Suddenly the bandits opened fire as they moved toward the corral in a stealthy, circular fashion, causing a fair amount of casualties within the ranks of the Americans. The Marines waited without fear for word from their commander, though some of them were high strung and nervous as they watched their buddies topple over from the bandit onslaught, helpless to seek revenge upon the approaching rebels. As the dark-skinned natives swooped down toward the corral, unmolested, inflicting great sufferings upon the heads of the Marines, the lieutenant waited doggedly until they were near enough, then he lifted his voice and shouted: “Ready! Aim! Fire!” The soldiers responded with enthusiasm, some throwing hand grenades while others returned to their rifles and machine guns, spitting deadly fire in the direction of the enemy. This was a last, desperate stand for the Marines. Though they suffered a heavy toll, they went on fighting doggedly, determined that if complete extermination was to be their lot, they would first cause an equal amount of suffering within the ranks of the enemy. Cosgrove crawled over beside the lieutenant and pointed down the line of men fighting for life and love of country. “Some of the machine guns are jammed, sir,” he announced, “and more than half of the boys are out of ammunition already!” The handwriting of an unfortunate Fate was plainly visible to every man behind the barricade as the voice of their commander was heard, shouting: “Fixed bayonets!” One of the bandits had crawled over the ground to the barricade unmolested. Beaching the gate, he began to beat upon the barricade with his machete until he succeeded in making a hole through the old wood. On the other side of the wall, a Marine, with fixed bayonet, waited patiently as his lips curled in a grim, death-like smile of revenge. As soon as the hole in the wall became large enough, the soldier half rose upon his haunches and with deadly precision, plunged his bayonet through the abdomen of the bandit. At that point in the fearful encounter, the Marines and rebels came in close contact, with the soldiers of the sea desperately warding off their stronger adversaries with bayonets, fighting bullets and machetes, exposing their persons to certain death from the fire of Sandino’s machine gun snipers on the mountain top. Suddenly the harsh drone of huge motors deafened the ears of the opposing men of war. A Marine, wounded and parched from thirst, gazed up and saw the planes of the “Fighting Tenth” swoop over the top of the mountain. He raised himself on his elbow with extreme difficulty and called to the soldier nearest him: “Look, look—they’ve come at last!” The other Marine lifted his eyes, following the direction of his wounded buddy’s upraised hand. In a moment, every khaki-clad man within the protection of the corral wall gazed heavenward, each secretly offering a crude prayer to a Divine and protecting Providence.