A few scared and demoralized Huns, who had contrived to dodge the barrage, came towards them slowly, as if uncertain of their reception. With hands upraised and cries of "Kamerad" on their lips the surrendering men passed between the advancing troops, who saluted them with ironical advice to "Cut it out, and not so much of your Kamerad stunt!"
Presently the battalion slowed down. The men were treading on the heels of their own barrage. So perfectly were the shells falling that there was little fear of one falling short and playing havoc with the khaki boys. With a feeling of complete confidence, akin to that of a child for its mother, the New Zealanders literally clung to the skirts of the barrage, at the same time adjuring the distant artillerymen to "Push it along and let's get on!"
In response to a signal from an observing aeroplane the barrage suddenly parted, some of the guns surging round to the right, others lifting and pounding away at a mass of German reserves. Immediately in front of C Company was a gap that would bring men to hand-grips with the foe.
Nothing could have kept the Anzacs back. In vain a daring German aeroplane swooped down and brought a machine-gun to play with absolute impartiality upon the combatants, finally to "crash" upon the corpse-covered ground. With no visible result did the Huns send up their so-called S.O.S. signals for aid. The retirement became a rout, while the New Zealanders pressed hard at the heels of the opponents.
"Enough of that, boys!" ordered Captain Nicholson, who of all the company officers was the senior one unwounded. "Dig yourselves in and stand fast."
Already the haunting suspicion that C Company had pushed on in advance of the rest of the line assailed the young officer. Times without number he had been impressed, and had impressed others, with the need of keeping in touch with the flanking companies. How the line ran, whether the Australian troops of the right were in advance or to the rear of the New Zealanders, he knew not. Dense clouds of low-lying smoke hid everything. The Huns were releasing prodigious quantities of poison gas. Away to the left an advance ammunition-dump went up with a terrific explosion.
In a slight depression, littered with coils of severed barbed wire and displaced sand-bags, Captain Nicholson got his men in hand. The defeated Prussians were being swallowed up in the haze of battle, but dense masses of grey-clad troops were advancing under cover of the liberated gas.
There was no doubt about it, C Company had lost touch. Every man realized the fact, although none remarked it to his comrade. The heat of battle over, they set to work to consolidate and hold the position they had carried at such a cost. Rifle and machine-gun bullets were beginning to spray the ground anew.
Captain Nicholson scribbled a few lines in his pocket-book, tore out the leaf, and beckoned to Malcolm, who was engaged in collecting sand-bags.
"Cut it out, Carr!" he shouted. The order, puzzling to a Tommy, was plain to the rifleman addressed. Desisting from his task, he approached his officer and saluted.