Boom! Boom! Boom! crashed three more shrapnels above them, scattering lead and iron in all directions. Old keys, brass fittings, nails, iron knobs and other things tumbled in, too.
"Queer shrapnel—eh?" said Claud, picking up one of these curios—and a sign that the Turks were surely scarce of the real stuff.
"Don't mind bullets," growled Bill; "but I objects to them chuckin' an ironmonger's shop at my ole head. It ain't nice——"
Boom! Boom! came two more.
"A miss!" said Sandy, signalling a "wash-out" with a shovel.
Boom! crashed another almost overhead. It was a narrow shave. Sandy, with that caution of his clan, resigned the post of marker. The gods were favouring this genial quartette, but in many parts of the line men lay dead, dying, and maimed. They bore their wounds with a wonderful patience, and few complained. Comrades ripped out their field dressings and staunched the blood. Doctors, regardless of whizzing shells and bullets, crept from patient to patient. Stretcher-bearers manfully did their job. Over shell-swept zones they carried and pulled the wounded to succour and safety. Despite the danger, men even found time to note and praise the deeds of these Red Cross heroes. The name of the R.A.M.C. ought to be printed in letters of gold on the dome of St. Paul's. It is one reminiscent of heroism, faith, hope, and charity.
Now, during all this gun and rifle firing not a reply was sent. The Staff allowed the Turks to expend their shells and bullets. That is always good business in war. It adds to the enemy's problem of supply. This bombardment lasted for two hours. No doubt the Turks were well pleased. But immediately they ceased their fire there was a universal Boom! from the Australian lines. Battleships, cruisers, torpedo boats, howitzer batteries, field batteries, and Maxim guns sent back salvo after salvo of a deafening and devilish kind.
The unerring aim of our gunners paralysed, for a time, the initiative of the Turkish Staff. This tremendous reply was unexpected. And the British shells burst in their magazines, their supply depôts, their headquarters dug-outs in a startling way. Never was gunnery so deadly. Never was slaughter so sure. Regiments waiting en masse for the assault were torn and butchered. Trenches were burst and destroyed. It was death, desolation, and disaster of an unexpected and amazing kind. Such is the value of information in war. A good Intelligence Officer is equal to a complete division of all arms.
Yet this bombardment did not deter the Turkish assault. It had been arranged; it had to go on. When the British bombardment ceased, they leaped boldly from their trenches and came on en masse. A strange silence now pervaded the Australasian lines. Not a shot was heard. It was the calm before the storm. They allowed the Turks to advance. On they came, great, dark, strong-looking men. They shouted "Allah!" "Allah!" as they ran. This cry for "Allah" was a bad sign. The Turks expected "Allah" to do what they felt they had not the confidence to do themselves. Still, the German task-masters had given them a certain assurance by sending them forward elbow to elbow, line upon line.
In brief, this attack was meant as an overwhelming flood of bayonets upon the Australasians' lines. The Turkish Staff argued that, after all, these troops were only volunteers; they could not withstand a violent offensive movement. But they did; they even surprised their General and the Staff. And the ability to wait for a signal to shoot was in itself a sign of perfect control, excellent fire discipline.