The firing on both sides had slacked for a moment, and none of the watchers missed one single movement of what followed. It is unpleasant telling, as it was unutterably horrible watching. The prisoners, except the two officers, who were halted above ground, were guided down into a portion of trench into which they disappeared. The guards had also remained above. What followed is best told briefly. The two officers, in full view of the watchers, were shot down as they stood, the rifle muzzles touching their backs. The Germans round the trench edge tossed bombs down on the men penned below. Before the spurting smoke came billowing up out of the trench, Teddy Silsey leaped to his feet with a scream, and flung himself scrambling up the trench wall. But the sergeant, with a gust of bitter oaths, gripped and held him. “Get to it there,” he snarled savagely at the men about the gun. “D’you want a better target?” The gun muzzle twitched and steadied and ripped out a stream of bullets. The Germans about the trench lip turned to run, but the storm caught and cut them down—except one or two who ducked down into the trench on top of their victims. Teddy found them there three minutes after, stayed only long enough to finish them, and ran on with the other Australians who swarmed yelling forward to the attack again. Others had seen the butchery, and those who had not quickly heard of it. Every group of dead Australians discovered as the line surged irresistibly forward was declared, rightly or wrongly, to be another lot of murdered prisoners. The advance went with a fury, with a storming rage that nothing could withstand. The last remnant of organised German defence broke utterly, and the supports coming up found themselves charged into, hustled, mixed up with, and thrown into utter confusion by the mob of fugitives and the line of shooting, bombing, bayoneting Australians that pressed hard on their heels.