Two sections of the company are stopped in the open, close to our trench, by deliberately aimed infantry firing.
A lieutenant makes a sign to Sergeant Chaboy, who comes up—
"Take your half-section and bear away to the right of the sections now in action. When you are on a level with them, open fire and hang on to the ground you take."
Another crawl through the beetroots. A fine sport. Without the loss of a man, Chaboy deploys his two squadrons. Some fire whilst others are digging holes. There is only one spade for each squadron, but we scratch away with knives and hands. Very soon we have before us a pile of earth sufficiently high to stop the bullets.
The sergeant sends Jacquard to inform the lieutenant that his orders have been executed. We see Jacquard trot away on all-fours with such agility that, though it is no time for jesting, we cannot refrain from poking fun at him.
"He runs like a rat," says Varlet.
"Or, rather, like a tatou" (an armadillo).
The expression catches on at once. Jacquard returns at a speedy run. His eyes shine, and his complexion is heightened. Before flattening himself on the ground he watches the shells burst, and exclaims in triumph—
"Our projectiles are falling right in the German trenches!"
"Bravo, rat-tatou." (A ratatouille is a stew of meat and vegetables.)