The order came none too soon, for in a very few minutes snipers got to work again. There were scores of them. Every little patch of scrub held its sharpshooter, and although the darkness was still against accurate shooting there were many casualties.
'They're enfilading us,' said Ken. 'They've got men posted up on the cliff to the left who can fire right down this trench. It's going to be awkward when daylight comes.'
It was awkward enough already. The Red Cross men were kept busy, staggering away downhill with stretchers laden with the wounded. There was no possibility of returning the enemy's fire, and in the darkness the ships could not help. All the Colonials could do was to crouch as low as possible, flattening themselves against the landward wall of the trench.
'Those snipers are the very deuce, sergeant.'
The voice was that of Colonel Conway, who was making his way down the trench, to see how his men were faring.
'They are that, sorr,' replied O'Brien. ''Tis them over on the bluff to the left as is doing the damage. I'm thinking they've got the ranges beforehand.
As he spoke a man went down within five yards of where he stood. He was shot clean through the head.
'It's Standish,' said Ken. And then, on the spur of the moment,—
'Sergeant, couldn't some of us go and clear them out?'
There was a moment's pause broken only by the intermittent crackle of firing from above.