Setley could now understand why the order for recall had been given when the regiment was in possession of this section of the Hun trenches, for dominating the advance works was a strong redoubt, known to the Wheatshires by the somewhat ominous name of Pumpnickel. For the last three weeks the Engineers--the same company whose rations had been appropriated by the Wheatshires--had been engaged in driving a mine-gallery in the direction of this earthwork-fortress. Great things were promised when the time came to spring the mine and send Pumpnickel Redoubt flying in the air. "I mean to get that flag," declared Bartlett. "I'll go out to-night and bring it in." "Wouldn't if I were you," said Penfold. "It's a sort of booby-trap, I wouldn't mind betting. Something that, when moved, explodes a grenade." "I'll risk that," declared the lad grimly. "The Boches mustn't flaunt their colours in our faces. I was----" Something "pinged" on the rounded surface of his steel helmet. A watchful sniper had seized his chance. Only by an inch had Sidney escaped death, for had the bullet struck the steel squarely instead of glancing off the convex surface the head-gear would not have withstood the impact. "Are you young fools looking for trouble?" growled Sergeant Ferris, the N.C.O. who had routed them from the dug-out. "Keep under cover, and use a trench periscope if you want to enjoy the scenery." "Thanks for the tip, sergeant," said George Anderson. "Sorry I can't offer yer a seegar, sergeant; I left me case on the grand pianner at 'ome; but 'ave a fag--a genuine Day's March Nearer 'Ome' brand." The N.C.O. took the proffered cigarette and lit it slowly and deliberately. "Are we on Wiring Party to-night, sergeant?" asked Ginger. "Not as I know of," was the reply. "Why?" "'Cause my pal 'ere is goin' to get 'old of that striped bed-cover"--jerking his thumb in the direction of the German flag--"an' I'm a-goin' with 'im; ain't I, Sid, ole sport?" "Then you'll have to be sharp about it," remarked Sergeant Ferris. "The mine is to be sprung at 3.30 a.m. We're over the top again; this time there'll be no going back, if all goes well. We ought to advance four hundred yards and consolidate the position. So now you know. Go for the flag at your own risk, chums; but don't forget. Be back before three, or you'll stand a sure and certain chance of going to Kingdom Come with a couple o' hundred perishing Boches for company." During the rest of the day nothing happened beyond the customary routine of trench life, combined with the monotonous occurrence of casualties. "Are you still of the same mind, Bartlett?" enquired Alderhame, as darkness set in. "Rather," was the firm reply. "Then I'm going with you." "And I," added Setley.