Why don't we go on up and
smoke out those blighted snipers?'

'It's ammunition, I fancy. And there's a couple of maxims coming up. We
shall need those if we have to dig ourselves in under fire.'

'More digging--oh, Christmas!' growled Dave. 'I didn't come here to dig. I
could do that in my old dad's garden at home.'

Ken chuckled. 'You'll find the spade'll do as much to win this war as the
guns and rifles. There's heaps of trenching in store for us, I can tell
you.'

There was some delay about the maxims, and time went on without any order
to move. The men began to grumble. It was hard indeed to lie and watch
their comrades below being picked off, one after another, by these
abominable sharpshooters, without a chance of hitting back.

'Look at that!' growled Roy Horan, pointing to a stalwart bluejacket who
had just dropped at his oar as the boat pushed off the beach. 'It's
murder! That's what it is. Sheer murder! Why the blazes can't the ships
turn loose?'

'Because they've got nothing to fire at. You can't chuck away 6-inch
shells on the off chance of killing one sniper. You wait until the Turks
appear in force. Then you'll see what naval guns can do.'

'I don't believe the swine will ever appear in force,' said Roy, who had
lost all his good humour and was looking absolutely savage. 'It breaks me
all up to see our chaps shot down like rabbits without a chance of getting
their own back.'

There was worse to come. From somewhere high up among the scrub-clad
heights came a dull heavy crash, and almost instantly the clear air above
the beach was filled with puffs of gray white smoke which floated like
balls of cotton wool.

'The guns! The beggars have got those guns up,' ran a mutter along the
trench.

'About time for the ships to get to work,' growled Roy, his big handsome
face knitted in a scowl.

'Ay, if they only knew where the guns were,' replied Ken. 'But that's the
deuce of it. They can't spot 'em without planes, and there are no planes
here yet.'

Crash! A second gun spoke, and another shell burst above the beach. From
that time on the firing was continuous. The whole beach was scourged with
shrapnel, and landing operations became perilous in the extreme.

The men in the trenches fidgeted and swore beneath their breath. There is
nothing more trying to troops than to see their comrades suffering and yet
be unable to help them.

'Can't we do something?' muttered Dave, as he saw a boat from one of t