Same here. But this boat is doing her darndest for a long run and
we can hardly improve the time even if you get out and walk.”
“From watching your speedometer register something over thirty
miles in less than sixty minutes I am convinced that only a motorcycle
or an airplane would help us better to get on.”
The ambulance did get on in a very satisfactory manner. Here and
there along the road and at all turns and forks splotches of white paint
on stones, posts, buildings, bridges or stakes and by which the
transport and freight camions were guided, made the way across the
three hundred miles quite plain. The lads paid no attention to the
French sign posts, here and there, which announced the distance in
kilometers to some larger town or city and then to Paris farther inland,
for the route avoided these places wherever possible and ran into no
narrow and congested streets or masses of people.
At the next stop, for a bite to eat in a small village, the middle-aged
nurse expressed some disappointment at not going into Paris.
“I have been there many times in former years when my dear
husband was living; we stopped there once for several months. But they
say now that the city is not like it used to be—I mean the people, of
course, in manners and gayety; the mourning for the dead and the fear
of invasion or bombardment——”
 “There is no longer fear of invasion,” Herbert declared. “That time
has gone past. The business in hand now is whipping the Huns clear
across the Rhine and into Berlin, if necessary, and we are going to do
that in short order!”
“It’s terrible. So much death and suffering,” said the young girl. “And
the Germans, too; who cares for them when wounded?”
“They have a Red Cross and very excellent ambulance and hospital
service,” Don explained. “We pick up a good many of their wounded and
treat them just as well as our own.”
“You have seen this yourself?” asked the gray-haired woman.
“My friend was in the thick of it, around Château-Thierry,” Herbert
announced eagerly. “He was wounded, invalided, but he is going back
for more work.”
The women all gazed at blushing Donald, who hastened to get even.
“He needn’t heap it on to me!” he exclaimed. “He’s going back, too,
after having been gassed and sent across the pond to get well. And,
you see, he got to be a lieutenant for bravery.”
“You both seem to be very young, too,” remarked the eldest nurse.
“Hardly through school yet; are you?”
“No, ma’am; we are both students, junior year, at Brighton Acad
——”
“Brighton? Well, I declare! Why, my brother is a teacher there;
Professor Carpenter.”
“Oh, hurrah! He’s a dandy! The fellows all like him immensely!” Don
shouted.
“It’s fine to meet his sister over here, Miss Carpenter,” Herbert said.
“It is indeed a pleasure to know you both,” said the lady, and
proceeded to formally introduce the other two nurses.
Then they were on the road once more and two hours later had
safely landed the women at a Red Cross headquarters on the way, a few
miles north of Paris. The boys parted from their gentle passengers with
real regret; then sped on again, headed for the Army General
Headquarters.
 CHAPTER III
Starting a Big Job

L
EUTENANT Herbert Whitcomb stood for a long half minute watching the
slowly disappearing Red Cross ambulance. The car merely crept on
down the long, straight road, as though the driver were loath to leave
his companion of the last twenty-four hours, as indeed he was, for
these old Brighton boys, meeting thus on a foreign shore and bent on
much the same business, had become closer friends than when at
school.
“I wish,” Herbert was thinking, “that Don would get into the army
service and could get assigned with me. He’d make a crackerjack of a
scrapper; the real thing. But I suppose they’ve got him tied to hospital
work.”
Then, after saluting the guard and saying a word or two to an
orderly who was waiting to receive or to reject visitors, mostly the latter,
the young lieutenant passed inside. Ten minutes later he emerged again
with a happy smile on his face and, accompanied by several other men
who had also returned to duty after the healing of minor wounds,
Herbert Whitcomb led the way to a waiting motor car and presently was
speeding away to the fighting front, all of his present companions being
assigned, with him, to the Twenty-eighth Division and to a company
that had suffered serious depletion because of many violent attacks
against the stubborn Hun resistance in the drive beyond Rheims and on
the Vesle River.
Herbert was far from being disappointed over the fact that he was
not to rejoin his old battalion. Both his major and his captain had been
invalided home and could never lead the boys again; several of his
comrades-in-arms, among them three old Brighton boys, had been
killed or pitiably wounded; there had been such a thinning out of their
ranks that nothing but a skeleton of them remained, which must indeed
be only depressing, saddening as a reminder. Moreover, this division had
now been put in reserve where the American sector joined that of the
British and was doing no fighting.
Much rather would the boy take up new duties with new comrades,
feeling again the complete novelty of the situation, the test of relative
merit, the esprit de corps of personal equation anew. But however glad
he was to get back again into the maelstrom of do and dare, a
satisfaction inspired both by sense of duty and the love of adventure, he
did not welcome the opportunity more than the boys of the —th
welcomed him. Before Captain Lowden and First Lieutenant Pondexter
received Herbert they had been made acquainted, from Headquarters,
with Whitcomb’s record and it meant good example and higher morale
for an officer, however young, to be thoroughly respected by the rank
and file.
