The explosions had left the platoon with ringing ears and sand in their teeth, but they were all still breathing. Sergeant Brown made a gesture to Clarrie Morris who peeped out and drew his helmeted head back in the blink of an eye, bringing a fusilade of bullets from a nearby rifle thudding into the sand around him.
His eyes met the sergeant's as he dropped an eyelid in a slow wink. Clarrie drew a grenade from his belt and, with practised skill, lobbed it just in front of the shooter's hiding place.

Ka-boom!!!There was a confused gabble of German as a man staggered out of hiding, his arms raised in surrender. He sank to his knees as he continued to shout in German.

Clarrie looked quizzically at the sergeant. "Do you know what he's sayin' Sarge?" The sergeant shook his head. "Something about his missus and kids. 'e thinks he's goin' to a POW camp and wants us to tell his wife where he is."

Clarrie lit a smoke from a saved half of a cigarette and stood up. Slowly. With his eyes on the German's hands he moved closer and looked down into a pair of angry, blue eyes. He was very young, no more than his early twenties but Clarrie felt nothing in his heart for him.

His father had lied about his age to get into WW1 infantry and Clarrie had been just as determined to do the same.

"Orright Schmidt, on yer feet," he growled "Yer comin' with me to the captain. He's gunna ask yer some questions you'd better have answers to."

Apparently he comprehended the gist of what Clarrie had said. "In- terr- o- ga- tion?" he asked, carefully enunciating the word. "Yeah, that's right, c'mon, step lively. 'e's a busy man. Don't do to keep him waiting."

The man picked up his cap and jammed it on to his head. From inside his shirt he withdrew a tiny gun and slipped it into his boot. With a yell of defiance he shoved Clarrie over and ran from them screaming profanities in German.
Clarrie grinned at the sergeant who grinned back. They
cocked their weapons and took careful aim. Their prisoner was dead before he hit the ground.