Ah, there is our
sportsman, I fancy. Good evening!"
A subaltern of that wonderful corps, the Royal Engineers, loomed out
of the darkness, removed a cigarette from his mouth, and saluted
politely.
"Good evening, sir," he said to Blaikie. "Will you follow me, please?
I have marked out each man's digging position with white tape, so
they ought to find no difficulty in getting to work. Brought your
machine-gun officer?"
The machine-gun officer, Ayling, was called up.
"We are digging a sort of square fort," explained the Engineer, "to
hold a battalion. That will mean four guns to mount. I don't know much
about machine-guns myself; so perhaps you"--to Ayling--"will walk
round with me outside the position, and you can select your own
emplacements."
"I shall be charmed," replied Ayling, and Blaikie chuckled.
"I'll just get your infantry to work first," continued the phlegmatic
youth. "This way, sir!"
The road at this point ran through a hollow square of trees, and it
was explained to the working-party that the trees, roughly, followed
the outlines of the redoubt.
"The trenches are about half-finished," added the Engineer. "We had a
party from the Seaforths working here last night. Your men have only
to carry on where they left off. It's chiefly a matter of filling
sandbags and placing them on the parapet." He pointed to a blurred
heap in a corner of the wood.
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