And then, within a few hours back again into the full swing of
military precision and custom, the young lieutenant was ready for
anything that might or could come.
“The orders are to advance and take up a position on the up slope of
that brown field on the other side of this little valley and thus try out the
enemy; after which we may go on and attack him. So much from
Headquarters. In my opinion the Colonel will say to just go ahead
without bothering to try them out.” Thus spoke Captain Lowden at a
brief conference of his officers, immediately prior to the line-up after
early morning mess. And then he added, by way of sounding the human
nature of his under officers:
“What would you say about that, gentlemen?”
Herbert waited until the first lieutenant should express himself.
Pondexter was a grave and serious-minded fellow, oldish beyond his
years, rather slow of speech, studious, thoughtful, austere.
“We don’t know how strong the Germans may be there,” he said,
“and it would not be very wise, it seems to me, if an offensive were
made against greatly superior numbers intrenched, or within strong,
defensive positions. But if we first try them out then we can——”
The captain did not wait for the lieutenant to finish, but suddenly
turned to Herbert:
“I’d take a gamble on it and go over the hill,” the young officer
suggested. “We can be pretty sure, judging from the enemy’s general
distribution all along the line, that just at this point they do not greatly
outnumber us; there can hardly be double our number. We are good for
that many any day.”
Captain Lowden laughed joyfully and slapped his knee. He was a
young fellow from Plattsburg and Camp Meade, an ex-football star,
athletic in build, quick in his motions and decisions, stern, yet kindly
toward his men and greatly loved by them. He had already proved his
heroism near Vigneulles, during the St. Mihiel battle, when the German
salient was being flattened. He gazed at his new second lieutenant in a
manner that quite embarrassed that youthful officer; then the captain
said:
“You’ll do! Your predecessor is in a hospital in Paris; I hope you don’t
have to go there, but can stay with us. And I am blamed glad they
pushed you right on through the replacement divisions and landed you
here.”
“Oh, thank you! I—I—don’t——” But the captain paid no attention to
Herbert’s stammering reply, and continued:
“And I hope the general tells the colonel to send us right on over the
hill.”
Perhaps that is what the brigade commander did, or perhaps the
colonel decided the matter on his own initiative; it would require a good
deal of cross-questioning and then much guessing, probably, to
determine these matters. Anyway, the battalion of four companies, each
originally of two hundred and fifty men, but now considerably reduced,
some of them to only half their number in spite of replacements from
the reserve divisions in the rear, now advanced almost as though on
parade, except that they were strung out, wide apart, making no
attempt to keep in step.
And no sooner were they under way than the watchful enemy made
the Yanks aware that their intentions were understood, for almost
instantly the desultory firing of heavy shells and shrapnel aimed at our
boys was increased tenfold. Added to this was the continuous roar of
the latter’s own barrage, the combined American and French artillery
sending over far more than shell for shell in the effort to cripple and
stop the German field pieces and to chase the enemy to cover.
Of the four companies that composed the battalion advancing across
this short open space with their objective the top of the slope between
two wooded points, Captain Lowden’s company, composed mainly of
very young men, proved to be the most rapid walkers. It appeared also
that Whitcomb’s platoon, taking example from Herbert, speeded up until
it was considerably in advance of those on either of its flanks. The
advantage of this haste seemed evident: the abruptly rising ground and
the fringe of trees at the top offered a natural shelter against the enemy
fire. Thus only one larger shell landed and burst near enough to the
platoon to do any harm, but that was a plenty. It tore a hole in the
ground about a hundred feet behind Herbert and the flying pieces killed
two privates, wounded two others, the concussion throwing several
violently to the ground, the lieutenant among them.
Herbert regained his feet instantly, looking to see the damage and
calling for a runner to hurry back for an ambulance. The lad dashed
away and a man, heavy-set, with the sleeve marks of a sergeant,
marching some distance in the rear, offered the remark, with what
seemed a half sneer:
“Red Cross car just down the hill, coming up.”
“Don’t see it. Sure of that?” There was something in the fellow’s
manner that nettled the young lieutenant and he spoke sharply, quickly;
he must get back to his men. Then he added:
“Who are you?”
“Liaison officer. With the Thirty-fifth Division and this one.”
“Where are your men?” Herbert turned to go.
