“Within the country would be more in accord with the circumstances, I think.”
As if to make my punning more emphatic, four “77’s” burst at the same time and smash the cemetery walls to bits.
“Foutre!” This expression, peculiar to Marseilles, has a significant meaning on Morin’s lips.
“You have said it; the place is no longer safe.”
“The battery changed its position because it had just been spotted. We are taking its place and are a target for the Boche artillery.”
We make our way forward as fast as we can.
The bombardment of the abandoned position behind us continues in volleys of four shells at a time. The cemetery we just left is nothing but a ruin, a chaos from which black smoke rises.
We keep on running, each holding an end of the wreath which impedes us terribly. Although it is light, it seems heavy.
Night falls and it is very dark. We are able to advance with more security now. Yawning craters open at our feet; we risk falls and sprains at every step.