“I suppose you’re sure your short cut hasn’t changed its place.”
I had scarcely spoken when a shell followed the direction of the first and exploded beside us, throwing up a mass of mud, grass and water. The ground was soft and unfavorable for deadly splinters. In any other terrain we would have been hit seriously.
This time Morin hesitated,
“I’m afraid I’m mistaken!...”
“I was sure of it a long time ago.”
“Let’s go on just the same; this must bring us out somewhere.”
“That’s my opinion, too.”
The fog was still heavy. We walked in a cloud the length of an interminable trench recently cut in the clay. The bottom was full of water. It leads us in an unknown direction. How can we find out what way we are going? Where are we? We follow its windings for half an hour and clamber over crossings. Perhaps we’re going around in a circle. The mist is about us all the time. We can see nothing. Not a landmark.
In the distance far to the north, in the English sector, a heavy gun hammers the air with loud regular shots. We started out at daybreak to go ten miles. It is ten o’clock now and we have no idea where we are.