“Scattered around, of course, and on duty.” The man spoke with an
attempt to appear civil, but it was clearly camouflage; his habitual
contemptuous expression and lowering glance indicated all too plainly
that he possessed some animosity toward the lieutenant. Herbert,
noting this, wondered. He had never seen the fellow before; evidently
the dislike was sudden, mutual. Whitcomb ran on up the hill and
rejoined his men, never once looking back, and the incident was at once
almost forgotten.
 CHAPTER IV
“Into the Jaws of Death”

O
N the platoons went, gaining the top of the low hill that crowned
the valley slope and then—suddenly the terrors of real war
descended with one swift stroke and bit and tore and gnashed
with even more than their usual fury.
Captain Lowden had been walking with a French guide up the slope
and not far from where Herbert preceded his men. A moment before
the former had gained the top and come within sight of the enemy’s
front-line defenses, hardly a second before the outburst of machine-gun
fire from the entrenched foe, the captain had turned to his second
lieutenant.
“He says,” meaning the guide, “that right over the hill is the edge of
the famous Argonne Forest. It is a wild place; the Huns have chosen to
make a stand in it and they have boasted that nothing will be able to
dislodge them. But we shall see, my boy; we shall see!”
How false was this boast of the Germans has been well and
repeatedly set forth in the history of the Great War. Among America’s
most glorious deeds on the fields of battle; among the most heroic
annals of all warfare the bitter fight for the possession of the Argonne
Forest may be ranked with the highest. Perhaps nowhere on earth has
the grit and bravery of men at war been so sorely put to the test as in
this struggle of exposed attacking troops against thoroughly trained and
efficient soldiers with the skill of expert snipers behind well masked
machine guns.
 The French, long practiced in the art of war, asserted that this wide
tract which had been held by the Germans since 1914 had been made
defensively impregnable. According to all previously held standards it
was a place to avoid, but the Yanks took a different view of it; the Huns
must be dislodged and the former were the lads who could, in their
expressive slang, “make a stab at it,” and this in the early morning of
the 26th of September, 1918, they were beginning to do.
Every soldier engaged in this stupendous undertaking had his work
cut out for him and everyone knew this for a man’s size job. Therefore,
each Yank went at the task as it deserved, do or die being virtually
every fighter’s motto. Throughout the long, bent line made up of the
four combat divisions of infantry and their machine-gun battalion that
now advanced toward the densely wooded hills, backed by brigades of
artillery, there was one simultaneous forward movement with the two
other army corps stretching eastward between the Aire and the Meuse
Rivers. And there was one common purpose: to rout the Huns, destroy
them or drive them back the way they had come. Never before in the
history of wars had there been a clearer understanding among all ranks
as to what was expected of the army at large and just what this forward
movement was meant to accomplish.
For the glory of America, for the honor of the corps, the division, the
regiment, the battalion, the company, the platoon; for the sake of
justice and humanity and for the joy of smashing a foe that had not
played fair according to the accepted rules of warfare, the determination
that led this force ahead could not have been excelled. And therein
individual bravery and heroism enacted a very large and notable part in
the victory over foes numerically almost as strong and having the great
advantage of position.
As the line swept up the hill, Lieutenant Whitcomb noted the various
expressions on the faces of those about him. Many of the boys were
very serious and quiet, some positively grim because fully aware of
what they must shortly encounter and were for the moment only
shielded from by the terrain. Others seemed unchanged from their
habitual cheerfulness, even bantering their fellows, and a little bunch of
evident cronies started up a rollicking song, but in subdued voices.
Herbert heard one man near him call to another:
 “A Frog who talked United States told me that the Heinies are a bad
bunch up here!”
“These here Frogs know mostly what’s what!” was the reply. Herbert
knew that “Frog” meant Frenchman; it was the common term used
among the Americans, inspired, no doubt, by the idea that batrachians
are a favorite dish with the French, though they cannot be blamed for
their choice.
“A sky-shooter gave me the dope that the Jerries are just inside the
woods,” another man said. “Reckon we’re goin’ to get it right sudden
when we top the rise.”
“There’s goin’ to be some Limburgers short if I kin see ’em first!”
said another, laughing.
One prediction proved true, in part at least; the line topped the rise
—and got it. The barrage and preliminary artillery fire had done little in
this case; bullets, or even high-powered shells could not penetrate far
nor do much damage within the dense forest. But it was very different
with the enemy among the trees and rocks; they could see out from
these natural shelters well enough to choose clear spaces for shooting.
And shoot they did. As the Americans went over the first little hilltop
across the nearly level ground towards the woods beyond, the streaks
of flame in the misty atmosphere and the rat-tat-tat-tr-r-r of machine
guns became incessant. The enemy also was on to his job, had his work
well planned and it was now being well executed.
