The officer ordered both men (p. 239)
to be served out with a second portion.
We left the village in the morning and marched for the best part of
the day. We were going to hold a trench five kilometres north of
Souchez and the Hills of Lorette. The trenches to which we were going
had recently been held by the French but now that portion of the line
is British; our soldiers fight side by side with the French on the
Hills of Lorette at present.
The day was exceedingly hot, a day when men sweat and grumble as they
march, when they fall down like dead things on the roadside at every
halt and when they rise again they wonder how under Heaven they are
going to drag their limbs and burdens along for the next forty
minutes. We passed Les Brebes, like men in a dream, pursued a tortuous
path across a wide field, in the middle of which are several
shell-shattered huts and some acres of shell-scooped ground. The place
was once held by a French battery and a spy gave the position away to
the enemy. Early one morning the shells began to sweep in, carrying
the message of death from guns miles away. Never have I seen such a
memento of splendid gunnery, as that written large in shell-holes on
that field. The bomb-proof shelters are on a level with the (p. 240)
ground, the vicinity is pitted as if with smallpox, but two hundred
yards out on any side there is not a trace of a shell, every shot went
true to the mark. A man with a rifle two hundred yards away could not
be much more certain than the German gunners of a target as large.
Pages:
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176