Part 7 (2/2)

'So that's the little game, is it?' said Roy, as the three gained the shelter of a patch of scrub out of sight of the German. 'A quick firer to enfilade the trench, and snipers for the beach. Say, Carrington, can't we do anything to put the hat on that Prussian Johnny's scheme?'

'We've got to,' Ken answered quickly. 'Once they get that quick-firer posted, it's all up with our lads down below. They'll rake the trench from end to end.'

'Let's wait till it's in place, and rush it,' suggested Horan recklessly.

'We ought to be able to wipe out the gun crew before they n.o.bble us.'

'What's the use of that?' retorted Ken. 'It's the gun itself we want to wreck--not the crew. They can easily get a score of men to work the Q.-F., but it would take some time to get another gun. Jove, if I only had just one stick of dynamite.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: '”How many are there of you in the pit?”']

'But they had no dynamite, and the outlook seemed extremely gloomy. Worst of all, it was rapidly getting light, and although a mist hung over the sea and the sh.o.r.e, this would no doubt melt away as soon as the sun was well up.

Shots came from a patch of scrub behind and above them, whistling over their heads, and evidently directed at the boats which were bringing ammunition and reinforcements from the s.h.i.+ps.

Ken crouched lower, and as he did so some bulky object in the pocket of the Turkish overcoat which he was wearing made itself felt. He slipped his hand in and drew out a black metal globe, about the size of a cricket ball. It had a length of dark cord-like stuff projecting from a hole in it.

It was all he could do to repress a yell of delight.

'What luck!' he muttered. 'Oh, I say, what luck!'

'What the mischief have you got there?' inquired Dave. 'What is it?'

'A bomb. One of the German hand grenades. Quick! See if there are any in your pockets?'

Hastily the others thrust their hands into their pockets and each hand came back with a similar bomb.

'That settles it,' said Ken happily. 'Two for the men, and one for the gun. We've got 'em now--got 'em on toast.'

As he spoke he crept out of the bush, and took a cautious peep in the direction of the rifle pit.

'They're just setting the gun up,' he muttered. 'And the German beggar has gone back the way he came. So far as I can see, there are not more than four or five men with the gun.'

'That's all right,' said Roy Horan in a tone of considerable satisfaction.

'What do we do, Carrington--just wallop these grenades in on top of 'em?'

'No, they're not percussion--worse luck! We've got to light the fuses before we chuck them. That's awkward for two reasons. They may see our matches, and then we've got to be pretty nippy about using them. If we're not, it's we who'll get the bust up--not the Turks.'

'Sounds, interesting,' remarked Roy coolly. 'See here, Carrington, the best thing, so far as I can see, is for us to slip down to our old place, right under the parapet of the pit. That's our only chance of getting to close quarters.'

'A frontal attack,' put in Dave. 'What price our heads if they start shooting off the gun?'

'They probably won't start until they have light enough to see where they're shooting,' returned Ken. 'Horan's notion is all right. Come on.'

'But mind you,' he whispered urgently, 'we must keep one bomb for the gun.

You'd best throw yours first, Horan, and as soon as it's gone off, let 'em have it with your pistol. Then, if there are any of 'em left, you whack yours in, Dave.'

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