We compel our bodies to take the shape of the excavation in which we burrow.
Above our heads is a continuous whistling of shells, cutting like a sword, and the constant djji-djji of the projectiles which tear up the ground.
The explosions are so frequent that we perceive only one infernal noise under a rain of fire.
We crawl through an indescribable chaos, in a field of terror, in the midst of a pungent, fetid smoke. We reach the first German trench which we conquered yesterday morning. We jump into it; we are dripping with perspiration; our clothes are in rags. Our first act is to raise our masks for we are stifling under them.
The asphyxiating shells now fall behind us, and their noxious gas blows in another direction away from us. We stop for some seconds to regain our breaths. We must go on.
As we are about to climb out on the field again, I see one of our couriers coming at full speed. I must wait for him and learn where my company is.
But he stops, leans backwards, and his hands contract and seem to try to pull something from his breast. He falls inert.
I crawl towards him. A spasm still shakes him. He looks at me.
“The company! Where is the company?”