Half-past four in the morning, and the mists have scarcely begun to rise above the beech trees. You picture the guns of L Battery parked in line just on the downward slope of a slight hill and in a little clearing of the woods. The horses of the gun-teams are tethered to the gun and limber-wheels; others are down at a little stream hard by, where some of the men are washing and scrubbing out their shirts. The Queen's Bays are in bivouac in a neighbouring field. "Some of our scouts out there, aren't they?" remarked a shoeing-smith, pointing to some rising ground about 500 yards to the north; "or is it French cursers?" (cuirassiers). "Looks more like Germans to me," said one of the gunners. "Let's have a squint through the telescope." "What's up?" said the sergeant-major, passing at the moment. "Half a mo!" mumbled the gunner, eye glued to the battery telescope. "Yes, it is--Germans--I can see the spiky helmets." "Rot," returned the sergeant-major; "can't be!" "Anyway, I'm off to report to the captain," said the gunner. Bradbury was talking to the horses by one of the guns when a breathless gunner of the battery staff appeared with the telescope. "Beg pardon, sir, but there are----" CRASH! A percussion shell burst clean in the middle of the battery, followed the next instant by a couple more. And in the few moments' breathless pause it was realised that practically every horse and every driver was either killed outright or wounded. "Action rear!" yelled Bradbury, who found himself in command. Their leader's voice above the unholy din pulled them together, and the gun detachments, such as were left, leaped to the trails to get the limbers clear. But no more than three guns could they get into action. Now a tornado of shell and machine-gun bullets from close range burst over and through the devoted remnant--Bradbury, three subalterns (Giffard, Campbell and Mundy), the sergeant-major, a sergeant, a couple of gunners, and a driver. And in action against them were ten German field-guns, and two machine-guns enfilading from the wood. Of their three guns, they had now to abandon two. "All hands number 2 gun!" called Bradbury, who, with the sergeant, had already opened fire. The others rushed the few yards to Bradbury's gun; but even in that short space Giffard was hit five times. Bradbury acted as No. 1 (layer), the sergeant No. 2, while Mundy acted as observing officer. One of the gunners and the driver carried across all the ammunition by hand, through the hail of lead, from the firing battery wagons. The range was, say, 600 yards, but in such a nerve-racking storm it was difficult for the little detachment to work clearly with no one to observe the burst of the shells. There was only a little chance, but Mundy took it, and stepped calmly out from the shelter of the gun-shield to observe. Then No. 2 gun began its work in earnest. "Five minutes more left," said Mundy; "add twenty-five."