shouting, “Come along, boys! The bloody wire’s cut,” and plunged forward to the trench.
Wide and deep and empty it lay at his feet, and he forgot all about bayonets and bombs and Germans, thinking only how he could get down without falling flat on his face. He climbed down gingerly from sandbag to sandbag, and turned to the left with his revolver ready, full of disappointment and fear that the Bosche had evacuated.
Round the traverse was one of his men looking at a hole under the parapet. He stood and stared too, wondering stupidly what the devil it could be. “It’s a dug-out,” said the man’s voice from very far away, and suddenly he was aware of a bullet hitting the side of the trench, and four Bosches stumbling up the dug-out steps, and shouting as they came. All at once his brain began to act rapidly. He yelled inarticulate curses, and pulled out a bomb from his haversack. The pin came out easily, but the Germans were too close. He dropped the lever and held the thing for a second or two; then flung it at the climbing men and leapt side-ways. There was a sharp crash as the bomb burst, and he sprang back again with his revolver ready. Writhing on the dug-out steps lay three of the Germans. The fourth leaned against the side with his hands over his face. A savage joy possessed the
