the
train ran along the coast. Some of the red earth of Gallipoli, he
said, reminded him of Devon's red loam.

Evidently the Turkish attack was not going to materialise. I stood
upon the firing-step and looked over the parapet. In the moonlight I
could see the black sand-bags of the Turks' front line, and the
desolate waste of No Man's Land.... Then my hand sprang to the butt
of my revolver. Something _had_ moved in No Man's Land. "Look out!"
I said. "They're coming!" just as from behind a bit of rising ground
a figure rose on to its hands and knees. I pointed my revolver at
it, and pulled the trigger. The figure collapsed, and rolled
forwards till its progress was arrested by a rocky projection, over
which it finally lay, doubled up like a bolster. As it fell my heart
gave a sickening leap, either of excitement or of fright.

At once the whole of the company front opened rapid fire. A few
things seemed to fall about in No Man's Land, and I saw some figures
pass across the moon as they scurried back to their trenches.

"Cease fire!" ordered the O.C. firing line. "Merely a reconnaissance
raid. Silly trouts, these Turks."

And Doe came up to me, saying almost enviously:

"You've killed your man, Rupert. Congratulations."

Without answering I stood on the firing-step again, and looked at
the limp form of my victim. It was dead beyond question, shapeless
and horrible.

I took my platoon back to the Bluff, dismissed it, and going up to
my dug-out door, stood there for a moment thinking. Since leaving it
an hour ago I had killed a man.

"You mustn't rest till you've slaughtered a Turk," our new C.O. had
said, for he was an apostle of the offensive spirit. "Then, if they
kill you, you'll at least have taken a life for a life. And any more
that you kill before they finish you off will be clear gain for King
George."

Not wishing to go to bed yet, I went back to the firing line, and
looked over our sand-bags once more. The body was still there,
shapeless and horrible, and as limp as a half-empty sack of coals.

Sec.2

Some of the officers of B and D Companies were drinking together the
following day in a hole on the Bluff, when the Brigade Bombing
Officer burst in among us, and seized a mug.

"Thanks. I will," he said. "Just a spot of whisky. Well, here's to
you. Cheerioh!"

He drank half the mug, and addressed me.

"Ray, you have found favour in the sight of the General. He wants
you for his A.D.C., and wo