"You, Dave. Are you all right?"
"Lost my hat and my wind. Nothing else missing so far as I know. Are you chipped?"
"Not a touch. But keep your head down. This is only the first act. There"s another trench above this one."
During the struggle in the trench the firing had ceased entirely, but now that it was over a pestilence of bullets began to pour again from higher up the slope, and Ken"s warning was useful--to say the least of it.
"What comes next?" asked Dave, as the two crouched together against the rubbly wall of the trench.
"Get our second wind and tackle the next trench," said Ken briefly.
His prophecy was correct. A couple of minutes later the order was pa.s.sed down to advance again.
In grim silence the men sprang out of their shelter and dashed forward.
There were no more star sh.e.l.ls, but from up above began the ugly knocking of a quick-firer. It sounded like a giant running a stick along an endless row of palings, and the bullets squirted like water from a hose through the thinning ranks of the Colonials.
It was worse than the first charge, for not only was the slope steeper, but the face of the hill was covered with low, tough scrub, the tangled roots of which caught the men"s feet as they ran, and brought many down.
The result was that the line was no longer level. Some got far ahead of the others.
Among the leaders were Ken and Dave, who struggled along, side by side, still untouched amid the pelting storm of lead.
But although the ranks were sadly thinned, the attackers were not to be denied. In a living torrent, they poured into the second trench.
There followed a grim five minutes. The Turks who were in considerable force, made a strong effort to hold their ground, shortening their bayonets and stabbing upwards at the attackers. It was useless. The Australians and New Zealanders, savage at the loss of so many of their comrades, fought like furies. Ken had a glimpse of a giant next him, literally pitchforking a Turk out of the trench, lifting him like a gaffed salmon on the end of his bayonet.
It was soon over, but this time there were very few prisoners. Almost every man in the trench, with the exception of about a dozen who had bolted at the first onset, was killed.
"That"s settled it," said Dave gleefully, as he plunged his bayonet into the earth to clean it from the ugly stains which darkened the steel.
"That"s begun it," corrected Ken.
"What do you mean?"
"That we"ve got to hold what we"ve won. You don"t suppose the Turks are going to leave us in peaceful possession, do you?"
"I--I thought we"d finished this little lot," said Dave rather ruefully.
"My dear chap, I"ve told you already that Enver Bey has at least a hundred thousand men on the Peninsula. By this time the news of our landing has been telephoned all over the shop, and reinforcements are coming up full tilt. There"ll be a couple of battalions or more on the top of the cliff in an hour or two"s time."
"Then why don"t we shove along and take up our position on the top?"
"We"re not strong enough yet. We must wait for reinforcements. If I"m not mistaken the next orders will be to dig ourselves in."
"But we are dug in. We hold the trench."
"Fat lot of use that is in its present condition. All the earthworks are on the seaward side. We have little or no protection on the land side.
"Ah, I thought so," he continued, as the voice of Sergeant O"Brien made itself heard.
"Dig, lads! dig! Make yourselves some head cover. They"ll be turning guns on us an" blowing blazes out of us as soon as the day dawns."
Blown and weary as they were, the men set to work at once with their entrenching spades. It was in Egypt they had learnt the art of trench-making, but they found this rocky clay very different stuff to shift from desert sand.
The order came none too soon, for in a very few minutes snipers got to work again. There were scores of them. Every little patch of scrub held its sharpshooter, and although the darkness was still against accurate shooting there were many casualties.
"They"re enfilading us," said Ken. "They"ve got men posted up on the cliff to the left who can fire right down this trench. It"s going to be awkward when daylight comes."
It was awkward enough already. The Red Cross men were kept busy, staggering away downhill with stretchers laden with the wounded. There was no possibility of returning the enemy"s fire, and in the darkness the ships could not help. All the Colonials could do was to crouch as low as possible, flattening themselves against the landward wall of the trench.
"Those snipers are the very deuce, sergeant."
The voice was that of Colonel Conway, who was making his way down the trench, to see how his men were faring.
"They are that, sorr," replied O"Brien. ""Tis them over on the bluff to the left as is doing the damage. I"m thinking they"ve got the ranges beforehand.
As he spoke a man went down within five yards of where he stood. He was shot clean through the head.
"It"s Standish," said Ken. And then, on the spur of the moment,--
"Sergeant, couldn"t some of us go and clear them out?"
There was a moment"s pause broken only by the intermittent crackle of firing from above.
"Who was that spoke?" demanded Colonel Conway.
"I, sir," answered Ken, saluting. "Carrington."
"Aren"t you the man who knows this country?"
"I have been in the Peninsula before, sir."
"Hm, and do you think you could find those snipers?"
"I do, sir." Ken spoke very quietly, but inwardly he was trembling with eagerness. Was it possible that his impulsive remark was going to be taken up in earnest?
The colonel spoke in a whisper to O"Brien, and the sergeant answered. Then he turned to Ken.
"You may pick three men and try it. You"ll have to stalk them, of course.
If you can"t reach them come back. No one will think any the worse of you if you fail."
"Thank you, sir," said Ken, his heart almost bursting with grat.i.tude. His chance had come, and he meant to make the most of it.
CHAPTER IV
A RUSE OF WAR