"What's the northernmost limit of the attack just here?" he said to the Saxon, speaking in such excellent German that the man was obviously surprised.
"Ten yards this side of the machine-gun, Herr Officer, and they will keep well within it," he added. "They are Prussians on that gun, and they don't care who they kill as long as they hit somebody."
"Look here, Dan, you can stay where you are if you like," said Dennis. "I'm off!"
"Wait a moment—don't be an ass," expostulated his cousin. "What's your plan? I'm with you if there's an earthly chance of doing anything."
"It's this," replied Dennis, slipping his revolver back into its case. "The top of our parapet is a couple of feet higher than that machine-gun emplacement. I noticed that yesterday. I'm going to crawl out under the line of their fire, and I'll bet you I'm back in our trench in ten minutes."
"It's risky," said his cousin. "But not as bad as Lone Pine. What about the prisoner?"
"If I am alive and we have not carried your trench," said the Saxon very earnestly, "I shall report myself to your people before daybreak."
"All right, that's a promise," said Dennis, and he climbed cautiously up to the lip of the hole and peeped over.
A wave of the enemy had just passed on, swallowed up in the dense vapour of the smoke-bombs, and as the two cousins flung themselves on their faces they heard the Lee-Enfields opening from their own trench.
So long as the smoke lasted they were safe from detection, but the whole air seemed alive with singing bullets, and Dennis felt a jar all along his right side as one of our own shots carried off the heel of his boot.