This waste of shells is further beautified with “tear” shells and asphyxiating shells and is designed to stop all attempts at passing the barrage.
This is the delightful place in which I have to take a “promenade.”
I adjust my mask, make sure that the straps are on, and secure my steel helmet by the chin strap.
With the order in the pocket of my revolver case, a solid boxwood baton in my hand, I start towards the fiery furnace.
The communication trench which I try to follow is impracticable. It is partly blown in and such dugouts as are still tenable are full of wounded fleeing from the zone of combat. They crowd in pell-mell in their efforts to find a breathing place.
Then, sooner or later, after the La Vache woods are passed, one has to walk absolutely unprotected so one might as well go at once.
Few projectiles are falling here on the great quarry as yet, but only a few shots too long or too short from the great guns aimed at the ammunition depot at Froissy.
The barrage is further on....
As one approaches it, the earth and air seem to tremble even more....
One walks on a moving wave, as if tossed about on the bridge of a ship. A displacement of air throws one to the right, the next one to the left. They march swaying like drunken men.