Before dark supper was served at division headquarters in this dug-out reached through the cellar of a ruined house.
"If it were not that I expect an attack tonight, and must be at my post, it would give me delight to go with you and show you our trenches," said the division commander at parting.
Private Berger had been summoned to lead the party through the intricate system of communication trenches to the front. Berger, who was a short, squat fellow with a sallow face and uneasy black eyes, took his seat beside the soldier chauffeur.
For only a little more than a mile the Americans proceeded in the car, which then halted, and all hands stepped out into the dark night.
"From here on we must walk," announced Captain Ribaut. "Berger, be sure that you take us by the most direct route. Do not take us into the Hun trenches to-night."
"I know the way excellently, my captain," Berger replied briefly.
For some distance they walked over open country, made dangerous, however, by the presence of gaping shell-holes. Runners, soldiers and others passed them going to or from the trenches. The artillery duel, save for an occasional stray shot, had ceased on both sides.
"The road is steeper here," said Berger, halting after he had led his party half a mile through the darkness. "We now go up hill."
It was harder climbing, going up that incline. A quarter of a mile of this, and Lieutenant Terry suddenly found himself following the guide through a cut in between two walls of dirt higher than his head.
"We are in the communication trenches," said Berger in French. Noll gathered the meaning of the remark.