Chapter 4

A RUSE OF WAR

'Dave, will you come?' said Ken.

'Will a terrier hunt rats?' was Dave's answer.

'And I want Roy Horan, sergeant, if he's alive. He's a New Zealander.'

'Pass the word for Horan,' said the sergeant, and the whisper went rapidly down the long trench.

'Who'll be the fourth?' Ken asked of Dave.

'Take Dick Norton. He's a Queensland ex-trooper. He's been in with the black trackers, and moves like a dingo.'

'The very man,' said Ken. 'Where is he?'

Norton, as it happened, was only a few yards away. He came up eagerly, a slim, dark man with keen gray eyes and a nose like a hawk's beak.

A moment later, and Roy Horan's giant form came slipping rapidly up to the little group, and Ken at once explained what was wanted.

'Carrington, you're an angel in khaki,' said Horan rejoicingly. 'I'm your debtor for life.'

'Which same will not be a long one if ye don't kape that big body o'yours under cover,' said O'Brien dryly, as a bullet, striking the parapet, spattered earth all over them.

'Have ye revolvers?' he asked of Ken.

None of them had, but these were at once provided, together with plenty of ammunition.

'Ye'd best lave your rifles,' said O'Brien. ''Tis a creeping, crawling job before ye, and the lighter ye go, the better. At close quarters the pistols will do the job better than anything else ye can carry. Now get along wid ye. The sky's lightening over Asia yonder, and 'tis small chance ye'll have if the dawn catches ye.'

'Lucky beggars!' growled a big Tasmanian, as they passed him on their way to the north end of the trench. All their comrades were consumed with envy, but like the good fellows they were, they only wished them luck.

A few moments later they had all four crawled out of the trench, and bending double were making steadily uphill towards the spot from which the enfilading fire proceeded.

'We'll go straight,' whispered Ken. 'Less risk, really, for they'll be shooting over our heads.'

There was plenty of cover, for the whole of the steep hill-side was dotted with thick bunches of dense scrub. Barring a chance shot from up above, there was not much risk for the present. That would come later, when they reached the nest of snipers. For the present the great thing was to keep their heads down and escape observation.

Nearer and nearer they came to the spot whence the flashes darted thickest, and all the time the bullets whirred over their heads. At last Ken was able to see through the gloom a low parapet of earth which was evidently the front of a regular rifle pit.

He stopped and beckoned to the others to do the same.

'There must be at least half a dozen of them,' he whispered, 'and very likely more. You chaps wait here under this bush while I go forward. No, you needn't grouse, Dave. I'm not going to do you out of your share. All I want is to make out which side it will be best to make our attack. I'll be back in a minute.'

He crept forward, and as he did so there was a sudden lull in the firing. For a moment he feared that the men in the pit had spotted him or his companions, and he flattened himself breathlessly on the ground.

Next moment he heard a voice. Some one in the rifle pit was speaking.

'I would that they would hasten with that ammunition,' said the man speaking in the Anatolian dialect, which Ken could understand fairly well. 'Allah, but these infidels take lead as though it were no more than water!'

'They are brave men, Achmet,' answered another, 'but even so they will not stand when Mahmoud brings up the guns. Then, as the German says, we shall sweep them back into the sea from which they came.'

'Guns!' muttered Ken. 'This is news.' He lay still and listened eagerly.

'Does the German himself bring the guns?' asked the first speaker.

'He does, brother. They are two of the best which were sent from Constantinople to Maidos. Most like, they are already in position on the heights above us, ready to rain their shrapnel upon the unbelievers.'

Ken had heard enough. This was news which the colonel must learn at once. Snipers were bad enough, but if the two German 77-millimetre field-pieces were got into position, the trench would be untenable. He waited only long enough to get the lie of the land around the rifle pit, then crept quietly back to his companions.

It took him just about thirty seconds to tell them what he had heard.

'And one of you must go back and tell the colonel,' he added.

There was silence. Not unnaturally no one volunteered.

'It's up to you, Norton,' said Ken.

'Why not rush the pit first?' suggested Norton, 'then we could all go back together.'

