'LIZZIE' LETS LOOSE
Sergeant O'Brien was soon proved a true prophet. Darkness had hardly
fallen before the scrub in front was alive with Turks, who came on with a
rush, intent on driving the Colonials out of their position.
'Steady, boys!' cried the sergeant. 'Don't fire till ye can see them. Let
every cartridge tell.'
Every officer and every non-com. down the long length of the trench was
giving the same advice, and the Turks were allowed to approach until their
squat forms loomed clear in the starlight.
'Now let 'em have it. Pump it into 'em, lads!' came O'Brien's voice again.
With one crash every rifle spoke at once, and at the same time the maxims
turned loose their hose-pipe streams of lead. The Turks seemed to melt and
vanish under the concentrated storm of fire. Not one reached the trench.
'Socked 'em that time,' remarked Dave, with great satisfaction.
'Sure, that was only the overture!' answered O'Brien. 'They were just
thrying their luck, so to spake.'
Again he was right. As soon as the survivors of the first attack had
retreated the air became thick with the shriek and moan of shrapnel, and
the vicious whizz of Mauser bullets. This went on for nearly an hour, then
a second attack materialised.
It was in heavier force than the first, and though the steady fire of the
Colonials did tremendous execution, some of the Turks actually reached the
trench and came plunging in, stabbing wildly with their short bayonets.
Not one of them ever got out again, but they did a good deal of damage,
and during the lull that followed the stretcher-bearers were busy. Five
separate times during the hours of darkness did fresh masses of Turks
sweep down upon the worn and weary Colonials, and twice parties of the
latter counter-attacked and drove the survivors helter-skelter before
them.
'Jove, I never was gladder to see daylight,' said Ken hoarsely, as a pale
yellow light began to dim the stars. His eyes stung with powder smoke, his
mouth was sour with fatigue, and every muscle in his body ached.
'Well, lad, we've made good, anyway,' said O'Brien with a smile on his
blackened face. 'Just take a peep over, and see what ye can see.'
Ken raised his head cautiously and peered through the embrasure in front.
The sight that met his eyes was a terrible one. The scrub for nearly a
hundred yards in front of the trench had almost vanished. It had been
literally mown down by the storm of bullets which had raged across it all
night long. And all the open space was paved with the bodies of dead and
wounded men. There were hundreds of them, some on their faces, some on
their backs, most of them still enough, a few trying to crawl away, and
others moaning feebly.
It was a horrible sight, and for the moment Ken felt almost sick.
'They'll not thry it again just yet,' said O'Brien quietly. 'The next
attack will be one in force, and for that they'll need more men than
they've left here.'
'And we'll be ready for them then, eh, sergeant?' said Roy Horan
cheerfully. 'There's more than ourselves been busy during the night.'
As he spoke he pointed over in the other direction, and Ken, with
difficulty withdrawing his eyes from the scene of slaughter in front,
looked back down the cliff.
A cry of delight escaped him. A regular road had been made, curving all
the way up the cliff, and two field guns had been brought up, and set in
position. In spite of the enemies' fire, all sorts of stores had come
ashore in the night, and the camp cooks were already busy preparing
breakfast.
It was the first hot meal that any of the men had had for thirty-six
hours, and it did them all the good in the world. When it was over they
were told to take what sleep they could.
Ken and his two chums needed no second order. They simply pitched
themselves down, and no one ever slept better on a spring mattress than
Ken did in the muddy bottom of that trench.
What woke him at last was a crash which made the solid hill-side quiver,
and dwarfed to insignificance anything that he had previously heard.
In a flash he was up and on his feet.
'Go aisy, lad,' said O'Brien, who was standing up, with a pair of glasses
to his eyes and a smile on his lips. Go aisy. 'Tis only Lizzie opening the
ball.'
'Lizzie?' muttered Ken, still half dazed with the prodigious explosion.
Again came an enormous roar, followed by a sound like a train rushing
through the sky. Then from a hill to the left and a mile or so inland a
geyser of rocks and soil spouted, and was followed by the same
earth-shaking crash which had wakened him.
Ken looked out to sea. Some three miles off shore lay the biggest
battleship he had ever set eyes on. Even at that distance her immense
turrets, with their grinning gun muzzles, were clearly visible.
'The "Queen Elizabeth!"' he gasped.
'That's what,' said Roy Horan, who had got up and joined Ken. 'They've
sent her along to lend us a hand. Oh, I tell you, she's no slouch. Watch
her now! Gee, but she's giving Young Turkey something to chew on.'
