Trapped in a Dug-out
"I will, sir!" said Malcolm promptly.
"And I," added Selwyn.
"Me too," chorused M'Turk and M'Kane.
"And, by gum, how about me?" enquired a lusty voice, as Riflemen
Joliffe, bleeding profusely from the head, sat up and vainly
attempted to regain his feet.
The other New Zealanders had forgotten Grouser Joliffe, or rather
they had put him out of their minds until the clearing-up job was
completed. One and all had taken it for granted that the rifleman
had paid the penalty for his rashness, and had been shot dead on the
spot. Had they known that he was only wounded they would have rushed
to his aid, but, thinking otherwise, they had no intention of
attending to the dead until the wounded were cared for and the
position properly consolidated.
It was Joliffe's steel helmet that had saved him. The German's
bullet, fired at a range of ten yards, had struck the upper part of
the rim and deflected upwards, completely penetrating the
head-dress, while the wearer escaped with a scalp wound, rendering
him unconscious for a quarter of an hour.
"Another day, Joliffe!" sang out Captain Nicholson. "See to him, you
fellows. Now then, Carr, keep close behind me. M'Turk, M'Kane, and
Selwyn at three paces interval."
With a revolver in his right hand, and an electric torch in his
left, the Captain, bending low, began the descent of the steep
flight of steps leading to the dug-out. By this time the noxious
vapours had exhausted themselves, although there was still
sufficient smoke to dim the rays of the torch.
Rifle and bayonet at the ready, Malcolm followed his officer, his
ears on the alert to catch the first sound that might denote the
presence of other Hun cave-dwellers.
As he descended, Malcolm found that the smoke was dispersing under
the influence of a steady draught of warm air. The tunnel was
heavily timbered--top, sides, and floor. Along one side ran a couple
of insulated wires, one of which belonged to an electric alarm-bell.
The other was for internal lighting, but every incandescent bulb had
been shattered under the terrific concussion of the great Messines
mine. In places the massive planks were bulging ominously; so much
so that Captain Nicholson hesitated more than once.
"What do you make of it, Carr?" he asked, pausing at a particularly
bad spot.
"I hardly know, sir," replied Malcolm. "Since the shorings didn't
collapse when the mine went up, they ought to stand for a bit
longer."
"Suppose so," agreed the youthful officer as he resumed his tour of
discovery. "Sort of 'creaking door hangs longest'. Let's hope so in
this case."
At the ninety-eighth step--Malcolm counted them carefully--the
descent ended. The daring five found themselves in a long room,
measuring about eighty feet by ten. On one side were recesses that
formed, as they afterwards discovered, the lower part of the
lift-tunnel communicating with the open air. At one time the lift
had been used for bringing up machine-guns that were stored deep
underground in anticipation of a heavy bombardment of the British
guns. Each recess was piled high with rubble, the result of the
stupendous concussion, while a dozen intact machine-guns had been
prevented from being brought into action against the attacking
infantry.
In the opposite wall were other recesses, panelled and furnished
with rich curtains and hangings. Each recess contained a wire
mattress and bedding, while articles of a personal nature showed
that the former occupants were officers, and not of the rank and
file.
"I believe we've struck the brigade headquarters," said Captain
Nicholson, flashing his torch into a large recess in which stood a
table littered with book and papers. "We'll attend to those
documents later. No use doing so until we've made sure of our
ground. I wonder where the gilded occupants are?"
"From what I know of the blighters, sir," remarked M'Turk, "they
didn't show their mugs above ground while we were tumbling over the
top."
"Perhaps there's another way out--a sort of bolt-hole," suggested
Selwyn. "Hope they haven't ruined the show?"
"No likely," replied Captain Nicholson briskly, "As for your idea of
a bolt-hole, there's something in that. It would account for that
fellow in that sardine-can suit holding out so long, just to give
them time to get clear. Ssh! Ssh! What's that?"
The men stood on the alert for some moments.
A muffled cough broke the silence. Then came the dull thud of a pick
being driven into soft earth.
"This way," ordered the Captain, striding towards the end of the
room. "Get a bomb ready."
