PROMOTION
The officer was armed with a repeating pistol while his men all had
rifles. For the moment Ken was filled with wonder as to why they had not
at once used their weapons.
Then he remembered. It was their Turkish greatcoats which had saved them.
In the dim light the German still took them for Turkish soldiers.
But discovery could only be a matter of a few seconds. Even as he watched,
he saw suspicion dawn in the pig-like eyes of the Prussian.
'At 'em!' roared Ken, and without an instant's hesitation flung himself
upon the officer.
The man tried to fire, but Ken caught his wrist in time, and closed. The
two wrestled furiously together, the German breathing out savage threats
in his own language.
He was not tall, but a stocky, powerful man, and it was all Ken could do
to hold his own. Vaguely he heard shouts and shots, and knew that Dave and
Roy were hotly engaged with the three Turks. But he had no attention to
spare for them. All his energies were needed to cope with his own
opponent.
Ken's first object was to deprive the other of his pistol, and he forced
the man's right arm back with all his strength. Stamping and panting, the
two worked gradually back down the slope until they had passed the clump
of scrub from behind which the German had appeared.
Ken, though breathing hard, was still cool and collected, while the
German, on the other hand, had utterly lost his temper. His big heavy face
was a rich plum colour, and the breath whistled through his teeth.
At last Ken gained his first object. His fierce grip upon the German's
wrist paralysed the muscles of the man's hand, and the pistol dropped from
his nerveless fingers.
Instantly Ken tightened his hold, and tried to back-heel his adversary.
Before he could succeed in this manoeuvre, he felt the ground crumbling
beneath his feet.
It was too late to do anything to save himself. Next moment the earth gave
way and he and the German, locked in one another's arms, went flying
through the air.
Followed a crash and a thud, and for some moments Ken lay stunned and
breathless, though not actually insensible.
In boxing there is nothing more painful than a blow on the 'mark.' It
knocks all the breath out of the body, and for some time the lungs seem
paralysed. This was practically what had happened to Ken. He had fallen
full on his chest, and though his senses remained clear enough, he simply
could not get his breath back.
When at last he succeeded in doing so he felt as weak as a cat, and deadly
sick into the bargain. It was some moments before he could even manage to
roll off the body of the man beneath him.
He struggled to his feet and found that he was at the bottom of a bluff
about twenty feet high. To the right was a sheer drop to the sea. He
shivered as he glanced over to the fog-shrouded waves, full eighty feet
below. The ledge on which he had landed was only four or five yards wide.
A very little more, and he and his enemy together must have gone clean
over the cliff.
He turned to the German. The latter lay still enough--so still that at
first Ken thought he was dead. But presently he saw that the man was still
breathing.
'A hospital case,' muttered Ken in puzzled tones. 'What the mischief am I
to do with him?'
'Ken--Ken, where are you?'
The anxious question came from overhead, and glancing up Ken saw Dave
Burney's head appearing over the edge of the bluff.
'I'm all right,' he answered. 'What about you?'
'We've nobbled our little lot,' Dave answered with justifiable pride. 'My
word, but I'm glad to see you. I thought you'd gone right over into the
sea.'
'I wasn't far off it,' said Ken. 'I say, is there any way up to the top
again. This is nothing but a ledge?'
'Can't you climb the bluff. It's not so steep a little way to your right?'
'I could, but my German friend isn't exactly in climbing trim. He's rather
badly bust up by the look of him.'
Dave glanced round.
[Illustration: '"My German friend isn't exactly in climbing trim."']
'It looks to me as if the ledge you're on broadens a good bit to my left.
You wait where you are, and Roy and I will come round and give you a
hand.'
Dave's head disappeared, and Ken sat down, with his back against the
bluff. He had had a bad shake up, and was glad of a few moments' rest. He
was quite safe where he was, for the bluff protected him from stray
Turkish bullets.
Down below, through the mist, boats were shooting landwards from the
transports, bringing more men, stores of all kinds, ammunition, and
materials for setting up a wireless installation. He saw that they were
under constant fire from the snipers on the cliffs above, and though for
the moment the haze protected them, the mist was fast rising. It was going
to be precious awkward when the full light came.