'Why, there's a regular fleet!' exclaimed Ken, rubbing the last of the
sleep from his eyes. 'This is something like. Some of those sniping
gentlemen are going to be sorry for themselves.'
No fewer than seven warships were lying off the coast, every one of them
smashing their broadsides into the Turkish positions. The noise was
incredible, but every sound was dwarfed when the great super-Dreadnought
fired her 15-inch guns. The shells, the length of a tall man and weighing
very nearly a ton, were charged with shrapnel, carrying no fewer than
twenty thousand bullets apiece. Exploding over the enemy's position, each
deluged a couple of acres of ground with a torrent of lead.
[Illustration: '"'Tis only Lizzie opening the ball."']
It was a most amazing sight. The whole sky was full of the smoke of
bursting shells--smoke so heavy that the light breeze could not break it,
as it swam in masses that seemed quite solid until they struck against the
higher ground far inland.
Hour after hour the tremendous bombardment continued. At first the Turkish
field pieces endeavoured to reply, but one by one they were silenced, and
when at last, late in the afternoon, the thunder of the guns ceased, the
silence was only broken by a faint crackle of musketry.
'Now's our chance!' exclaimed O'Brien, who seemed to have an uncanny
faculty for understanding beforehand exactly what was in the colonel's
mind.
'A charge, you mean?' said Ken eagerly.
'That's it, sonny. Before they've got over the effects of that swate
little pasting.'
Sure enough, a minute later came the order for advance, and, refreshed by
their long rest, the Australians and New Zealanders came pouring over
their parapet, and with bayonets flashing in the evening sun, rushed
forward through the scrub.
For the first two hundred yards there was hardly a check, then all of a
sudden the scattered fire thickened.
'They're in the ravine, bhoys,' shouted O'Brien. 'Don't be waiting to
shoot. Give thim the steel.'
The firing grew heavier. Many of the gallant Colonials dropped, but the
only effect upon the rest was to make them race forward at greater speed.
Ken saw before him a dark line seamed with spits and flashes of flame. A
bullet clipped past his ear so close that he felt the wind of it. He never
paused. Next moment he was over the lip of the shallow ravine in which the
Turks had entrenched themselves.
On the two previous occasions when he and his comrades had attacked
Turkish trenches, the enemy had defended themselves bravely. Now they
seemed no longer to have any stomach for the fight. As the Colonials
poured like an avalanche into the ravine the Turks turned, and scrambling
wildly up the far side, bolted for their lives.
But the Colonials, with the bitter memory in their minds of all they had
suffered during the previous night and day, were not minded to let them
escape so easily. With loud shouts they gave chase. The Turks, good
marchers but poor runners, stood no earthly chance in this terrible race,
and by scores and hundreds were bayoneted or seized and dragged back as
prisoners.
Filled with mad excitement, Ken raced onwards in the forefront of the
line. His bayonet was dripping, a red mist clouded his eyes, for the
moment he was fighting mad.
He stumbled over a log and nearly fell. He realised that he was in a small
wood of low-growing trees with wide spreading branches. To his right he
heard shouts and shrieks and the sound of shots, but for the moment there
was not another soul in sight.
His throat was like a lime kiln. He stopped a moment to take a swallow of
water from his felt-covered flask, then went forward again.
He came to an open space, and as he reached its edge saw four men with a
quick-firer hurrying frantically across the open to the trees on the far
side.
Three were Turks, but the fourth wore the gray-green of a German officer.
The latter was short and--for a German--slight. Something about him seemed
vaguely familiar.
At that moment he turned and glanced round, and Ken saw his face. He could
hardly believe his eyes. The man was Kemp, ex-steward of the 'Cardigan
Castle.' There could be no doubt about it. That sallow complexion, the low
forehead, and the thick black eyebrows which met above his nose were quite
unmistakable.
Without an instant's hesitation Ken flung up his rifle and fired straight
at the man. But blown with long running, his hand shook. At any rate, he
missed, and next instant the German, the Turks, and their gun vanished
into the trees opposite.
Footsteps came crashing through the dead leaves and dry sticks behind Ken.
'We've got 'em on toast, Carrington,' came the deep voice of Roy Horan.
The big fellow was splashed with blood and dripping with perspiration, but
in his eyes was a gleam which told of his delight at the result of the
charge.
Ken gave a gasp of joy.
'The very man, Horan! Kemp and three Turkish gunners have just gone into
the trees opposite. They've got a quick-firer. Are you game to hunt 'em
down?'
