Day was breaking when we left the wood.
We advanced across a slightly sloping upland.
"Halt!"
Rows and rows of piled arms stretched away into the distance. There was a brigade, or perhaps a division there. We counted on a rest worth having. But a whirring noise was heard. We looked up. One, no two German aeroplanes, like the silhouettes of evil-looking birds, were easily recognisable.
A neighbouring company fired a volley at them. They continued to flutter above us turning and twisting insolently. The men shook their fists at them. And the same thought occurred to us all: What were our aeroplanes doing? A third Taube arrived and dropped a rocket.
"The devil!"
"Look out!" shouted Henriot. "We've been marked right enough! We shall catch it hot!"
The alarm was given. We scattered at the double and threw ourselves down, and shivered in the icy dawn. The expected shells did not come. The captain sent for the subaltern.
"To give him a wigging," said Descroix.
Playoust jeered.