“Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!”
Then the Boche woke up. Two canisters rose, streamed, and fell, dropping slightly to my right.
But still our trench-mortars went on. Two more canisters tried for Davidson’s gun.
I was elated. “This for Thompson and Robertson,” I said, as our footballs went on methodically.
Then the whizz-bangs began on Trafalgar Square.
I went to the telephone.
“Artillery,” I said briefly. “Retaliate C 1 Sector.”
And then our guns began.
“Scream, scream, scream” they went over.
“Swish—swish” answered the Boche whizz-bangs.