In a much shorter time than he had expected, his two companions appeared
in sight around the curve of the ledge. In the dawn light he could see
that their khaki was torn and covered with stains, while their faces were
scratched and bleeding. But both were in splendid spirits.
'My word!' exclaimed Roy. 'This is what you might call a night out with a
vengeance.'
'The night's all right,' returned Ken, 'but it's getting a jolly sight too
near day to suit me. If we don't get back to our trench before this fog
goes we shall be a target for half the Turkish army.'
'It's not far,' said Dave consolingly.
'Far enough, by the time we've carried in this Johnny,' replied Ken,
pointing to the German.
Dave looked doubtfully at the corpulent form of the Prussian.
'He's not exactly a featherweight, by the look of him. However, here
goes.' He stooped as he spoke and took the officer by the shoulders.
'Catch hold of his legs, Roy,' he said to Horan. 'No, Ken,' as Carrington
stepped forward, 'you've done your bit. Roy and I will tote your stout
prisoner back.'
'First, take off those Turkey carpets you're wearing,' said Ken quickly.
'If you don't, it's our chaps will fill you with lead.'
They all peeled off their Turkish overcoats, then carrying the German they
started along the ledge. Rounding the curve, Ken found that the ledge
widened and merged in the scrub-clad slope opposite the head of the little
bay.
He stopped and glanced round. The Turkish snipers were still busy, and the
sharp crack of cordite echoed from scores of different hiding-places along
the hills. He and his companions had about one hundred and fifty yards to
go before reaching the trench held by their battalions, and the light was
growing stronger every moment.
In spite of his anxiety to bring in his prisoner, it seemed clear that the
risk was too great. Their only chance of crossing the open in safety was
to duck and crawl.
'It's no use,' he said regretfully. 'We'll have to leave this chap behind.
We'll all be shot as full of holes as a sieve if we try to carry him.'
'Rats, Carrington!' retorted Roy Horan. 'Go home without our prisoner?
Never! Besides, the Turks won't shoot their own officer. Come on, Dave,'
he said, and before Ken could say another word the two were off as hard as
they could go, carrying their heavy burden.
Ken had many doubts as to the Turks refraining from shooting, for fear of
hitting the German. In fact, knowing as he did the feeling which existed
between the bullying Prussian and the placid Turk, he rather thought the
case would be exactly the opposite.
Whatever the reason, at any rate they had covered nearly half the distance
before they began to draw fire. Then bullets began to ping ominously
close, and little jets of dust to rise from the dry soil all around them.
Suddenly Ken's hat flew from his head, and as he stooped quickly to
recover it, the fat German gave a yell like a stuck pig, and kicked out so
convulsively that his bearers incontinently dropped him.
In an instant he was on his feet, and running like a rabbit, at the same
time giving vent to a series of sharp yelps like a beaten puppy.
'The blighter! He was shamming!' roared Roy, darting off in pursuit,
regardless of the bullets.
'It was a bullet woke him up anyhow,' exclaimed Dave, as he scurried
after.
The Prussian was beside himself with pain. He had been shot through one
hand, and there is no more agonising injury. He ran blindly, and as it
chanced almost in a straight line for the trench.
A score of heads popped up to see what was happening, and when their
owners realised the truth a roar of laughter burst out all down the
trench.
It was not until the German was on the very edge of the trench that he
realised where he was. He spun round to bolt.
But Roy was at his heels.
'No, ye don't, fatty,' said the big New Zealander, and catching the man by
the scruff of the neck, gave him a tremendous push which sent him flying
over into the trench. Roy sprang down after him, and a moment later, Dave
and Ken hurled themselves into cover.
'Is it steeplechasing ye are, or what fool's game is it ye are playing?'
demanded Sergeant O'Brien, while the rest shrieked with laughter.
'He--he's my prisoner,' panted Ken. 'And--and, sergeant, did Norton get
back?'
'He did. Come along wid ye, and make your report to the colonel.'
Colonel Conway, who had been on foot all night, was taking a few minutes'
much needed rest in a rough dug-out. But at sight of Ken, he was on his
feet again in a moment.
'I am very glad to see you, Carrington,' he said cordially. 'I had begun
to be afraid that you and your companions would not get back. And yet I
knew you had succeeded in your enterprise, for the enfilading fire ceased
very shortly after you left.'
