They went off. Guillaumin whispered:
"All over us, isn't he?"
He was joking, but I felt that he was touched and proud, dear chap that he was.
This rest did us both harm and good. Good, because we recovered from our exhaustion. We had a drink and a bite. Harm, because we softened and no one wanted to go on again.
An intermittent firing went on. Pffmm...! A bullet!... another!... and another!... Judsi pretended to catch them.
We heard that a man had just been killed in Ravelli's platoon, a bullet through his head. Confound it! We bent down. It was oppressively hot.
Then the artillery started off again. The order was passed along to lie down and protect our heads with our packs. The cartridge-pouches caused us agony. We stayed like that for nearly three-quarters of an hour. The men grew restless, and would rather have done a bolt, even forwards. I was the only one, I believe, to prefer the fatigue and less risk.
Henriot came to warn us to be ready.
We were. Some of the men readjusted their belts and straps.