"For days past we have been hearing a scraping noise underground. Then, of a sudden, v'lan! We are all blown into the air! Our poor comrades!"
Over the entire upland, between Missy, Bucy, Crouy, and the Paris-Soissons-Maubeuge road, the battle is being waged. The Germans counter-attack at several points. The artillery duel is a terrible one.
I am quite out of breath. As well as I can, aided by Charensac, I climb the steep and muddy slope leading to the first-line trenches. Really, I must throw out some ballast.
Thrusting my hand into my musette, I take out a couple of tins of preserved lobster. These I mechanically hand across to Charensac, who, woebegone, makes a sign that he does not want them. This is one of the saddest impressions of fatigue and weariness that I have ever experienced. If Charensac has come to this pass, we are in a state! I say—
"Well, then; the more's the pity! Away they go!"
I fling the two tins on to the road, Charensac sighing as he watches them disappear.
At the top of the slope we start along the hollow way bordering the upland. We are up to our knees in mud. Exhausted, I sit down on the ground, but a shrapnel explosion a few yards away proves to me that this is neither the time nor the place to rest.
I rejoin the section just as it is passing close to a battery installed above the way, and partially concealed by foliage. The captain walks to and fro under the balls. Accosting our lieutenant, he asks—
"Where are you going?"