The battery-commander returned to his guns. What could have happened to Peter? Charrington, Liaison Officer on the right, had already reported twice; “B” battery’s signallers had overheard the messages repeated to Headquarters: “Infantry had gone over”: “Infantry were in Guillemont.”
Sandiland tried to put away apprehension. P.J. was no fool. P.J. knew that no message of his could affect the ordered barrage. P.J. would not risk a runner’s life till he had definite information. And yet, Sandiland was afraid. His conscience reproached him. He ought to have made P.J. report sick days ago. If anything happened to P.J. . . . Sandiland wrenched thought back to his guns.
One fifty three? Already, the figures on the range dials marked six thousand yards. In another few minutes, they would reach maximum. “Six one hundred, sir,” called Henry’s voice. “Six one fifty—six two hundred. . . .”
Undoubtedly, something must have happened to P.J.!
“Six two fifty—six three hundred.” Still the guns lifted. . . .
“Bombardier Finlayson on the ’phone, sir.” The battery commander dived to his telephone pit as a rabbit dives to its burrow, seized the instrument.
“Our infantry crossed the Ginchy road at 12:50”—Finlayson’s voice came so distinct over the wire that Sandiland could almost hear the pant in it—“and are pushing on. Patrols are going forward to Lousy Wood.”
Sandiland wrote down and checked back the message; said, “Call up the Adjutant on the other ’phone.” But the instrument at his ear went on.
“Is that Captain Sandiland speaking? This is Bombardier Finlayson, sir. Mr. Jameson was hit just after the infantry went over. I left him with Gunner Mucksweat and went on. . . .”
“Mr. Purves speaking, sir.”