"D.J.'s to-morrow."
"What's that?"
"The attack. It's to-morrow at three in the morning; instructions are going to be given out to-night."
A detonation behind them was like a blow on the head, making their ear-drums ring. The glass in the headlight of one of the cars tinkled to the ground.
"The 410 behind the church, that was. Pretty near knocks the wind out of you."
"Say, Randolph, have you heard the new orders?"
"No."
A tall, fair-haired man came out from the front of his car where he had been working on the motor, holding his grease-covered hands away from him.
"It's put off," he said, lowering his voice mysteriously. "D.J.'s not till day after to-morrow at four-twenty. But to-morrow we're going up to relieve the section that's coming out and take over the posts. They say it's hell up there. The Germans have a new gas that you can't smell at all. The other section's got about five men gassed, and a bunch of them have broken down. The posts are shelled all the time."
"Great," said Tom Randolph. "We'll see the real thing this time."