On they came as steadily as if on parade, while between the rapid crashes of the artillery could be distinguished the harsh voices of the men as they sang "Deutschland über Alles" and the "Wacht am Rhein". The only relief to those grey-clad battalions was the glitter of the forest of bayonets.
If numbers could annihilate, the fate of the comparative handful of Belgians was sealed; but von Emmich had, like many another man, underrated the courage of the plucky little Belgians.
The Germans were now within the danger-zone of shell-fire. Shrapnel tore ghastly lanes through their serried ranks, but other men were instantly forthcoming to fill up the gaps. On and on they came till they reached the outer edge of the glacis. Here the huge fortress-guns in the armoured cupolas could not be sufficiently depressed to do them harm.
The crackle of the Belgian musketry added to the din. The men, firing steadily, swept away hundreds of their Teutonic foes, but the ant-like swarm of ferocious humanity still swept onwards.
Kenneth and Rollo were firing away as hard as they could thrust home the bolts of the rifles and press trigger. The hostile gun-fire had now ceased, lest German should fall by German shell. The infantry, firing with the butts of their rifles at the hip, let loose a terrific volley. The air was torn by the zipp of the bullets, but for the most part the hail of missiles either flew high or harmlessly expended itself in the soft earth. Now, in spite of the withering fire, the foremost of the German stormers were almost up to the parapet of the outer defences. Victory seemed within their grasp. Their shouts redoubled. Drunk with the apparent success of their suicidal tactics, they rushed to overwhelm the slender line of Belgian riflemen.
Through the rapidly-drifting clouds of smoke—for there was a strong wind blowing athwart the line of attack—the two British lads could clearly see the features of the exultant foes, as they recklessly plunged straight into the dazzling rays of the searchlight.
Mechanically Kenneth began to wonder what would happen next, for it seemed imminent that bayonet would cross bayonet, and that the handful of Belgian infantry would be cut off to the last man.
Then, even as he faced the enemy, the dense masses of Germans seemed to melt away. They fell, not in sixes and sevens, but in scores and hundreds, till a barricade of dead prevented the massacre of the living. The Belgians had machine-guns in readiness to take up the work that the heavier weapons had been obliged to suspend.
The commandant of the 9th regiment of the line saw his chance. The rattle of the Berthier machine-guns ceased as if by magic, and the shout was heard "A la baïonnette!"
Instantly the active Belgians swarmed over the glacis and threw themselves upon the demoralized foe. The repulse of the Germans became a rout.