withering.

Could the foe they were attacking be taking them in the flank? The
idea was almost unbelievable. And yet the fire was also insupportable.

With one accord the front lines recoiled, although their officers beat
the privates with their sword flats, cursing and reviling them as
cowards. Right on top of this, the queer noises in front materialized
into certainties.

The Allies were advancing. Were there not also reinforcements behind?
Reinforcements hitherto kept back by what? The barrage. Where was
that barrage now? Falling not only on their rear but also further
back. How did this happen? Where were their own planes?

Officers and men were dropping on every hand. A charging foe in front
was almost on them. After a minute or two of this, that whole section
of the advance appeared to melt like froth on the water.

Meantime up above, and from a higher altitude than before, Bangs
continued his mysterious signaling; not to Blaine or to the Allies, but
-- wonder of all wonders -- to the Boches themselves.

Blaine now understood this, for he had noticed that the barrage itself
had fallen back. Instead of covering and protecting the Germans, it
was slaughtering them even more than the two aviators had done with
their machine guns from a lower altitude.

Upon the sudden rout below, which was sensed rather than seen by the
two fliers as the dawn rapidly grew, came the new rush of the Allies.