"They got away," said one of them. "It was no good hunting any longer in the dark. But we've brought these."
He handed over Kenneth's rifle and a cap bearing the badge of a Territorial regiment. It was clear that the spies had disguised themselves in British uniforms. The colonel telephoned particulars to the village, asking that a thorough search should be made; but other matters were then engaging attention.
CHAPTER XIII
THE FIGHT FOR THE VILLAGE
In the darkest hours before the dawn the trenches were buzzing with excitement. Word had been passed along that next morning the Rutlands were to attack. The long, trying period of inaction was over. Sir John French had ordered the capture of the village within the German lines. The hill on which it stood commanded a wide stretch of open country, and its possession was an essential preliminary to the general advance which would take place when the weather improved and the reserves of ammunition were completed.
During these last hours of the night sleepy men trudged along the road and across the sodden fields towards the firing line. Fresh troops, some of whom had never been under continuous fire, crowded into the trenches. Some of the men tried to prepare breakfast in the constricted space; the most of them were too much excited to feel any inclination to eat. The bustle which Kenneth had noticed in the village was explained. Batteries of heavy artillery had been brought up and placed all along the rear of the British lines. The men listened eagerly for the boom that would announce the great doings of the day, and they gazed up into the inky sky, longing for the dawn.
Sitting, sprawling, packed tight in the trenches, they waited. Would morning never come? The darkness thinned; the blackness gradually was transformed into ashen grey, streaked here and there with silvery light. A gun boomed miles in the rear. The men stifled a cheer. Rifle fire burst from the German trenches. Bullets pinged across the breastworks, and some of the newcomers involuntarily ducked. Captain Adams passed along the simple orders of the day. "The battalion will advance in line of platoons at 7 o'clock." Another hour to wait!
The men took off their equipment and stowed their coats in their packs. Some munched sticks of chocolate, others lighted cigarettes but forgot to smoke them. Boom, boom! The British guns were in full play. The German guns were answering. Shells screamed across the trenches in both directions. The din increased moment by moment. The air quivered with the thunderous crashes, and sang with the perpetual phwit, phwit of bullets. Not a man dared to lift his head. Clouds of earth rose into the air before and behind, showering pellets upon the waiting soldiers.
Boom and roar and crash! Presently the stream of shells from the Germans diminished. It almost ceased.
"Platoons, get ready!"