George Joewell

The Fascists had brought up a machine-gun now. You could see it spittinglike a squib a hundred or two hundred yards away; the bullets came overus with a steady, frosty crackle. Before long we had flung enoughsand-bags into place to make a low breastwork behind which the few menwho were on this side of the position could lie down and fire. I waskneeling behind them. A mortar-shell whizzed over and crashed somewherein no man's land. That was another danger, but it would take them someminutes to find our range. Now that we had finished wrestling with thosebeastly sand-bags it was not bad fun in a way; the noise, the darkness,the flashes approaching, our own men blazing back at the flashes. Oneeven had time to think a little. I remember wondering whether I wasfrightened, and deciding that I was not. Outside, where I was probablyin less danger, I had been half sick with fright. Suddenly there wasanother shout that the Fascists were closing in. There was no doubtabout it this time, the rifle-flashes were much nearer. I saw a flashhardly twenty yards away. Obviously they were working their way up thecommunication-trench. At twenty yards they were within easy bombingrange; there were eight or nine of us bunched together and a singlewell-placed bomb would blow us all to fragments. Bob Smillie, the bloodrunning down his face from a small wound, sprang to his knee and flung abomb. We cowered, waiting for the crash. The fuse fizzled red as itsailed through the air, but the bomb failed to explode. (At least aquarter of these bombs were duds). I had no bombs left except theFascist ones and I was not certain how these worked. I shouted to theothers to know if anyone had a bomb to spare. Douglas Moyle felt in hispocket and passed one across. I flung it and threw myself on my face. Byone of those strokes of luck that happen about once in a year I hadmanaged to drop the bomb almost exactly where the rifle had flashed.There was the roar of the explosion and then, instantly, a diabolicaloutcry of screams and groans. We had got one of them, anyway; I don'tknow whether he was killed, but certainly he was badly hurt. Poorwretch, poor wretch! I felt a vague sorrow as I heard him screaming. Butat the same instant, in the dim light of the rifle-flashes, I saw orthought I saw a figure standing near the place where the rifle hadflashed. I threw up my rifle and let fly. Another scream, but I think itwas still the effect of the bomb. Several more bombs were thrown. Thenext rifle-flashes we saw were a long way off, a hundred yards or more.So we had driven them back, temporarily at least.