They had covered their heads with muddy canvas. If they remained motionless, three yards away one could not tell them from the ground.
Through periscopes we watched them advance. The lookouts in the enemy trench had not seen them yet. Not a shot. Absolute quiet.
The “doghouse” is thirty yards from our lines. Sliding along carefully as they must, ten minutes are necessary to get there. The time will seem long; longer for us than for them.
I am sure that while they are giving their whole attention to getting on in their adventurous spirits, entirely ignorant of the first feeling of fear, that they have no other idea in their heads than to play a good joke on the Boches. They are fine jokers! They have never been known to draw back from what offers, but when their lives are at stake....
There is still nothing. Not a shot!
But how could the enemy lookouts see them? We ourselves who know their goal, who follow their trail, lose sight of them momentarily. Brown grass and burned shrubbery covers the ground at that spot; they must be there inside.
The ten minutes have gone now. Still nothing!!!
Have they seen a danger we cannot see as they neared the goal, and have they burrowed themselves in the ground? Nevertheless, their mission is extremely urgent, and they know it.
Lieutenant Delpos nervously frets about and stamps his foot,