Did an order to charge on the double-quick come along the
American line? Or was it rather a common understanding born of the
impulse to get at an enemy that was capable of doing so much damage
unless quickly overcome? At any rate, the men broke into a run, with no
attempt at drill about it; every one for himself and yet with the common
notion to work with his fellows, to support and be supported by them.
Herbert’s men, being still a little in advance, seemed to draw more of
the enemy’s fire than they otherwise might have done. At one moment
there was the full complement of men, a little separated from their
company comrades, charging toward the enemy positions; in the next
sixty seconds there was not two-thirds of this number dashing on, and
in another minute, by which time they had gained the wood, less than
half of their original number were in action.
 It will be remembered that Lieutenant Herbert Whitcomb had been
in several charges when serving in the trenches; a half dozen times he
had “gone over the top.” In one desperate and successful effort to
regain lost ground and then to forge ahead over a hotly contested field
he had seen his men go down; in holding a shell hole gun pit, in
springing a mine, in finally victoriously sweeping back the Germans
when they were driven from Montdidier where he had been gassed, he
had witnessed many bloody encounters, missed many a brave comrade.
But here was a new and more terrible experience. The Americans had
forced the fighting into the open, and yet again and again they were
compelled to meet the foe within well prepared and hidden defenses;
therefore, the offensive Yanks must suffer terribly before the Huns could
be dislodged.
The boys in khaki knew only that before them, somewhere from
among the trees, the enemy was pouring a deadly machine-gun and
rifle fire, sweeping the open ground with a hail of bullets in which it
seemed impossible for even a blade of grass or a grasshopper to exist.
The miracle was that some of the boys got through untouched, or were
but slightly hurt. Those who had nicked rifle stocks, cut clothing, hats
knocked off, accouterments punctured and even skin scratches were
perhaps more common than those entirely unscathed.
Yet through they did go; and in the midst of the sheltering trees at
last, where now the Yanks, too, were in a measure protected and where
almost immediately a form of Indian fighting began, the Americans still
advancing and stalking the enemy from ambush, in like manner to the
German defense.
The Yanks took no time to consider the toll of their number out there
in the open and to the very edge of the forest, where men lay dead and
wounded by the score, the ground half covered, except that the desire
was to avenge them, to destroy the cause of the loss among their
comrades. And this was a very palpable desire, serving to increase the
fury of the offensive.
More than ever among the trees it was every man for himself; yet
every man knew that his surviving comrades were fighting with him,
and while this sort of thing strengthens the morale it was hardly needed
here, for each man depended also on his own prowess, and there were
many who, had they known that every one of their companions had
been shot down, would alone have gone right ahead with the task of
cleaning up the Argonne Forest of Huns. Numerous cases of this
individuality were shown and will be forever recorded in history to the
glory of the American fighting spirit, being all the more notable on
account of the German boast that the Americans would not and could
not fight, and they could expect nothing else than overwhelming defeat
if they should attempt to combat the trained soldiers of the Central
Empire.
In the advance across the open the singing and striking of small arm
bullets accompanied by the roar of many running feet was the principal
impression which Lieutenant Whitcomb received; the purpose of
charging the enemy and overcoming him was so fixed in Herbert’s mind
as to be altogether instinctive. Several times he glanced aside to see a
comrade tumble forward or, going limp, pitch to the ground with his
face ever toward the enemy. Several times the lieutenant but just
observed the beginning of struggles in agony or the desire to rise and
go on again. Once, after a particularly savage burst of fire concentrated
from the forest upon his men, when several fellows in a bunch went
down and out of the fight and the line for a moment wavered a little,
the boy officer called out sharply:
“Steady, fellows, steady! Keep right on! We’re going to get those
chaps in there in a minute and make them sorry we came!”
Then a moment later, when they were among the trees, he turned
again to call to his platoon, within hearing at least of the nearest,
though he could not have told how many of his men were with him,
how many had survived the terrible ordeal of the charge in the open:
“Now, men, go for ’em in our own way! Trees and rocks—you know
how to make use of them! Give them a taste of their own medicine,
only make it ten times worse! Forward!”
 CHAPTER V
Kill or Be Killed

T
REES and rocks. Lieutenant Whitcomb had always loved the
woods and the wild places, but now, with quite a different
reason, a sentiment based on a more concrete purpose, he could
almost have worshiped these dim aisles of the forest, these noble
maples, oaks and spruces and the rocky defiles that appeared on every
side. Here was a place where an aggressor might be on nearly even
terms with his enemy; at least there was less danger of being hit if one
might shield a larger portion of his body behind some natural object the
while he located his foe, or exposed himself only for a few seconds in
his rush to overcome him.
