'He drove his bayonet at a dark figure.'
With an effort he dragged the blade loose. Only just in time, for a burly man in a fez was swinging at his head with a rifle butt. Ken ducked under his arm, turned smartly and bayoneted him in the side.
The whole trench was full of struggling men. The Turks fought well, but good men as they are, they were no match for the long, lean six footers who were upon them. Inside three minutes it was all over. Most of the Turks were dead, the few survivors were prisoners.
'Lively while it lasted,' panted Dave's voice at Ken's elbow.
'You, Dave. Are you all right?'
'Lost my hat and my wind. Nothing else missing so far as I know. Are you chipped?'
'Not a touch. But keep your head down. This is only the first act. There's another trench above this one.'
During the struggle in the trench the firing had ceased entirely, but now that it was over a pestilence of bullets began to pour again from higher up the slope, and Ken's warning was useful—to say the least of it.
'What comes next?' asked Dave, as the two crouched together against the rubbly wall of the trench.
'Get our second wind and tackle the next trench,' said Ken briefly.