The machine guns claim their prey by scores, by hundreds every minute. It does not stop the wave.
Their eyes fixed and staring, as though they were figures in their own nightmares, they leap into the trench, hurling a last shower of hand grenades as they come.
It is the butt and the steel now.
They have reached the trench but they have not won it.
Around each machine gun a special fight gathers.
Another wave is coming. It passes through the barrage fire again and dashes for the trench, already half taken.
Ah! What is that?
The 75's!
The strident roar of unnumbered batteries, with shells timed to the second, breaks loose behind the French lines. The second wave meets that wall of lead. It does not waver, it collapses.
A third wave—how they are driven on to death, those Germans!