In dense serried masses the columns of Bavarian infantry advanced. They came on without hesitation, yet in comparative silence, confident that their guns had so pulverized the trenches their Prussian comrades had lost that the charge would be little more than a "walk-over."
"Five hundred yards! Fire!"
From Maxims and Lewis guns, hastily mounted on the battered parapets, from scores, nay, hundreds, of rifles the hail of nickel from the Wheatshires smote the ranks of their opponents. Like a giant receiving a knock-out blow betwixt the eyes, the field-grey masses recoiled, wavered and broke, in spite of the efforts of their officers to check the rout as the men rushed past them.
Ironical cheers greeted the discomfiture of the Bavarians, then the Wheatshires settled down to undergo the renewal of their punishment, for certain it was that the German gunners, exasperated at the check of the infantry, would renew the bombardment with increased violence.
What seemed worse was the fact that several regiments of the enemy had succeeded in working round both flanks. On the left the Huns, still in possession of part of the same trench as the Wheatshires held, were strongly reinforced. The British infantry were now in a dangerous salient, but still they had not given an inch of ground. Nor could reserves be rushed up to strengthen the advanced position, for the comparatively level stretch of ground was completely exposed to machine-gun fire, to say nothing of the formidable barbed wire that the British guns had failed to demolish earlier in the day.
An aeroplane droned overhead at an altitude of less than a thousand feet. By the red, white, and blue concentrated rings on the planes it was recognized as a British machine. In spite of a warm greeting from the anti-aircraft guns, for mushrooms of white smoke was bursting all around it, the biplane circled serenely. Its object was soon apparent, for, like a whirlwind, shells from the British guns commenced to put up a barrage behind the Huns holding the section of trenches on the Wheatshires' left flank.
Simultaneously four indistinct shapes, resembling gigantic tortoises, appeared in view, ambling leisurely towards the uncut wire.
"That's the sort!" commented Ginger Anderson. He could now reasonably risk drinking the remainder of the contents of his water-bottle. "'Ere come the bloomin' Tanks."