'Or all stay here,' answered Ken. 'No, I'm frightfully sorry, Norton, but you're the best scout of the lot of us, and the most likely to get back safely. You must go and tell the colonel.'

Norton was too good a soldier to argue. With a sigh he turned about and vanished in the gloom.

'And now for the rifle pit,' said Ken. 'We must go up on the right-hand side, and take it from the rear. As I've told you, the fellows holding it are out of cartridges. If we can get in on 'em quietly, before they can use their bayonets, we ought not to have much trouble.'

Ken's heart beat hard as he led the way to the rifle pit. The thought that his colonel had given him a job on his own filled him with pride, and though he was nothing but a private leading two other privates, he felt like a captain with a company behind him.

The critical moment came as they reached the front of the pit, and had to swing off to the right. There was little or no cover, and it was necessary to crawl flat on their stomachs. To make matters worse, the ground was rough and stony, and every time a pebble rolled, Ken's heart was in his mouth.

But the snipers were keeping no sort of watch. Of course none of them had the faintest notion that any enemy was nearer than the trench, quite a couple of hundred yards away. As they snaked along, the attacking party could hear them talking in the low, measured tones peculiar to the Turk.

At last Ken gained his vantage point. He paused and drew his revolver. The others did the same.

Ken sprang to his feet, and with two bounds was in the pit.

There were five men there, and the attack took them utterly by surprise. Before they knew what was happening two were pistolled and one knocked silly by a blow from the butt of Horan's revolver. The two others fought gamely, but they were no match for the three Britishers. In less time than it takes to tell they were both laid out.

'Hurrah!' cried Horan gleefully.

'Shut up, you ass!' snapped Ken. 'Do you want to bring every Turk within half a mile down on us. Look out. There's one chap moving. Tie him up, and, Dave, gather their rifles. I must go through their pockets. There's always a chance of useful information.'

'Lively now!' he added. 'They were expecting ammunition, and we shall have visitors in pretty short order.'

'My word, here they are already,' muttered Dave Burney. 'Half a dozen of 'em.'

Ken looked up quickly. A number of figures were just visible, coming along the ridge to the right.

'There are more than half a dozen,' he whispered sharply. 'More like double that number. And that looks like an officer with them.'

'We'd best make ourselves scarce,' suggested Dave quietly.

'Too late for that,' answered Ken. 'They're bound to see us. Besides, if they find the pit empty they'll only put fresh men here, and all the work will be to do again.'

'Let's tackle 'em then,' said Roy Horan recklessly.

'Odds are too long,' replied Ken. He paused a moment, and glanced round.

'I've an idea,' he said swiftly. 'I believe we can fool them. Quick! Take the coats off the dead men, and put them on. Their fezzes, too. In this light they'll never know the difference.'

'But if they talk to us?' objected Roy.

'Then I'll talk back. I know the language.'

As he spoke, Ken was swiftly stripping one of the dead Turks of his overcoat. The others did the same, and within an incredibly short time all three were wearing dead men's clothes. The coats sat oddly on their long frames, but fortunately there was as yet very little light, and in the gray gloom they presented a tolerable resemblance to the late tenants of the rifle pit.

They had hardly completed the change when the officer who was leading the party reached the edge of the pit.

'Why are you not firing?' he demanded, and by his harsh guttural voice Ken knew him at once for a German.

'We are out of ammunition,' he answered readily.

'Schweine Hund! Do you not know enough to say "Sir" to an officer when he addresses you?'

'Your pardon, sir,' said Ken gruffly. 'The light is so bad, and my eyes sting with the powder smoke.'

'They will sting worse if you do not mend your manners,' retorted the German brutally.

Ken, boiling inwardly, had yet wisdom enough to hang his head and make no reply.

'How many are there of you in the pit?' continued the officer.

'Only three, sir,' Ken answered.

'You will retire to higher ground and construct a new pit. This position is required for a mitrailleuse. You understand, blockhead?'

'Yes, sir.'

The officer turned to the men behind him.

'Bring up the gun,' he ordered.

'Come on,' said Ken to Dave in the lowest possible whisper. He climbed quietly out of the hollow as he spoke, and the two others followed.

