CHAPTER XXX
THE ADVANCE
A bugle sounded.
The sleeping French camp sprang suddenly to life. Men, half dressed, sprang from their cots—they had not disrobed entirely the night before—and hurried to their positions, adjusting their clothing as they did so. Regiments formed hurriedly in the darkness that is always more intense just before dawn. Officers shouted and swore; horses whinnied from the distance, indicating that the French cavalry, as well as the infantry was forming.
A second bugle sounded; then many more. More commands from the various officers. Aides rushed hither and yon delivering sharp orders to division commanders. The men stood quietly in line. Came other sharp commands all down the line:
"En avant!"
The troops began to move.
Overhead, screaming French shells from the big guns in the rear flew as they raced for the distant German lines. This was no new sound. For more than twenty-four hours now these big guns had been hurling shells into the German ranks; and the men had become so used to the sounds of their voices that they would have been almost unable to sleep had they become silent.
This bombardment, continuing for more than twenty-four hours as it had, was the opening of the greatest offensive by the French at Verdun—an offensive by which General Petain, the French commander, hoped to drive back the foe that for months had pressed on so hard, and thus to insure the safety of Verdun, "The gateway to France," against the German invader for all time to come.
Each move of this gigantic effort had been thought out well in advance. All contingencies had been provided for and against. The blow was to be struck at the psychological moment, when it would be deemed by the French general staff that it was sure of success.