Anticipating what the fighting would be like and anxious to do all the
execution he could where mere directing could be of little avail, Herbert
had possessed himself of the rifle and ammunition no longer needed by
a grievously wounded comrade and behind the stout trunk of a low tree
had begun to pepper away at the greenish helmets of a number of men
who were sending their fire from a deep fissure in the rocks against the
line to the right. Skilled as the boy was with the rifle, and we remember
how he had been chosen in the training camp at home as the instructor
in marksmanship and afterward given duty as a sniper or sharpshooter
in the trenches, there was every chance of that machine gun nest of the
enemy suffering somewhat.
This was war and there could be no holding off in the manner of
winning; there could be no sentiment against any means of destroying
an enemy who was eager to destroy, no matter if it were against one
man or an army that the fire was directed. The boy felt few or no
scruples at the time, though he always hated to think of the occasion
and he rarely spoke of it subsequently. Warfare is not a pleasant matter;
there are few really happy moments even in victory. There may be
certain joys, but they can be only relative to the mind endowed with
human ideas and schooled to right thinking. Old Brighton labored to
teach its lads altruism, charity, gentleness and kindness and these
qualities cannot be lightly cast aside, even under stress of battle, which
must be regarded mostly as a matter of self-defense, even in offensive
action. If you don’t kill or wound the enemy, so called, he will kill or
wound you, and as long as the governmental powers have found it
necessary to declare that another people must be considered as an
enemy, there is nothing else to do. As against aggression, injustice,
injury made possible by constitutional declaration, wars are, beyond
argument, often most justifiable, even necessary. This idea must impel
every patriotic soldier to do his best in the duties assigned him, even
though he must rid the earth of his fellow men.
Herbert had a clear aim at about sixty yards distance through an
open space in the foliage; he could see no more than the shoulders of
any of the Germans. He emptied his rifle with three shots, slipped in
another clip, fired five of these cartridges, replaced the clip and turned
to see what else menaced. That gun nest was no longer in action; when
a corporal and the two men remaining in his squad reached the spot
there was one wounded man and one fellow untouched and eager to
surrender out of the seven; the others were dead. But there must have
been other Americans shooting at them; Herbert always liked to think
that, anyway. And now he frowned when one of the men who had
remained with him remarked:
“By the Kaiser’s whiskers, Lieutenant, that was great work! Nobody
in the army, not even General Pershing, could beat it! Say, if we had all
like you in this reg’lar fellers’ army, it would take only this platoon to
open the way to Berlin.”
Herbert ducked; so did his companion. Not fifty feet in front of them
three Huns came quickly though clumsily in their big shoes, over the
mossy rocks, dragging a machine gun. They meant to set it up behind a
fallen tree trunk and in the shelter of a spruce; from their position they
had not discerned the Americans near by.
 The young lieutenant, slowly and without stirring a twig, raised his
rifle. This indeed seemed like murder, but——. There was the crack of
several guns just to the left and the three Huns sank to the earth as one
man. It was this sort of work that made the German respect and fear
his American foe.
“Come on; more work ahead!” Herbert shouted and as he and his
men made their way through thickets, over rocks, roots and fallen trees
they found plenty to do. A little hillock, almost perpendicular, rose in
front of them; there was the rapid firing of a gun just over the top of it,
though the approach of the boys in khaki beneath wide-spreading
branches and behind dense bushes could not have been observed.
“Some risk, but if we go up and over quickly, then——” Herbert
began, starting to clamber up the rocks. It was slippery going, a difficult
task at best, and he found it necessary, to avoid being seen, to go down
on hands and knees. One foot slipped back and the other, too, was
slipping when he felt a hand beneath his shoe holding him. He had but
to stretch out and upward to bring his head over the rocks above, when
a Hun saw him. The fellow could not have possessed a loaded pistol, or
in his hurry he forgot it. With a guttural roar of discovery he seized a big
stone in both hands and raised it. But Herbert had climbed up with an
automatic only in his hand, leaving his rifle below. Now the weapon
barked its protest and the rock was not sent crushingly down upon him.
The young officer covered the other four men standing in a bunch by a
machine gun, their eyes, wide with surprise, glancing from Herbert to
their fallen comrade. Then their arms went up.
 Now the Weapon Barked Its Protest

“Kamerad! Kamerad!” they shouted and there followed a string of

words in their unmusical tongue. In a moment three Americans were at
the top of the rocks and Herbert said:
“Gaylord, you’ve had your hand hit, eh? Hurt much? Too bad, old
man, but that won’t put you out of the fight, will it? Thought not; knew
you’re the right stuff. Merritt, you hold these fellows until I tie up
Gaylord’s hand.”