'Up the hill there--by those bushes,' said the German curtly. 'And be sharp. Ammunition will be brought you. Understand, your work is to command the beach and prevent supplies being brought to those dogs in the trenches.'

'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 nobble 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.'

'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 shore, 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 ships.

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.'

He crept away, the others followed, and a few moments later they found themselves crouching close together under the low parapet of the rifle pit. There was light enough for them to see--just above their heads--the ugly gray muzzle of the mitrailleuse peeping out through an embrasure in the earthen bank.

All of a sudden, without the slightest warning, a tongue of flame spat from the muzzle, and with a deafening rattle a hail of bullets sprayed out over their heads, directed at the trench a bare two hundreds yards away.

'Quick!' cried Ken. 'We must stop that,' and with all speed he pulled out his match-box. The crackle of the firing drowned his words, but that did not matter. The others understood.

Ken struck a match, and Roy held out the fuse of his bomb. Luckily there was no wind. The fuse caught and instantly began to hiss and splutter.

With reckless disregard for danger, Roy sprang upon the parapet. Ken had one glimpse of the tall figure towering over him, one hand raised high overhead.

Then the arm flashed forward as Roy dashed the grenade full into the centre of the pit.

There followed a stunning report--a noise so loud that Ken felt as though his very ear-drums were cracked. At the same time Horan staggered back off the parapet, and the quick-firer ceased firing.

'Now, yours, Dave,' said Ken, and without delay Dave lobbed his grenade, the fuse of which Ken had already lighted, into the pit.

But by this time the survivors from the first explosion had pulled themselves together and collected their wits. Before the second grenade could explode, it was hurled back. It went right over Dave's head and rolling down the hill exploded with a deafening roar.

On top of the grenade three burly Turks came leaping out of the pit and fell on Ken and Dave.

Ken just managed to get out his pistol in time, and his first shot finished the leader of the three Turks. But a second man came at him with a clubbed musket, and Ken only saved his skull by a rapid duck.

'Dog!' roared his assailant, as he made another savage swing.

Ken leaped away, and the Turk overbalanced himself with the force of his blow. Before he could recover Ken's heavy revolver barrel crashed upon his skull and felled him like a log.

Ken glanced across at Dave, and saw him kneeling on the chest of the third Turk, his long fingers gripping the man's throat. Just beyond, Roy, recovering slowly from the stunning effect of his own bomb, was scrambling dazedly to his feet.

Farther off, he heard the sound of running feet. It was clear that the sound of the two explosions had aroused the suspicions of some supporting party. Reinforcements were coming up at the double.

If the gun was to be put out of service this would have to be done quickly. Without a moment's delay he sprang over into the pit.

The place was a regular shambles. Ken was amazed at the ruin wrought by the one small bomb. Three men lay dead in the bottom. One had his head almost blown off. Fortunately, perhaps, Ken had no time to dwell on such horrors. With all possible speed he got the remaining bomb out, and with a handkerchief tied it to the breech of the quick-firer.

Then he lighted the fuse, and waiting only long enough to see that it was burning properly, made a wild leap out of the pit.

'It's all right. I've fixed the gun. Come on, you chaps,' he said sharply to the others.

The words were hardly out of his mouth before a flash of flame rose from the pit and the loud report of the last bomb sent the echoes flying along the cliffs. Fragments of the broken gun shot high into the air, the pieces falling in every direction.

'That's done the trick,' said Dave gleefully.

'Don't talk. Come on. There's a big party of Turks coming up. Are you game to run, Horan?'

'You bet. I'm all right now. But those bombs are oners. I never reckoned such a small thing would make such a dust up. Gosh, it nearly blinded me, and my head still rings like a bell.'

Ken did not answer. All his energies were needed to steer a course through the scrub which covered the steep hill-side. The morning mist lay thick and clammy. It was impossible to see more than a few yards ahead, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to miss the way back to the trench, and either go over the steep edge to the beach or get in among the enemy snipers to the left.

'Look out!' cried Roy Horan suddenly, and as he spoke four men rose up out of the thick scrub right in their path. And one of them was a German officer, the very same whom they had encountered twenty minutes earlier.

'Stop!' he snarled. 'Stop, you fools. Where are you going?'