“Noisy brute of a gun that,” said the Colonel, as a heavy piece behind them crashed sharply, and the shell roared away overhead in diminishing howls and moans.
“And here’s one coming the wrong way,” said Vickers hurriedly. “Hope they’re not going to start pitching ’em in here again.”
But his hopes were disappointed. The German gun or guns commenced another regular bombardment of and round the dump. Shell after shell whooped over, and dropped with heavy rolling c-r-r-umps on the ground, dangerously near to the piled boxes. Then one fell fairly on top of a pile of shells with an appalling crash and rending, splintering clatter, a spouting gush of evil-smelling black smoke, and clouds of blinding dust. The pile hit was flung helter-skelter, the boxes crashing and shattering as they fell and struck heavily on the ground, the loose shells whirling up and out from the explosion, and thumping and thudding on the other piles or in the dust.
At first sound of the burst, or, in fact, a second or so before it, the dump officer was yelling at the pitch of his voice, over and over again, “Gas masks on—gas masks on”; and before the ripping and splintering crashes had well finished he was running hard to the spot where the shell had fallen. He freed his own mask as he ran, and slipped it over his face, but even before he had pushed into the drifting reek of the burst he had snatched it off, and was turning back, when he found the Colonel on his heels.
“I was afraid of those gas-shells of ours, sir,” he said hurriedly. “Pretty near ’em, but they’re all right, and nothing’s afire, evidently.”
“Good enough,” said the Colonel quietly. “Better hurry the men at the job again.”
“Masks off,” shouted Vickers. “All right here. Masks off, and get on with it, men.”
The working party and the drivers snatched their masks off, and before the dust of the explosion had settled were hard at work again. But the shells began to fall with alarming regularity and in dangerous proximity to the dump and road outside. The Colonel moved over to the office, and found Vickers there gripping a notebook, a handful of papers under his arm, and talking into the telephone. He broke off his talk at sight of the Colonel.
“One moment. Here he is now. Hold the wire.” He held the receiver out. “Will you speak to Divisional H.Q., sir? They’re asking about the shelling here.”
The Colonel took the ’phone and spoke quietly into it. Another shell dropped with a rending crash somewhere outside, and Vickers jumped for the door and vanished. The piled boxes of the “office” walls shivered and rocked, and dust rained down on the paper-strewn table. But the Colonel went on talking, telling what the shelling was like and how heavy it was, the number of waggons waiting, and so on.