“Half a mile,” he said.
“Right,” said Bowers, “and the Germans are a quarter of a mile closer—but still not close enough for my little gun here. But if there is going to be a race for us, I’ll lay long odds on Fritz.”
“Looks like you’d win,” replied Hal. “There is the first messenger,” he added quietly, as a German bullet struck the wall behind which the two had taken refuge.
Bowers peered over the top of the wall, raised his automatic and would have fired had Hal not stayed his hand.
“Don’t waste your bullets,” said the lad. “Remember the watchword of the battle of Bunker Hill: ‘Wait until you see the whites of their eyes.’”
“Right,” said Bowers briefly.
Came a volley of bullets from the foremost Germans as Hal and the marine crouched down behind their refuge. The bullets flattened themselves against the stout wall, but did no other damage.
“Pure waste of ammunition,” was Hal’s cool comment.
“What do the fools want to shoot for?” demanded Bowers. “All they have to do is rush us. We’ll probably get a couple of them, but they are bound to get us in the end.”
It appeared that the German officers had reached the same conclusion, for the rifle fire of the advancing infantry ceased and the Germans came on with fixed bayonets.