A shell hit the roof and
smashed the pit-props down on top of the two soldiers. Death was
instantaneous in both cases.
CHAPTER XVIII (p. 249)
THE COVERING PARTY
Along the road in the evening the brown battalions wind,
With the trenches threat of death before, the peaceful homes behind;
And luck is with you or luck is not, as the ticket of fate is drawn,
The boys go up to the trench at dusk, but who will come back at dawn?
The darkness clung close to the ground, the spinney between our lines
was a bulk of shadow thinning out near the stars. A light breeze
scampered along the floor of the trench and seemed to be chasing
something. The night was raw and making for rain; at midnight when my
hour of guard came to an end I went to my dug-out, the spacious
construction, roofed with long wooden beams heaped with sandbags,
which was built by the French in the winter season, what time men were
apt to erect substantial shelters, and know their worth. The platoon
sergeant stopped me at the door.
"Going to have a kip, Pat?" he asked.
"If I'm lucky," I answered.
"Your luck's dead out," said the sergeant. "You're to be one of a (p. 250)
covering party for the Engineers. They're out to-night repairing the
wire entanglements."
"Any more of the Section going out?" I asked.
"Bill's on the job," I was told. The sergeant alluded to my mate, the
vivacious Cockney, the spark who so often makes Section 3 in its
dullest mood, explode with laughter.
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