foot with a happy smile on his
snub-nosed visage, and the pair ran out into the little square to mingle
with the platoon which was going by at the double.

"Lumme!" exclaimed Harry Hawke, as a fearful burst of high explosive
shook the very ground; and, looking over their shoulders, they saw the
ruined tower they had just left sink to the ground amid a huge column of
dust!

Their eyes met, but before either of them could speak Bob Dashwood's
voice was heard shouting: "Look out, A Company! Ten rounds rapid, and
load up for your lives! Here's a whole Bavarian battalion on top of
us!"

CHAPTER XVII

The Exploits of A Company

"Tomkins!" cried the Captain, "bunk back to the C.O. if you can find
him, and tell him there's a strong counter-attack on. Say it's a matter
of minutes if we're going to hold the village."

Fifty yards beyond the outer fringe of those crumbled heaps a little
stream flowed, a shattered willow here and there marking its course, and
from the opposite bank the ground rose to what had once been a thick
wood.

In front of the wood a solid mass of German infantry had suddenly sprung
into view as if by magic, and, forming up elbow to elbow, moved down the
slope, breaking into a brisk run. The great grey wave overlapped A
Company for a considerable distance on either flank.

A strip of ragged garden hedge on our side of the stream, a well-head,
and the wooden ribs of a stable which had somehow survived the
bombardment were the only available cover, if one excepted two large
shell craters.

"Hadn't we better fall back, Bob?" said Dennis, as he arrived
breathlessly at his brother's side. "The thin red line at Balaclava was
a fool to this."

"Fall back be hanged!" cried the Captain. "If we give them an inch we
shall let them in. No, there's a better stunt than that. Where on earth
are our machine-guns I'd like to know?"

His words were almost lost as the company poured a terrific fusillade
into the advancing enemy, and the target being too big and too near to
miss, every bullet found its billet. Men in the front rank went down
like ninepins, but the rest came on over their bodies, and everyone
realised that they meant business.

For once the enemy had resolved to use the bayonet, and less than sixty
yards now separated them from the Reedshires.

Bob Dashwood sprang on to a heap of bricks, and his words rang out even
among the bang and clatter that filled the morning air:

"Platoons One