Part 23 (1/2)

Suddenly, where the shattered trees thinned out and the still rising ground showed an irregular ridge against the skyline, a sound which they all knew only too well fell upon their ears.

There were two machine-gun emplacements on the ridge, and a murderous fire was opened upon the victorious pursuers.

Bob Dashwood blew the order to take cover, and, as there was plenty of it, A Company promptly flopped down behind the fallen trunks which our bombardment had uprooted in every direction.

”Phew! 'Ot stuff!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Harry Hawke, as he made room for Dennis beside him, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket.

He was blowing like a grampus, for the pace had been fast.

”When we've got our wind, I reckon there's a little job up there for us, sir,” said Hawke, pointing over the top of the fallen beech behind which they crouched.

”You mean the machine-gun, of course,” said Dennis, nodding. ”But unfortunately, whilst we're getting our wind, so are the enemy, and there's forty yards of open climb before we reach those sandbags up yonder. It isn't like that village behind us, and you may bet your boots the trench on the top of the ridge is packed with Germans like herrings in a barrel, waiting for us. We'll have to lie low until the battalion overtakes us.”

Harry Hawke squinted thoughtfully down the short length of his snub nose.

”There's two of those bloomin' tac-tacs of theirs--one covering the communication trench, and t'other one yonder sweeping the front of the wood,” he said. ”What price that Lewis gun, sir, that chipped in on our right flank? Couldn't I go back and 'urry it up? If we could bring it into action from the other corner of this 'ere wood, it 'ud mean saving a lot of lives, for it's a sure thing the ridge has got to be taken.”

While he was speaking they heard men running behind them, and looked round, hoping to see their own people, but it turned out to be a little party of the engineers laying a field telephone; and Dennis crawled on hands and knees towards them.

”What's become of the machine-guns?” he inquired of an intelligent corporal.

”Can't get 'em through the wood, sir. There are half a dozen on the other side hung up. I rather think they're waiting for you to give 'em a lead.”

”Oh, are they? Any Lewis guns there?”

”Yes, there's one, sir. They were just starting along a path over yonder when we left.”

”I say, do you hear that, Bob?” Dennis called out, as his brother came back, dodging from trunk to trunk, as every now and then one of the German guns on the ridge raked the wood with a stream of bullets. ”The corporal says our Lewis is over yonder. What about my going over with a couple of chaps to give them a hand? I believe we could do something.”

”Right you are,” said Bob. ”I've just been talking to that Highland officer, and he agrees with me that we must lie doggo until we are reinforced. I have sent two men back to the C.O. Bunk off and see what you can do.”

”Thanks, old man,” said Dennis, his face beaming with delight. ”Hawke and Tiddler, this way!” And at his call the two inseparables crept back to where he stood.

”We're through now, sir, if you'd like to give them a shout at the other end,” said the corporal of the engineers.

”Oh, good business!” cried Captain Bob. ”If I can get on to the Governor that will buck things up a bit.” And, leaving him kneeling behind a tall poplar, the telephone receiver in his hand, Dennis and his companions ran back a few yards into the shelter of the trees, and struck away at right angles.

CHAPTER XVIII

With the Lewis Gun--and After!

In the old Elizabethan days, before scene-painting was invented, they used to hang a placard on a black cloth behind the actors with such inscriptions as ”This is the seash.o.r.e,” ”This is a wood.” And such a description would have well pa.s.sed for the spot through which they now threaded their way.

It _had_ been a wood--a wood of tall, straight trees in full summer leaf, with bramble bushes and pleasant undergrowth before the British batteries had flung their devastating hail into it; but now it resembled an old toothbrush more than anything else, with bristles long and short, and sticking out at every angle.

Hundreds of fallen saplings barred their way. Here and there a beech had been uprooted, and a great sh.e.l.l crater yawned where it had stood, and the scarred trunks and bare poles were stained orange and yellow and vivid metallic green by the explosive agents.

A line of Tennyson occurred to Dennis, as odd things will occur at the oddest of moments.