The unerring aim of our gunners paralysed, for a time, the initiative of the Turkish Staff. This tremendous reply was unexpected. And the British shells burst in their magazines, their supply depôts, their headquarters dug-outs in a startling way. Never was gunnery so deadly. Never was slaughter so sure. Regiments waiting _en masse_ for the assault were torn and butchered. Trenches were burst and destroyed. It was death, desolation, and disaster of an unexpected and amazing kind. Such is the value of information in war. A good Intelligence Officer is equal to a complete division of all arms.
Yet this bombardment did not deter the Turkish assault. It had been arranged; it had to go on. When the British bombardment ceased, they leaped boldly from their trenches and came on _en masse_. A strange silence now pervaded the Australasian lines. Not a shot was heard. It was the calm before the storm. They allowed the Turks to advance. On they came, great, dark, strong-looking men. They shouted "Allah!" "Allah!" as they ran. This cry for "Allah" was a bad sign. The Turks expected "Allah" to do what they felt they had not the confidence to do themselves. Still, the German task-masters had given them a certain assurance by sending them forward elbow to elbow, line upon line.
In brief, this attack was meant as an overwhelming flood of bayonets upon the Australasians' lines. The Turkish Staff argued that, after all, these troops were only volunteers; they could not withstand a violent offensive movement. But they did; they even surprised their General and the Staff. And the ability to wait for a signal to shoot was in itself a sign of perfect control, excellent fire discipline.
The Turks were now close to the barbed wire entanglements. This was the moment desired. A whistle sounded in the lines.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Z-r-r-p! went thousands of rifles and dozens of machine-guns. Gad! How these Turks withered and fell. It was brutal, yet it was inspiring. Shrieks, curses, and groans were mixed with pitiful cries for "Allah!" "Allah!"
Bravely these Turkish soldiers died, and bravely the more fortunate came on. They tore through the barbed wire with a fiendish frenzy and leaped down on to parts of their enemy's lines. With that mad ferocity which only a Moslem fanatic can display, they plugged their bayonets into the first opposing man. Cold steel is hard to face. Few armies can face it. Only Russians, Britishers, and Japs are good at the game. And these sons of John Bull stood up to the test with a magnificent courage. They plunged, thrust, hacked, butted, cursed, and fumed in this awful combat. Civilisation had gone. Primitive lusts were triumphant. Blood flowed in streams, men fought with gaping wounds, dying men fell crying to Allah or to God according to their race and creed. There was no time to moralise on the hellish side of modern war. There was only time to fight or die.