They made a wide detour, worming their way along on both sides of the nest, and then at a given signal rushed the position. The startled gun crew turned their gun first one way and then the other in an attempt to check their assailants, but although some fell dead or wounded, the survivors reached their goal, leaped upon the gunners and bayoneted them at their posts. “Gee, but that was a hot scrap!” panted Frank, as the last of the enemy went down. “You bet it was,” agreed Billy, “and we’ve had to pay for it too. We’ve lost several of our fellows. Poor Milt Barlow was toppled over and Fred Anderson got a bullet in his shoulder.” “This was a regular fort,” commented Tom, as he looked about him. “Look at that pile of cartridges. There’s thousands of rounds there. As far as bullets were concerned, those fellows could have held out all day.” “The Heinies certainly wanted to hold it,” said Billy, “and I shouldn’t wonder if they tried to retake it.” “Here comes a bunch of them now,” said Frank, as he looked in the direction of the German lines. “And they’re opening up with artillery too,” he added, as a shell came screaming through the air and exploded with a thunderous roar not fifty feet away. A crackling rifle fire followed the shell, and a bullet ploughed through the scalp of the corporal, knocking him senseless. There was no other officer at hand and Frank took command at once. His quick eye glancing about caught sight of a disabled and abandoned tank that was near by. It lay in such a position that its open door was on the side that faced the enemy. “Quick!” he ordered. “Put the machine gun in that tank. Hurry now and bring all that ammunition along. But first put the corporal behind that tree where a bullet can’t get him. Hustle’s the word.” There was need for haste, for a body of the enemy that outnumbered them ten to one was approaching on the double quick. In a trice the wounded corporal was laid behind a tree in a position of comparative safety, the gun was transported to the tank, together with the ammunition, and the little party was ready for the attack. Frank, Billy and Tom were crowded inside the tank with the gun, while four others lay down behind it in reserve, ready to take the place of any of the crew who might be killed or wounded. Crouching as closely in the tank as he could, Frank slewed the gun around in the direction of the enemy and sent a hail of bullets against the advancing ranks. Men were seen to stagger and fall, but their places were taken by others and the Germans continued to come on. But that stream of fire kept up remorselessly, and at last the wave of attackers faltered, broke and fled. “They’re running!” cried Billy exultantly. “A lot of them will never run again,” said Tom grimly, as he continued feeding the gun that Frank was aiming.