An hour went by. The Major had got mounted and gone forward to a windmill, just behind the furthest point of our attack, from where he could watch developments and send back for us the moment we were required. He was determined this time to be in the thick of it. His last words had been that, if our Headquarters tried to hold us back, we were to let our wires to the rear go down and obey him only; he would be answerable.
Already several batteries had hooked in and disappeared over the crest at the gallop. We were beginning to feel impatient and fearful lest once again we were to see very little of the fun, when the Major’s orderly came in sight taking shell-holes like a steeple-chaser. Pulling his horse up on its haunches, he delivered a written message:
“Our infantry have broken the Hindenburg Line, but the enemy are massed behind it. They’ve led our chaps into a trap and are putting up their real fight in their support-trenches. Our tanks have gone on and cannot help. Much of our artillery fire is at too long range to be effective. Close support is absolutely necessary. Our infantry are being pushed back. Move the battery up by sections. Captain Homing taking the leading section and you the rear, with an interval of at least ten minutes between them. We are practically in sight of the Boche, so leave twenty yards between your guns and wagons. It’s a sacrifice job, so expect a hot time. My orderly will show Captain Homing where to come into action.”
Heming came up just as I had finished reading the crumpled slip of paper. I handed it to him. He glanced it through in silence. His face broke into a smile. “It may be death,” he said.
He signalled for his teams to come up. While they were hooking in, he spoke with me quietly. “Once on the Somme I asked you to give a message to a lady if I were wiped out. I wasn’t; but I may be to-day. If that happens, I want you to give her the same message. Tell her that I did everything that she might feel proud of our friendship.” He met my eye and looked away. “In years to come she’ll need something to make her feel proud, so don’t spoil it. Don’t tell her about Suzette.... But you chaps, however many of you are left—you’ll take care of Suzette. I know that!”
“We’ll take care of Suzette,” I said.
“And my message——?”
“I’ll deliver your message.”
The guns were pulling out. I watched them file off round the swamp, followed by their ammunition-wagons. When the last wagon was clear, Heming waved his hand to me.
“Good luck,” I shouted.