“Very well, Lieutenant.”
Shells are falling in our sector without a break. All the guns are splattered with splinters and most of the crews are slightly wounded.
Durozier’s half section jump out of their dugout in a hurry and throw themselves into the hole which has now increased in size to a vast yawning crater.
“If we could only fire on something. But there’s nothing to see. And no signal.”
The Boche artillery certainly has a grudge against our first section. The new gun is scarcely in position when a great shell falls in the same place, in the same crater.
We see distinctly a body blown high into the air, and the body still holds the mount of the machine gun which he was just setting in place. Headless, disemboweled, it falls just in front of our dugout within reach of our hands. It is Gouzé, the chief gunner.
“The salauds!”
An intelligence officer from the major reaches us.
“Get ready to support the wave which is going over with all your guns!”
The shells burst on our position implacably. There isn’t the slightest choice between the emplacements. Three guns are still intact and ready to fire at the blast of the whistle. But the fourth gun must be put in position, too.