Ralph felt tempted to shout as the little Cockney dashed past the stationary Tank. With his rifle slung across his back, and a bomb held ready to hurl, Ginger was the personification of activity and alertness. He had spotted the two Huns in the mouth of the dug-out. It would be obviously unwise for Ralph to attract the bomber's attention. "Up with yer dooks!" shouted Ginger, swinging the bomb. One of the men obeyed promptly, begging the while for quarter. "Course you'll save your hide, Fritz," said his conqueror encouragingly. "Mike, take that blighter out of it, will yer?" Remained one Hun, a tall, broad-shouldered lout, with a face that had animal cunning and ferocity written on every line of it. He stood with his rifle and bayonet at the "ready." His last cartridge had been spent. He was determined to fight to the last. "Up with 'em!" yelled Ginger, brandishing the Mills bomb, while other men of the platoon gradually closed in upon the solitary Prussian. The Hun made no attempt to comply. Snarling, he lunged ineffectually at a Wheatshire who had come almost within reach of the glittering steel. "Hanged if I can do the bloomer in with this," exclaimed Ginger, placing his supply of bombs on the ground and grasping his rifle. "Form a ring, chums, an' see fair play. Now, Fritz, it's either you or me." "I haf no chance," replied the Prussian. "If out I come der odders vill shoot in my back." "Don't talk rot, Dutchy," protested Anderson. "We ain't 'Uns. Either 'ands up or fight me!" The Prussian had more faith in a British Tommy's word than he had in his own. Still snarling, he emerged cautiously from his retreat; then, finding that no attempt was made on the part of the other men to molest him, he crouched behind his bayonet and stealthily approached the imperturbable Cockney. With a longer reach and armed with a rifle and bayonet of greater length than the British service weapon the Hun had a certain advantage; but lack of initiative and the slowness of his mental and physical powers neutralized his ascendancy over the short, sturdily built Wheatshire corporal. Thrice the steel crossed. Once the Prussian's bayonet rasped against the wood casing of Ginger's rifle--a foiled effort to cripple his antagonist's fingers. By a brilliant parry Anderson knocked the point aside, and the next instant his bayonet was thrust deeply into the Hun's body. "Well done, Ginger!" shouted his comrades. "Too bloomin' well done," rejoined the victor. "'Ere, you chaps, who's gotter fust-aid dressin'? Mine's been kippered. Thanks, mate." And almost before the heat of the combat had had time to cool Anderson was on his knees by the side of his late adversary, working diligently to staunch the flow of blood from the wound that he had made. "Yer asked for it properly, Fritz," he exclaimed. "Why didn't yer put yer bloomin' 'ands up when I told yer?" In answer, the wounded Hun turned his head and bit the hand of the man who was tending him.