Over their heads the British shells still poured shrieking and crashing without pause as they had done throughout.
In military phraseology the raid had been entirely successful, a score of prisoners being taken, a stretch of trench completely destroyed, and few casualties sustained. The raiders themselves summed it up in words more terse but meaning the same—“a good bag, and cheap at the price.”
XI
A ROARING TRADE
The “O.C. Dump,” a young Second Lieutenant of Artillery, thumped the receiver down disgustedly on the telephone and made a few brief but pungent remarks on railways and all connected therewith.
“What’s the trouble, Vickers?” said a voice at the door, and the Lieutenant wheeled to find the Colonel commanding the Ammunition Column and the dump standing just inside.
“I was just going to look for you, sir,” said Vickers. “They’ve cut our line again—put two or three heavy shells into that bit of an embankment a mile or so from here, and blown it to glory evidently.”
“I don’t suppose the Engineers will take long to repair that,” said the Colonel. “They can slap down the metals and sleepers quick enough if the embankment isn’t smashed.”