"What indeed? What's to be done?"
"We'll get killed like blurry rats down 'ere.... The Alleymongs are coming over in droves...."
"It's better to fight them on the top than to let them stone us to death down here."
Sergeant Snogger, in a sheepskin coat, which was freshly ripped across the shoulder by a bullet or shell splinter, rolled down the side of the crater and landed at the bottom. In a moment he was on his feet.
"Up to the top, boys!" he cried. "Don't stand here arguing like fishwives. Up to the top or you'll be damned unlucky."
Immediately the men were crawling up like ants, but with extreme difficulty. Their heavy boots, their equipments and rifles impeded their movements, each man was a khaki-clad Sisyphus, battling against an incline such as the patient Sisyphus never experienced. The men, grunting and swearing, seemed to be making no headway, the scaling of the craterside, about sixty feet in depth, was a Herculean task for men strong of wind and limb, for them it was a task of despair.
"We'll never get there," Bubb grunted. Then his eyes sought the top. "Gor' blimey!" he muttered, "there they come."
A man, dressed in German uniform, stood on the rim of the crater, a rifle in his hand, and looked down. As the soldiers watched, he raised his rifle to his shoulder and pointed it at the crush in the bottom of the crater.
The movement was his last. Bowdy Benners arrived at that moment, dressed in full marching order, his rifle in his hand and the bayonet fixed. The "point" was delivered at the shoulder, and Benners' long arms put all the zest of a strong body into the movement. The German came clean over the rim of the crater and rolled down to the bottom, clawing at the air with frenzied fingers.
Bowdy lay down at the top, and his rifle became active. Round after round sped across the open towards the foe, who were now coming up in bulk and getting very close to the crater.