“Okay, Lieutenant—we’ll sure clean them out that way!” muttered Fred Marmon. “That is, if nobody lobs a hand grenade into _this_ end of the ditch!” Evidently the Japs had no idea that the grenades that had wrecked the tent might have come from the trench. They proceeded to take the camouflage mats off methodically, moving up from the other end. Barry lay on the very bottom, with Curly’s elbow digging him in the ribs as he aimed his weapon. It was lighter now in their end of the trench. Taking a long breath, Barry pressed the trigger. The trench erupted with fire and sound. He saw the Japs nearest him crumple like rag dolls, one after another, down the trench. They never knew what hit them. At the further end, however, the doomed men saw the licking gun-flames. Some of them tried to return the fire—only to be riddled in the act. The remainder started scrambling out of the death trap. Cracker Jackson and big Danny Hale caught most of these, but not before one Jap had lobbed a hand grenade. The missile, hastily thrown, landed outside the trench, six feet from Hale and Jackson. Without a split second’s hesitation, big Danny flung himself upon the thing. In one motion he grabbed and flung it. The grenade burst harmlessly, fifty feet away. Now, however, bullets were humming over the slit trench. The Japs were all outside. “Down, men!” Barry Blake shouted at Danny and Cracker Jackson. “We’ve got to hold this trench if we want to live.” All of the shooting now came from the direction of the American advance. The Japs between the attacking force and Barry’s trench were keeping their heads down and their gun barrels hot. Their camouflaged helmets offered difficult targets. “Hold your fire until our boys blast them out of those trenches,” Barry told his friends. “It won’t be long now. Then we can see what we’re shooting at. Curly, suppose you face the other way and see that nobody snipes—” PING! Barry broke off as a .25-caliber slug glanced off his helmet. The shock of it hurt his old head-wound like a knife stab. “I see the beggar!” yelped Curly. “He’s in that tree above the wrecked tent....” The raving of his tommy-gun drowned out Levitt’s words. Tony Romani’s weapon joined it, firing short bursts. Suddenly the shooting stopped. “One more honorable sniper bites honorable dust,” chanted _Rosy O’Grady’s_ navigator. “So solly!” From concealment in patches of brush and trees the Jap field guns started to fire. They were lobbing shells just over their trenches, feeling for the Americans down the slope. Apparently some of the shells landed close. Their result was simply to speed up the attack.