Ken ventured to roll over. This is what he saw.
Between him and the spot where the firing party had stood, but nearer to
the latter, was a great cavity in the ground, a hole ten feet across and
perhaps a yard deep. Beyond, half buried in the mass of rubbish flung up
by the explosion, were the broken remains of the firing party. All but one
were dead, and most were blasted to fragments. The one survivor lay
helpless and groaning.
Farther away the three officers were prone and still upon the ground, but
whether dead or merely damaged, Ken could not tell. He hoped the former.
Farther still, half a dozen other Turkish soldiers lay, twisted in ugly
fashion, covered with blood. They had been badly cut by the jagged
fragments of stone flung up by the bursting bomb. The survivors, a score
or so in number, were running in blind panic towards the village.
'Roy, Roy! Quickly! We've a chance still,' cried Ken, his voice tense with
excitement.
He sprang up as he spoke, and Roy staggered dazedly to his feet.
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