I hear the orders to form a skirmish line, and to set our rifles at the 800 yards range.
Very soon we are being fired at from the front and from both sides. The lieutenant runs the entire length of the skirmish line. He brings the men forward in tens, according to regulations. I watch him and feel certain that he will be shot. No, he continues his course right in the thick of the bullets.
If only we could see the enemy! But he is safe in his trenches or hidden in the wood, and is able to fire at us as he pleases.
Lying flat on the grass, for the first time we hear the bullets whistle past. The enemy's fire, too well directed, sends the earth leaping into the air all around me. I imagine my head to be as large as a pumpkin. What a target! Whilst reloading, I notice an ant right in front of me, scaling some cartridge cases, and the thought comes to me—
"What an advantage to be quite small."
Hearing a cry, I turn my head and see a poor fellow with the blood streaming from his hand. The wounded man groans—
"Aie! Aie! Just what I expected!"
Then he stands upright. He feels that he has paid his debt and is now out of the game. It no longer interests him, so off he goes. He proceeds about a dozen yards towards the rear, and then, of course, falls dead to the ground, riddled with bullets.
The soldier on my right says—