"Not a blessed one between the lot of us, sir," reported M'Kane.
"Thought we'd finished with Mills's pills for a bit. I'll nip back
and get a few."
Captain Nicholson hesitated.
"No need," he decided. "The fellows, whoever they are, are trapped.
They'll give in when they find that the game's up."
In the panelled wall, so skilfully fashioned that it almost escaped
attention, was a door. The New Zealanders stopped and listened.
Voices were heard talking excitedly, to the accompaniment of the
tearing of paper.
Thrusting his torch into his breast pocket, the Captain, holding his
revolver ready for instant action, threw open the door.
Another long room showed beyond the doorway. At the farther end a
table extended almost from side to side. On the floor were several
lighted candles that cast an unaccustomed glare upon the faces of a
dozen German officers. Some of them were engaged in burning
documents, others in tearing up books and plans. Right at the far
end two men were attacking a fall of debris by means of pick and
shovel.
This much Malcolm took in at a glance, as with levelled rifle he
supported his captain.
"Surrender!" shouted Captain Nicholson sternly.
"Not so fast," replied a Prussian, speaking in English, and with
hardly a trace of a foreign accent. "Let us discuss the situation."
"By all means," agreed Captain Nicholson, confident that he held the
winning cards.
The Hun who had spoken was carefully noting the strength of the
intruders. He had a particular object in gaining time.
"You are too premature, Herr Kapitan von Anzaken," he continued
slowly. The boot is on the other leg. You are our prisoners.
_Nein_--do not get excited--consider: you are but a handful. We are
fourteen, all armed. In there"--he indicated a doorway on his
left--"are fifty tons of explosives, so I would not have you throw a
bomb, for our sakes and yours. Again, I have but to touch this
button and the tunnel to the dug-out by which you made your approach
will be blown in. We have particular need of you, since your friends
will hesitate twice before attempting to smoke us out with you here.
Now, to avoid further unpleasantness, you will throw down your arms
and make surrender."
"I'll see you to blazes first!" retorted Nicholson. "Hands up,
or----"
Like a flash a dozen hands went up--but each hand held an automatic
pistol! The New Zealand officer made no attempt to back. Outwardly
calm, he stood erect on the threshold, with his four men close
behind him.
Confronting him were the obviously excited Huns. Even the slight
pressure of a trembling finger upon the trigger of one of the
automatic weapons would mean death to the imperturbable Nicholson.
"I give you ten seconds to surrender!" he exclaimed.
"And I give you five to throw down your arms!" retorted the Prussian
major. "One--two--three----"
Crash!
A blinding flash seemed to leap up from the floor, and, with a
deafening roar bursting upon his ears, Malcolm was dimly conscious
of being hurled backwards by a terrific blast, then everything
became a blank.
He regained his senses to find himself in utter darkness. He was
lying on the floor with his shoulders and head leaning against
something aggressively hard. Acrid fumes assailed his nostrils. He
tried to move, to find a heavy, inert body lying across his legs.
Groping to find out the nature of his surroundings, his hand came in
contact with his uncomfortable pillow. It was a pair of hobnailed
boots. As he thrust them aside the wearer stirred.
"What's up, Sergeant? Another stunt?"
It was M'Turk, wandering in his mind. Evidently he was under the
hallucination that the Platoon sergeant was rousing him at an
unearthly hour of the morning.
"Where are we, M'Turk?" asked Malcolm.
The Digger grunted.
"Ask me another, chum," he replied, coughing after every word. "By
gum! I remember--those swine of Huns and fifty tons of explosives.
Well, we're still alive and kicking, so to speak. Where are the
others? The Captain?"
"Someone lying across my legs," replied Malcolm. "Our captain, I
fancy. Have you a match?"
"Have I a match?" repeated M'Turk mirthlessly. "A dozen boxes in my
dug-out. Came with me last parcel--but ne'er a one on me. Where's
that torch?"
Sitting up, Malcolm bent forward and searched the man who was
pinning him down. He was wrong in his surmise. It was not Captain
Nicholson, but one of the riflemen. In one of his pockets Carr found
a squashed box containing three or four precious matches.
