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.
[Illustration: Stores, horses, and munitions were being landed on V.
beach.]
[Illustration: Magnificent work was done by the landing parties in their
advance inland.]
'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.'
[Illustration: '"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 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?'