“The tape suddenly ended. Heaps of broken stone disclosed the close proximity of a concrete dug-out. A guide cautiously felt his way into the darkness and presently led the Intelligence Officer down some steps below the ground. At the foot of the steps hung a soaking blanket, behind which a light glimmered feebly. The Intelligence Officer cautiously pulled the blanket to one side, and blinked at the group inside. Two Commanding Officers and two Adjutants were talking. ‘Handing over’ was in process. The outgoing were clearly anxious to be gone; the incoming were anxious not to let them go without knowing what lay before them.
“A succession of officers and orderlies peered through the doorway, saluted and uttered the magic words, ‘Relief complete, Sir,’ and vanished into the outer darkness. Their strained expressions did not belie the full meaning of the sentence. The outgoing C.O. pushing back his chair with a scraping noise said, with a half-apologetic air, he would be off, and he and his satellites vanished. He had laid down his burden; the 4th Battalion had assumed it. His footsteps sounded light and care-free as they died away.
“All that night officers and men groped their way through mud and filth, visiting outposts, distributing rations, each bent on a mission involving the safety and comfort of the other. The Intelligence Officer felt that the atmosphere
had changed. The Commanding Officer could have reclined on the German bed in the dug-out, his feet out of the six inches of liquid slush. Actually he spent his time going round the line, four hours of intense physical strain. Shells and bullets do not sound more pleasant because it is dark.
“The Transport Officer might have dumped the rations beyond the barrage and returned to the security of the horse-lines, and the warmth of his valise. As a matter of fact, he led his struggling animals up a broken, shattered road, through the barrage, round the trunks of fallen trees, and delivered his consignment at B.H.Q. The Adjutant might have said with reason that the ration parties had lost their way, that conditions were impossible, but the Intelligence Officer watched him supervise everything in person—in the open. Before dawn the front line was rationed—every post established, no chances taken. The Intelligence Officer saw it all and said: ‘If this is war, some parts of it at least are good.’
“At dawn the next morning he arose and stood shivering in the cold mist. He visited his observation-post, and, watching trenches through his telescope as the sun slowly made its way through the haze, he smiled as he recognised well-known N.C.O.’s and men moving about in the nonchalant manner which all assume before the sniper starts his work, and when tired gunners take their rest. He knew that later he might search for hours and find no movement; all would be hiding in their shell-hole lairs.
“A distant hum reminding him of some gigantic insect, drew his attention from his work, and two aeroplanes appeared, flying very low. In a few minutes the moving figures vanished from the field of view of his telescope. The earth swallowed them up. Then commenced manœuvres that reminded him of sparrow-hawks quartering their haunting ground for prey. The droning insects flew back and forth. No movement was visible on the ground. A hooded head looked over the fuselage of each machine. The Iron Cross showed clearly on the wings. Then warning lights were dropped from each machine. Each light marked the position of a trench and seemed to say, ‘Eat, drink, and be merry, for soon you will die.’ The whole proceeding revolted the men watching from the O.P. They knew the full intent of it. Their imagination heard the scream of the shells which would surely fall where the lights had dropped. They felt for their friends out there. Discovered by their enemies, the hiding men used their weapons viciously. The rattle of machine-guns and rifles was mixed with the drone of the aeroplanes. The pilots knew their work was done. They turned to fly. One of them staggered in his course. The Intelligence Officer watched the machine crash in flames in a distant forest. The hiding men in their shell-holes sat down to wait for the punishment that they knew must come. The Intelligence men watched great spouts of earth rise skywards and listened to the rending crash that came slowly across the intervening space. They longed to help; instead they noted
the time and place and entered the information in their Intelligence report.
“Zero was set for 5 A.M., this time a zero that concerned the 4th Battalion alone. The Commanding Officer and the Intelligence Officer moved forward through the darkness to an advanced position at three o’clock in the morning. Here the nerve centre of the 4th Battalion was established. Here would enter the news of battle. The Intelligence Officer established himself in a corner of the new dug-out. His carrier-pigeons made little noises to themselves, while the telephone operators tested and re-tested their lines. The Intelligence Officer’s hand kept wandering to his watch. The Commanding Officer snored. His plans had been truly laid; interference now would be fatal. He was a well-trained soldier, and he slept.
“Five minutes before zero the Intelligence Officer woke the Commanding Officer, and both waited for the well-known throb of innumerable guns. One of them at least thought of his friends waiting to follow up the moving death. What were those others, his enemies, doing? Did they realise what hell would break upon them? Did they suspect the impending stroke?