The first match fizzled and went out.
"Damp, like everything else except my throat!" muttered M'Turk. "I
could drink half a gallon at one go. Try again, chum."
At the second attempt the flickering light struggled bravely for the
mastery, then out it went.
"Two more," announced Malcolm.
"Hold on," ejaculated his companion. "I've a paper. I'll tear off a
piece, and you can set it alight--if your matches aren't all duds!"
This time the attempt was successful. In the glare of the burning
newspaper Malcolm made the astonishing discovery that Grouser
Joliffe was lying across his legs, while nearer the room in which
the German staff officers had been was Dick Selwyn, leaning against
the wainscot and breathing stertorously. The faces of both men were
black with smoke and dirt. There were no signs of Captain Nicholson
or M'Kane.
"Old Grouser, by gum!" exclaimed M'Turk. "How in the name of
everything did he get there?"
"Give it up!" replied Malcolm, as he made his way to Selwyn's side.
"There are a lot of things that want explaining in this hole."
"Say what?" prompted his companion, tearing a fresh strip from the
newspaper and rolling it into a rough-and-ready torch.
"Where are Fritz & Co.? Where is our officer? How is it that I was
next to him, and now Selwyn is nearer the door; while Joliffe, who
is supposed to be on the way to the dressing-station, is here? And
what about the fifty tons of explosives?"
M'Turk staggered to his feet and made his way to the entrance to the
inner room. The door had been wrenched from its hinges; from the
root ferro-concrete girders had fallen, bringing with them a pile of
debris that completely covered the table. Of the Huns, all were
buried beneath the mound of earth, unless they had been blown to
pieces by the explosion.
"Not so much as a Hun's button left as a souvenir!" reported M'Turk.
"Hope our mates haven't been kyboshed. Yet it seems to me that if
fifty ton of stuff did go up we wouldn't be here now--except in
little bits."
"That's what puzzles me," admitted Rifleman Carr. "Perhaps only a
portion of the explosives went off. Again, who propped you and
Selwyn up against the wall?"
M'Turk made another roll of crumpled paper.
"Won't last out much longer at that rate!" he remarked ruefully.
"Hallo! What's that?"
A couple of dull concussions were distinctly felt. In the inner
portion of the spacious dug-out more rubble slid noisily from the
caving-in roof.
"Fritz getting to work again," said Malcolm. "They are shelling the
captured position."
"And following it up with a counter-attack," added M'Turk. "Strikes
me our chaps won't have any time to attend to us for a bit."
"I did the job properly that time--a bit too properly?" exclaimed
Grouser Joliffe, who had recovered consciousness and was taking a
lively interest in the conversation.
"You did what?" enquired M'Turk.
"I wasn't going to be done out of the fun," said Joliffe doggedly.
"Didn't I draw that little tinpot's fire, and give you a chance to
butt in?"
"You did, like a blooming idiot!" agreed M'Turk.
"So when you fellows _impshied_ down the tunnel I slipped in after
you. You wanted looking afters just fancy, nosing around a dug-out
and not taking any bombs. I kept out of sight while the Captain was
taking stock, knowing he'd send me back if he twigged me. Then, when
the Boches tried to hold you up, I nipped behind and slung a bomb at
'em. By gum! It was a beauty, though for the life of me I don't know
how we got blown out here. It wasn't my bomb that played a dirty
trick like that, and it wasn't fifty tons of high explosives. So
what was it? Anyone got a drink? My throat's like blotting-paper."
"The last of the paper," announced M'Turk. "Any of you fellows got
some more? No; well, I'll nip round to see if I can find any. I'd as
soon set the show on fire as stick here in the dark."
"There's someone coming," declared Malcolm.
"Where?" enquired M'Turk and the bomber simultaneously.
The sound of footsteps grew nearer and nearer, the rays of a torch
flashed on the ground, and Captain Nicholson's voice was heard
exclaiming:
"It's no go that way, M'Kane. We'll have to make the best of things;
but it's no use denying the fact that we're trapped."