'Kemp?' exclaimed Roy, who had of course heard the story of the treachery
aboard the 'Cardigan Castle.' 'Kemp, that spy scoundrel--are you sure?'
'Dead certain, though I can't imagine how he got here.'
'More can I, but by the Lord Harry, we'll have his scalp all right. Which
way did they go?'
Ken pointed and began to run. Roy raced alongside.
It was the maddest enterprise, and if either had stopped to think they
would have realised this fact. Two against four, and the latter armed with
a quick-firer! And by way of improving matters, the two had outrun all
their companions and were far out in a country swarming with enemy troops.
But Ken thought only of vengeance against the traitor Kemp, and as for
Roy, he was the sort to fight till he dropped, and laugh at any odds.
'Where's Dave?' asked Ken, as they tore along, side by side.
'All right when I last saw him about half a mile back,' was the answer.
'Which way have those blighters gone?'
Ken, alone, might have been at a loss to follow, but this was where Roy
came in. Brought up on a great cattle run, he could track a stray beast
over miles of ranges. It was child's play to him to trace the heavy
footmarks over the leaf-strewn floor of the wood.
'Go as quietly as you can,' he whispered to Ken. 'Kemp's quite cute enough
to ambush us if he thinks we're on his track.'
It was wonderful how quietly the young giant could move, and Ken,
naturally light-footed, followed his example easily. The tracks led
uphill, and presently the trees began to thin, and the ground to become
more stony.
Then the trees gave out altogether, and they found themselves on the side
of a great hill seamed with gullies and covered with low scrub and loose
stones.
[Illustration: Within No. 1 Fort at Cape Helles in the Dardanelles.]
[Illustration: Tired out, the soldier was sleeping on a bed of live
shells.]
'There they are!' said Ken in a low voice, pointing to heads just visible
over the edge of one of the shallow gullies. 'I tell you what they're
after. They're going to emplace that gun somewhere up on the hill-side,
and pepper our people on their way back.'
Roy nodded.
'That's about the size of it. Well, it's up to us to spoil their little
game. We must work up along the next gully parallel with them and get a
slap at 'em over the edge.'
'That's the tip,' said Ken, 'but mind, we've got to bust up the gun itself
as well as the men with it.'
Bending double so as not to be seen, the two scurried up the parallel
gully until they reckoned that they must be on a level with the gun and
its crew.
'It's going to be a stalk now,' whispered Roy, and dropping on hands and
knees, crept cautiously over the side of the gully.
On the ridge he stopped.
'Hang the luck!' he muttered. 'They've gone a lot farther than I reckoned.
They're a couple of hundred yards away, and still moving. What's worse,
the two gullies bend away from one another, and there's no cover to speak
of.'
Ken crept up alongside, and took a look.
'It's a bit awkward,' he admitted. 'But they're taking it easy. We ought
to be able to make fair practice from here.'
Roy nodded.
'All right. You take the left-hand man. I'll try for the right.'
A couple of seconds pause, then the two rifles spoke at once. Ken's man
went down like a log, but Roy apparently missed his.
Roy gave an angry exclamation and took a rapid second shot.
'Hurrah--nailed him that time,' as he saw the man go over like a shot
rabbit.
The remaining Turk, seeing his companions down, turned and made a dead
bolt. Kemp, with a cry of rage which came plainly to their ears, rushed
after him, apparently with the idea of bringing him back.
Ken and Roy both loosed off at once, but without success, and next instant
their quarry was out of sight over the far ridge.
'Rotten luck! It was Kemp we wanted,' growled Roy.
'We want the gun worse,' Ken answered grimly.
Springing up, he dropped into the far gully and began to run towards the
gun.
'Watch out for Kemp,' sang out Roy, as he followed. 'He may be laying for
us just over the ridge.'
'I thought of that,' answered Ken. 'I'll slip across and have a look.'
Both crept together over the second ridge, but there was no sign of Kemp
or of the third Turk. They might have sunk into the ground for all that
could be seen of them.
'Now for the gun,' said Ken, as he dropped back into the gully.
They wasted no time at all in reaching it. Beside it lay the two Turks.
They were both quite dead.
'Pity we can't take the gun back with us,' said Ken regretfully.
'Why shouldn't we? I'll sling it on my back. It don't weigh more than
sixty pounds.'
Ken shook his head.
'It's too far, old chap. We're all of a mile from our own lines. No, I'll
take the breech block off, and if you can find a good-sized stone we'll
smash the rest of it enough to make it useless.'
