"So it seems," I answered, as the din from our rifles swelled into a deafening volume. "Here, mind where you are pointing that gun," I said to the man on my left, as he brought down a bit of the hedge in front of my nose in his effort to get off five rounds in as many seconds.
"No. 5 platoon are running short of ammunition," the word came down the trench.
"Tell No. 6 to pass along any they have to spare and save their fire as much as possible," I ordered.
It was going to be a tight business this, with the enemy's fire growing hotter every minute and our ammunition supply running short.
Again the message came down, "No. 5 platoon are running short of ammunition."
I looked at Sergeant X. We had already sent men back for fresh supplies.
"I'll go back, sir," said Sergeant X. It seemed impossible for him to get out of the trench and cross the bullet-swept open ground. Still, it was the only thing to be done. I nodded.
Grasping his rifle, he turned to clamber out of the trench. Just as he was going a voice from behind called, "Where will you have this, sir?"
There was a thump behind, and two men rolled over into the trench dragging a box of ammunition after them. They sat up and mopped their foreheads. "Lord! it's like hail out there," said one of them breathlessly, "and that stuff weighs about a ton," pointing to the box of ammunition.
"Well, come on, mate," and back they went out of the trench to the rear for more.