"Good!"
For some moments the lieutenant has been in conversation with a general. He now comes up and gives the order to pick up our arms. Our turn has come at last.
The general approaches.
"You are fresh troops," he says, "and I rely on you to do your best to capture the positions we lost this morning. Reinforcements are announced. What we have to do now is to gain time."
We ask for nothing more than to march forward. From time to time I catch the general's orders to the lieutenant: "Cross that village ... pass the bridge ... reach the heights ... make sure that the wood on the right is not occupied by the enemy ... do not lose contact with the main body...."
We advance in fours. Each section moves along in the same direction at intervals of a hundred yards. The lieutenant—the only officer for these five hundred men—marches at the head of my squadron.
On reaching the village mentioned, we find a peasant quietly leading three oxen to the watering-place. A little farther along two children, hand in hand, watch us file past. The houses are empty.
Once again the open country. Passing under an apple-tree, I pluck an apple and eat it to quench my thirst.
We cross a bridge. There are three roads before us. The lieutenant hesitates for a moment and then takes the middle one. No firing anywhere; perfect calm and silence.
On reaching an elevation, we are greeted with a storm of bullets.