"Sunny Jim" was pleased to allow the "hits" of the German batteries. His unorthodox methods had proved supreme. With his wonderful cunning he had prepared those long and exposed lines of dummy trenches, dotted with turbans and caps. The "guns" which they had smashed were simply trees resting on the wheels of old farm carts. The "gunners" killed had been made out of old khaki suits filled with straw. True, the Germans had registered some good hits on the real trenches and live men, while here and there a gun had been knocked out of action. Yet the stagecraft of this clever G.O.C. had lessened the casualty roll and drawn the enemy’s fire away from the hives of our warriors. Britons are not so stupid as they seem. As for our guns, they were a match for Krupp’s newest and latest. The Mixed Division was armed with weapons of a powerful range and a deadly type. There was no useless aiming or extravagant shooting. Almost every shell burst near a breech block and mangled its defenders. For six hours they pumped death and destruction into the gun-pits, trenches, and masses of grey-coated Germans waiting for the assault. This was very annoying to Kaiser Bill, sitting in his three-ply armour-plated travelling booth. But it did not alter his decision. "Forward" was his order after the bombardment. As he himself was excused the honour of advancing, he made certain of the fulfilment of his commands. There was an air of death and stillness in those British lines towards which the deep ranks of the Germans marched. The gunners must have done well. A spirit of victory filled them: more eagerly they marched to Calais—the Kaiser’s dream. But the reckoning was to come. Deep in their burrows lay thousands of expectant British warriors. Every magazine was charged, and every sentry coolly watching the stern advance of the German host. Nearer, still nearer they came. At last they reached the deadly zone—300 yards. "Rapid fire," roared Colonel Corkleg, and every other commander in that great, long line. The crash was terrific, the surprise amazing, and the shrieks of death and pain alarming. The great line paused in terror, but only for a moment. On they came again, the living jumping over the dead. Do not call them cowards. They can fight and die. They faced their punishment nobly. Maxims and rifles poured death into line after line; still on they came. With a devilish delight the Glesca Mileeshy watched their advance. "They’re near Bannockburn noo," said Spud to his pals as the enemy ran towards the pits.