 A rapid job of first aid was made to a by no means serious wound;
then there were further orders.
“Lucky it’s your left hand. Now then, leave your gun here; your
automatic will be sufficient to induce these chaps to go ahead of you to
the rear. Turn them over to the guard and get fixed up, old man. I’ll
bring your gun along if you don’t come back for it.”
“I’ll be back, Lieutenant and find it. Come along, you Dutchies! Start
’em, Merritt. Now then, march!”
“Come on, Merritt, we’ll catch up with the rest of our bunch,”
Herbert said, well satisfied with what had just taken place, but glancing
woefully at the inert German lying among the rocks. The lieutenant
climbed down to the bottom of the little hill, his soldier after him; they
reached the more level ground, parting the branches ahead before
proceeding. A flash and the crack of a gun almost in Herbert’s ear, the
poking of the muzzle of another weapon through a thick clump of
bushes all but in the young officer’s face. Quickly he stooped low with
bending knees and at the very same instant a mauser blazed forth its
fire, tearing away his hat. The boy fired his pistol directly in line with
and beneath the enemy’s weapon and the rifle fell among the bushes.
Herbert was about to rise when down on top of him came the weight of
a falling man. He caught Merritt in his arms, straightened up, then saw
that his khaki-clad comrade’s face was ghastly and that he was
unconscious. Something warm, sticky, dark spread over the lieutenant’s
hands and with a gasp the soldier lay still. Herbert had liked Merritt, a
boy only, no older than himself; thoughtful, studious, delightfully
versatile, a writer of beautiful verses, many of which had been
published, as had also some of his songs. Here was a youth of great
promise, but war, red war, was surely no respecter of persons.
“They’ve got to find him and get him out of here, and save him,”
Herbert said aloud, at the same time looking sharply about to see if any
more Hun muzzles were being poked through the leafy screen. The boy
tenderly placed his comrade on the ground, gazed apprehensively for a
moment at the white face, then turned to find someone to go seek
stretcher bearers, if such were yet near.
Herbert ran back toward the edge of the woods; a minute or two
would thus be consumed. A man in khaki was coming toward him; with
the parting of branches and the rounding of a young spruce the two
came face to face. The other, Herbert knew at once as the grouchy
liaison sergeant whom he had met half an hour ago out on the hill.
“What, not running away, are you?” There was something more than
a sneer accompanying this speech. Instantly Herbert lost his temper.
“Keep a civil tongue! I’ll make you eat those words in a minute! You
chase yourself back and bring the brancardiers here for one of my
men!”
“You can’t give me orders, Lieutenant. I get mine from men higher
up. I’m on my way now to you from the field staff. Stop your men and
withdraw; they’re the orders. Pretty much everyone has them but you,
and they are all halting the charge.”
“You can’t be correct. The orders were to go on till the bugle recall;
then to——”
“Changed then. What can you expect, anyway? You heard what I
said and if you know what’s what you’d better obey.”
“Something wrong about this. Give the orders to my captain, Captain
Lowden.”
“Lowden’s killed, out there near the woods.”
“Is that true?” Herbert was shocked, saddened more and more.
“Don’t take me for a liar, do you?” queried the sergeant belligerently.
Suddenly, hearing someone coming, he swung around and stared for a
moment, then added quickly:
“Well, if you won’t believe me, you needn’t; it’s your own funeral. I
did my duty so far and I’ve got to go on.” With that he turned and
hastened away through the forest. Herbert had also turned, wondering
what it could all mean. Then he heard a familiar voice, cheery and glad.
“Oh you Herb!” and Don Richards, pistol in hand, was coming rapidly
toward him.
 CHAPTER VI
Shifted

U
PON his return to duty at the new Red Cross base just south of
St. Mihiel, Don Richards had been sent at once to the evacuation
hospital four miles farther toward the front and there he
reported to Major Little, who received him with many
expressions of gratification over his return. The two entered the
surgeon’s office and supply room in the rear of an old château and sat
talking for a few minutes. In one corner of the room was an army
officer at a table covered with documents and the man was busily
engaged. Presently he arose and came over to the major.
“May I trouble you for that list once again, Doctor?” he asked. “I
want just another peep at it.”
“Sure, sure. No trouble. Oh, Colonel, I want to introduce my young
friend here, Richards. I don’t know whether you have heard of him or
not; he did some fine ambulance work for us up at Cantigny and then
above Thierry and along the Marne. Got one through the shoulder near
Bouresches—was trying to bring in a blessé there right back of the fight.
He also got that Red Cross Hun spy who was signaling the balloon; you
may remember hearing about it.”
“Remember? I guess I do. I had a hand in that; gave orders to a
squad of the Marines to get him; one of them had some dope on him.
