He lunged with his bayonet, catching the dastard in the left shoulder,
and while tugging to get it out, the prisoners started rushing up the
steps of the dugout, and Bill was forced to let go of the rifle; as he
did so, the weight of the gun pulled the bayonet downward, ripping
through the Prussian's black heart. Bill then took a bomb--he had eight
of them--and let them go one after another into the dugout. Although
fighting for his life, he knew if he faltered for a moment he would be
lost, and he did not lose his head for a second; he realized that if he
let any of these bombs leave his hand and reach the dugout in sufficient
length of time before it exploded, they would seize them and hurl them
back at him, or else escape this particular bunch who were trying to get
him and who were strung on the steps leading down into the dugout. So,
in the midst of the scrap he kept his nerve and his head, not letting a
single bomb leave his hand until he was dead certain the time had
expired and that the moment it struck the top step of the dugout, their
mission of destruction would have been accomplished.
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