In the mysteries of light and shade, in the
threat that hangs forever over men in the trenches there was a wild
fascination. I was for a moment tempted to rise up and shout (p. 253)
across to the German trenches, I am here! No defiance would be in the
shout. It was merely a momentary impulse born of adventure that
intoxicates. Bill sprung to his feet suddenly, rubbing his face with a
violent hand; this in full view of the enemy's trench in a light that
illumined the place like a sun.
"Bill, Bill!" we muttered hoarsely.
"Well, blimey, that's a go," he said coughing and spitting. "What 'ave
I done, splunk on a dead 'un I flopped, a stinking corpse. 'E was
'uggin' me, kissin' me. Oh! nark the game, ole stiff 'un," said Bill,
addressing the ground where I could perceive a bundle of dark clothes,
striped with red and deep in the grass. "Talk about rotten eggs
burstin' on your jor; they're not in it."
The light of the star-shell waned and died away; the Corporal spoke to
Bill.
"Next time a light goes up you be flat; you're giving the whole damned
show away," the Corporal said. "If you're spotted it's all up with
us."
We fixed swords clamping them into the bayonet standards and lay flat
on the ground in the midst of dead bodies of French soldiers. Months
before the French endeavoured to take the German trenches and got (p. 254)
about half way across the field. There they stopped, mown down by
rifle and machine gun fire and they lie there still, little bundles of
wasting flesh in the midst of the poppies.
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