Well, I’m glad to meet you, young man. But how about that shoulder?
Get over it and come back to us?”
 “Oh, he’s the right stuff, you may bet that!” put in the surgeon,
searching for the list.
“I believe you, Major, and that’s what we want. Spin that full yarn
about the spy to me, will you, Richards?”
Don looked a little sheepish; he did not much like to talk about
himself, but Major Little said:
“Colonel Walton is in part command of one branch of the enemy
Intelligence Division here.” And Don related fully his part in the spy
affair, beginning even with the capture of the spy’s confederates back in
the States and the important part also that Clement Stapley had
performed. The colonel listened with much interest; then turned and
spoke to the major:
“Doctor, you have about as many men as you really need now for
drivers, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but we can always make room for another expert at it.”
“Or you can let one go if he can be of more use elsewhere. We must
have more men who are keen on spy work and this lad is a go-getter in
that particular. Will you turn him over to me? You wouldn’t mind
becoming a liaison officer; would you, Richards; also a messenger at
times; that is, to all appearances? Your work will really be that of army
detective, to operate in some little measure with the military police at
times, when necessary, but to gain intelligence of what the enemy may
be trying to do within our lines in seeking information. In short, to stop
him from getting information. Agreed?”
“Anything,” Don replied, “to help lick the Huns!
“You have an automatic and ammunition? Good! Clothes and shoes
O.K.? Fine! Continue to wear your Red Cross arm band. Now then,
report first to headquarters of the First Army Corps and then to Captain
Lowden, with the Twenty-eighth Division in the field. We have some
information from him. By the time you can get there the advance will be
under way and you’ll probably catch up with the boys somewhere west
of the Aire River; their orders, I believe, are to attack in the Argonne
sector. You will find an ambulance or a lorry going up; the pass I shall
give you will take you anywhere. You are starting out without any
definite information now, but such may come to you from time to time.
Now then, I’ll swear you and you can get on the job at once. Your rank
will be a sergeant of infantry; the pay——”
“I don’t care what the pay is, Colonel. It’s the duty I’m after,” Don
said.
A little while later the boy was on his way with half a dozen jolly,
care-free fellows, who were a sapper squad, and two others who were
transferred army cooks, all loaded into a big transport camion that
thundered, jolted, creaked and groaned, sputtered and backfired over
the uneven and rutted roads, stopping now and then for deliberate
repairs, to cool the motor or for meals, when a rest was always in order,
together with card games or crap shooting, accompanied by a vast
amount of hilarity.
Don took no part in these latter performances, but was an intent
observer; he very plainly smelled alcohol fumes among the men and he
noted that the driver, a morose and silent fellow, was evidently not
under the influence of the beverage that was being passed around. The
boy bided his time. Presently a bottle was offered to him, but he
declared that it made him sick. A little later there was a call for more
and the driver stopped the car, reached back under his seat and brought
forth a bottle of yellow fluid which was handed around, the driver
himself persistently refusing to imbibe. Don watched him and saw the
fellow’s eyes take on a queer, wicked glance at the increasing
intoxication of the men. The boy liked this so little that he decided
something must be wrong; at least there was open disobedience to
strict orders against the use of intoxicants, this being dared because of
the isolation of the long run somewhat out of the usual route and the
expressed desire of everyone in the lorry, except Don, who was
evidently regarded from his youth as quite unworthy of serious
consideration. Instinctively the boy felt that here was a chance for some
investigation along his new endeavor.
Some risk was being run by the party; an M. P. was sighted ahead as
he rode toward them. The driver gave them all a signal and comparative
quiet ensued, with only one choked-off snatch of a song. The policeman
reined in his horse, turned partly and gazed after the lorry, evidently
thought better of following them and they were presently as noisy as
ever.
 Another stop was made. Don did not believe, nor could he detect
anything was the matter with the motor. Several of the men got out and
started another crap game; some were asleep, or near it, inside the car.
Don saw and took his chance to have a quiet word with the driver,
though he foresaw that he must prod his own nerve.
“What’s the use of just delaying a little?” he said, looking the other
in the face, with a wink. “Why don’t you run into the ditch and then get
under and disconnect your steering rod, chuck the bolt away and blame
it on that?”
“What you talkin’ about?” demanded the driver, turning almost
savagely upon the boy.
“Why, it’s a nice day if it doesn’t rain tomorrow,” Don said, laughing
a little. “I said cross steering rods are often weak and ditches handy.
That’ll fix these teufels so they can’t get to the front.”
“Who wants to fix them?”
“Why, don’t you and I both want to? What use are they there,
anyway? The Fatherland doesn’t want anyone there; that I know.”
