ning sunshine. A German Taube buzzed overhead; the hum-hum-hum
of the engine was very loud. She dropped several bombs, but none of them
did much damage. The little yellow-skinned observation balloon floated
above one of our battleships like a penny toy. The Turks had several
shots at it, but missed it every time.

The incessant noise of battle grew more distant as our troops on shore
advanced. It broke out like a bush-fire, and spread from one section
to another. Mechanical Death pressed forward across the Salt Lake. It
stormed the heights of the Kapanja Sirt on the one side, and took Lala
Baba on the other. Puffs of smoke hung on the hills, and the shore
was all wreathed in the smoke of rifle and machine-gun fire. A deadly
conflict this--for one Turk on the hills was worth ten British down
below on the Salt Lake.

There was no glory. Here was Death, sure enough--Mechanical Death run
amok--but where was the glory?

Here was organised murder--but it was steel-cold! There was no
hand-to-hand glory. A mine dispersed you before you had set foot on dry
land; or a high explosive removed your stomach, and left you a mangled
heap of human flesh, instead of a medically certified, healthy human
being.

Mechanical Death wavered and fluctuated--but it kept going. If it
slackened its murderous fire at one side of the bay, it was only to
burst forth afresh upon the other.

We wondered how it was that we were still alive, when so many lay dead.
Some were killed on the decks of the transports by shrapnel.

Our monitors crept close to the sandy shore, and poured out a deadly
brood of Death.

The crack and crash was deafening, and it literally shook the air... it
quivered like a jelly after each shot.

The fighting got more and more inland, and the rattle and crackle
fainter and farther away. But we still watched, fascinated.

The little groups of men lay in exactly the same positions on the beach.
That platoon by the side of Lala Baba lay in a black bunch--stone
dead. We could see our artillery teams galloping along like a team of
performing fleas, taking up new positions behind Lala Baba. So this is
war? Well, it's pretty awful! Wholesale murder... what's it all for?
Wonder how long we shall last alive before Mechanical Death blows our
brains out, or a leg off...

Queer thing, war! Didn't think it was quite like this! So mechanical and
senseless.

And now came the time for us to land. A lighter came alongside, with a
lit