Except for the moral effect, the machine-guns were now of little use. Better work could be performed by individual shooting, but the diverging fire from five rifles was a feeble reply to the converging volleys from ten times that number, while the emplacement, constructed to meet an attack from the westward, was ill-designed to ward off an assault from the opposite quarter.
For full five minutes the defenders lay low, replying cautiously to the hostile fire, yet conserving their energies for the time when the Huns would attempt to rush the scantily-held post.
Then came a catastrophe. A bullet, passing through an aperture in the concrete, struck Fortescue in the chest. Almost at the same time the already wounded Digger who had brought the news received a second wound in the right shoulder.
Malcolm Carr was now in charge of a garrison of four effectives all told.
With a weird attempt at cheering a number of Boches, mostly bombers, emerged from behind the tree-trunks and rushed towards the defences. Both guns quickly stopped the rush, but not before three men were astride the concrete wall.
Hardly realizing what he was about, Malcolm abandoned the machine-gun, seized a rifle, and dropped the foremost Hun. The second promptly lunged with his bayonet, and, although Malcolm parried, the blade transfixed his left arm just above the elbow. The next instant Henderson dropped the fellow with a bullet at close quarters, while Joliffe accounted for the third.
The three New Zealanders quickly slipped behind cover, just in time to escape a hail of bullets from the Huns, who had witnessed their comrades' deaths. Deftly Joliffe tied a strip of linen tightly above Malcolm's wound, for there was no time to lose. Although unable to use a rifle, Malcolm could still work the machine-gun, in spite of the throbbing and burning pain that shot through his left arm and down his side.
"We've settled a good many of the swine," exclaimed Joliffe. "When the boys come up they'll see we've died game."
Beyond a few desultory shots the attack had quieted down. It was ominous. The Huns, unable to rush the position, were bringing up a trench-mortar.
Suddenly the lull in this part of the wood (elsewhere the noise of combat was still intense) was broken by the rattle of rapid independent rifle-firing and the well-known battle-cry of the New Zealand boys. Bombs, too, were crashing in all directions, while Lewis guns added to the din.