“Say, who are you and what?” the driver quickly demanded.
“You can see,” Don said. “Liaison officer messenger, Red Cross. I’ve
got enough to keep them from even guessing who I may be. You don’t
need to tell who and what you are; I know.”
It was an awful bluff, barely a guess, but Don reasoned that nothing
ventured nothing have, and now that he had started to burn his bridges
he would go ahead with his quest.
“Get out; you don’t know nothin’ ’bout me,” denied the driver.
“Nothing about where your orders came from, eh? When I get mine
from the same general source? We’ve all got to work together. Say, if
you haven’t the nerve to ditch her, let’s start on and give me the wheel;
I’ll do it. And I know a way we can get off unsuspected, too.”
“Aw, gwan! You’re kiddin’ me, Sarge.”
“Aw, don’t be a clam! Your think works must be rusty or your mush
case too thick. Come on, get her to going and let me show you a thing
or two that’ll put you wise.”
“How’d you get into this, Sarge?”
 “How’d a lot of us get into it? One kind of money is as good as
another, if it’s good in exchange. And it’s big money, too, eh? You know
that. Quit your hedging, fellow, and let’s talk sense. Going to let me
ditch her?”
“You daren’t ditch her. If you do, I reckon you’re givin’ me the
straight dope. But let me say this first: You talk A-1 American; how,
then——?”
“Well, what of that? So do you. But that doesn’t keep my folks from
being—well, maybe like yours are. We’ve both listened to ‘Deutschland
uber alles’ enough to know it by heart, haven’t we?”
“Let’s see you ditch her. I don’t believe you’ve got the nerve,” the
driver said and shouting “all aboard!” they started the motor, gliding off
as soon as the passengers were in the car. Fortune favored Don at the
wheel. The driver saw at once that the boy knew how to handle the big
car; the fellow sat watching him closely; watching also the road. It was
very rutty for a stretch, but the ground was solid; another motor car
could pull them out of the ditch if they couldn’t get out alone.
The boy could not be sure of his ground; there were too many
contributing circumstances for him to be altogether wrong. Yet there
was a large element of risk, too, and it required all his courage to do
what he did. It was really more impulse than an act of clear reason, but
often unerring inspiration may come in leaps from an uncertain footing.
And now before Don lay one course or the other; he had to choose and
that quickly. Showing a lack of nerve would defeat his object.
There was a sudden grinding of brakes, a sudden swaying, a big jolt,
a splash. Skidding into the ditch went the big car and stopped almost as
though coming against a tree trunk. Half of the passengers were in a
heap on the floor.
“You done it! You done it all right, señor. I didn’t think you had the
nerve, but you done it!” whispered the driver fiercely.
“Now let’s get out and look her over,” Don said in a calm voice which
belied his feelings.
They jumped to the ground, hearing expressions of injury and
protest from those within. Around at the front of the car the man and
boy were quite alone.
“She’s fixed now, I think.” Don’s manner appeared stern.
 “She is. We’d better attend to that rod and bolt, as you——”
“Plenty of time. Say, this is getting results. It’ll even things up with
me and the coin—— Say, where did you say you’re from?”
“I didn’t say yet. Want to know? I’m Mexican born; folks came from
Bavaria. Foreign colony at home; talk English mostly. My old man and
his crowd lost all their money——”
“Where do we go from here, Betsy; where do we go from here?”
sang one of the sappers within.
“We don’t go; we stay awhile, blast your boots!” yelled Don.
“—through an English oil syndicate; he was tryin’ to do them and
they were tryin’ to do him and did it. Reckon there’s some way of
getting square. I enlisted from El Paso. What’s your trouble?”
“Mebbe you’d be surprised if I tell you I was born in Germany and
learned to talk English on a visit to America, where they got me for this
scrap. Who do you take your orders from? I get mine from——”
Don paused, as though listening; then added: “That slow shooting is
German machine-guns. Give it to ’em, Fritz, me boy!”
“I get mine from a liaison sergeant; he’s up at the front now. Got
’em complete fooled, he has. A German fellow that was in America
before the war broke out. He raised the roof over there, he says; helped
to blow up one ammunition storehouse and set fire to a gun factory.”
“Mebbe I’ve seen him and I ought to know him. What’s he look
like?” Don asked, making no attempt to hide his eagerness.
“Short, thick-set; looks something like a wop. Little mustache; has a
cast in his eye. Good feller, though, and free with the coin. You can ask
one of the cooks in there—the big one; he’s with us, too; German.
Where’d you say you got your orders?”
“From the United States Government!” Don replied, suddenly pulling
his automatic. “Now, hold up your hands! Up, up, I say, and keep ’em
up high!”
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