So No. 6 Company, or all that was left of it, hurried towards a wood between Biaches and the hill of La Maisonette, and no sooner had they cleared the broken trench than the first wave of the French poured over it.
The ferret-faced German captain had made his way back to headquarters just before the bombardment began. He had a cousin on the staff, from whom he hoped to borrow a spare pair of spectacles to replace his own.
He secured the glasses, and found that he could not have arrived at a better moment, for a message had just been received from the Divisional General!
"You are the very man we want," said Colonel Schlutz. "There is a spy in No. 6 Company masquerading under the name of Carl Heft. It is very serious and altogether extraordinary. The real Carl Heft was wounded by a shell splinter, and has turned up again over there. The spy actually took down the general's order for our move, and he must be discovered at once. He is young, and he wears brown boots."
"Himmel! I know the fellow!" exclaimed the captain. "He shall be arrested within the next twenty minutes!"
But the French fire began, and it was impossible to move; and they cowered in their temporary shelter, expecting death.
"Where is the company?" demanded its captain when the 75's ceased, and he encountered a wounded man dragging himself to the rear.
"The survivors have retired into yonder wood, Herr Captain. May I beg a draught of water from your bottle?"
"You will get some farther back; I have no time now," was the brutal response. And, grinning with secret satisfaction, he ran in the direction of the tree-tops, hugely elated as every stride carried him farther away from the ruined village, against which he knew the counter-attack would be delivered.
As soon as he judged himself to be out of danger he skulked among the trees for more than an hour. He was in no hurry to find his men; besides, the sky was lightening, and he preferred to wait until daylight.