Roy at once hove up a rock the size of his head, and raising it high in
air brought it down with a shattering crash on the gun. The stout steel
barrel twisted under the tremendous shock, the water jacket burst.
'That suit you?' he said.
Ken glanced at the ruins, and smiled.
'Take Krupps all their time to make that serviceable again,' he remarked,
and the words were hardly out of his mouth before there came a sudden rush
of feet, and Kemp, accompanied by no fewer than eight sturdy-looking
Turks, came scrambling over the ridge from the right.
'Don't kill them,' shouted Kemp in Turkish. 'Don't kill them. Take them
alive. Ten marks apiece to you if you take them alive.'
The men were on them instantly. There was no time to shoot. Stooping
swiftly, Roy swung up the broken barrel of the quick-firer, and with a
shout sprang at the Turks, whirling the weighty length of steel around his
head.
In his powerful hands it was a fearful weapon. The Turks went down like
ninepins. Ken, who grasped his rifle by the barrel was in no way behind
his chum. The Turks had not been prepared for such a resistance. Inside
ten seconds five of them were down, and the three others had had all they
wanted. They ran for their lives.
Kemp had taken no part in the battle. He was standing a little aloof on
the upper ground. Roy, having disposed of his assailant, whirled round and
made for the man.
Kemp whipped out a repeating pistol and levelled it at his head.
'Drop that or I shoot,' he said viciously.
'No, you don't,' cried Ken.
Ken had seen the pistol in Kemp's hand, and had just had time to get his
own rifle to his shoulder, the muzzle levelled full at Kemp's head.
'Drop that pistol, or I'll blow your head off,' he said curtly.
Kemp's lips parted in a snarl, showing his white teeth. For a moment it
looked as though he would shoot Roy and take his chances.
But his pluck was not quite equal to it, and the grim, determined look on
Ken's face daunted him. With a muttered oath, he dropped the pistol.
'And a very pretty toy, too!' said Roy, springing forward and picking it
up. 'A nice new automatic, Roy. We'll keep that as spoils of war.'
'Don't waste time over the pistol,' said Ken sharply. 'Collar the chap
himself. He'll be better worth bringing back than a cart load of pistols.'
In an instant Roy's great arms were round Kemp, and lifting him clean off
his feet he popped him down in front of Ken.
'Tie him,' said Ken.
'I am an officer,' said Kemp haughtily. 'I will not be bound like a common
criminal.'
'You were an English ship's steward when I last saw you,' Ken retorted.
'And engaged in the charming occupation of signalling out of the bathroom
port to an enemy submarine.'
It was evidently no news to Kemp that Kenneth Carrington was his adversary
of the bathroom. Dark as it had been, he must somehow have recognised him.
He glared back defiantly.
'I was serving my country,' he answered with a lofty air.
'And what do you think would have happened to a Britisher who had been
caught on a German ship, engaged in an act of such abominable treachery?'
returned Ken hotly.
Kemp merely shrugged his shoulders.
'Well, it's not for me to deal with you,' said Ken. 'We'll take him back,
Roy, and he'll stand a proper court-martial. Still, as he calls himself an
officer, I suppose I must take his parole.'
'Do you give it?' he demanded of Kemp.
Kemp's sallow face had gone white, but whether from fear or rage was
doubtful. 'Yes,' he said in a low voice, 'I give my parole.'
They turned, and with Kemp between them, set out at a sharp pace in the
direction from which they had come.
From the distance rifles still snapped, and a couple of miles away to the
south-west field-guns were booming. But all around was strangely quiet.
Ken began to feel a trifle uneasy. He realised that they had got a long
way ahead of their comrades, and that the latter had already been
recalled.
'Quite nice and peaceful up here, eh, Ken?' said Roy with his cheerful
grin.
Before Ken could reply there came a shot from somewhere quite close at
hand, and with a sharp cry Ken dropped his rifle.
'Winged, old chap?' said Roy, turning quickly.
As he did so Kemp made a dash, and hurled himself up the slope to the
left.
'Never mind me!' cried Ken. 'Catch Kemp. Shoot him. Stop him anyhow.'
Roy flung up his rifle and took a snap shot.
He missed, and before he could pull the trigger a second time, the
ex-steward had dived like a weasel into a clump of scrub and was gone.
Roy dashed up the bank in hot pursuit. The moment he showed himself a
regular volley of rifle shots rang out, and spinning round he sprang back
into the hollow.
'There's about twenty Turks coming hard up the next gully,' he panted.
'We've got to bunk like blazes if we want to save our skins.'