Standing at attention, Ken gave his report. He made much of the doings of
Dave and Roy, but modestly suppressed his own. The colonel, however, was
not deceived.
'You have done very well indeed,' he said, with a warmth that brought the
colour to Ken's cheeks. 'Your destruction of the machine gun was a
particularly plucky and useful piece of work. I shall see that your
conduct and that of all your companions is mentioned in the proper
quarter. Meantime, you are promoted to corporal.'
Ken's heart was very nearly bursting with pride.
'Thank you, sir,' he said with a gulp, and saluting again turned away.
The colonel stopped him.
'You had better get some food,' he said. 'We shall be moving out of this
very shortly.'
'Faith, ye didn't do so badly after all, lad,' said O'Brien. 'Ate quickly
now, for I'm thinking 'tis us for the top of the cliff before we're a dale
older.'
Bread, bully beef, and a drink of water out of their bottles. That was the
simple bill of fare. But Ken's exertions during the night had put a sharp
edge on his appetite, and he enjoyed the plain meal.
The fog was fast disappearing under the rays of the newly risen sun, and
the firing grew heavier every minute. The hills all round were alive with
snipers, but their fire was directed not so much on the trench held by the
Australians as on the boats which were landing reinforcements on the beach
below.
It was in the boats and on the beach that the casualties were heaviest.
The troops that were landed had to run the gauntlet for fully fifty yards
before reaching the cover of the scrub on the cliff, and matters were
worse still for the bluejackets pulling the empty boats back to the ships.
They were potted at without a chance of returning the enemy fire.
But they stuck it out finely, and already all the wounded had been taken
off, while reinforcements had reached the upper trench, sufficient in
number to make up for the first losses.
'What's the colonel waiting for?' asked Dave. 'Why don't we go on up and
smoke out those blighted snipers?'
'It's ammunition, I fancy. And there's a couple of maxims coming up. We
shall need those if we have to dig ourselves in under fire.'
'More digging--oh, Christmas!' growled Dave. 'I didn't come here to dig. I
could do that in my old dad's garden at home.'
Ken chuckled. 'You'll find the spade'll do as much to win this war as the
guns and rifles. There's heaps of trenching in store for us, I can tell
you.'
There was some delay about the maxims, and time went on without any order
to move. The men began to grumble. It was hard indeed to lie and watch
their comrades below being picked off, one after another, by these
abominable sharpshooters, without a chance of hitting back.
'Look at that!' growled Roy Horan, pointing to a stalwart bluejacket who
had just dropped at his oar as the boat pushed off the beach. 'It's
murder! That's what it is. Sheer murder! Why the blazes can't the ships
turn loose?'
'Because they've got nothing to fire at. You can't chuck away 6-inch
shells on the off chance of killing one sniper. You wait until the Turks
appear in force. Then you'll see what naval guns can do.'
'I don't believe the swine will ever appear in force,' said Roy, who had
lost all his good humour and was looking absolutely savage. 'It breaks me
all up to see our chaps shot down like rabbits without a chance of getting
their own back.'
There was worse to come. From somewhere high up among the scrub-clad
heights came a dull heavy crash, and almost instantly the clear air above
the beach was filled with puffs of gray white smoke which floated like
balls of cotton wool.
'The guns! The beggars have got those guns up,' ran a mutter along the
trench.
'About time for the ships to get to work,' growled Roy, his big handsome
face knitted in a scowl.
'Ay, if they only knew where the guns were,' replied Ken. 'But that's the
deuce of it. They can't spot 'em without planes, and there are no planes
here yet.'
Crash! A second gun spoke, and another shell burst above the beach. From
that time on the firing was continuous. The whole beach was scourged with
shrapnel, and landing operations became perilous in the extreme.
The men in the trenches fidgeted and swore beneath their breath. There is
nothing more trying to troops than to see their comrades suffering and yet
be unable to help them.
'Can't we do something?' muttered Dave, as he saw a boat from one of the
ships smashed to matchwood by a blast of shrapnel, and her crew and
contents scattered into the sea. 'Can't we do something? It's enough to
drive one loony to watch this sort of thing.'
Almost as he spoke there was a sudden flutter of excitement, as an order
was passed from man to man down the trench.
They were to advance and take up a new position on the top of the slope.