WE ARE NOT DEFEATED
How stiff I was. I stretched. Every joint was aching. I started off, meaning to go all along the bit of line held by the platoon.
The trench was so narrow that the men had to glue themselves against the parapet in order to let me pass. I forced myself to give a friendly word of encouragement to each man. I suddenly bumped into a body. Gaudéreaux! The poor fellow's skull had been crushed like a nut.
There were wounded men here and there. Bouguet, who had had to give in and sit down, his face drawn with pain; and Icard, with folded arms, as plucky as ever, though his shoulder had been ripped up by a splinter of shrapnel.
For whom was I looking? I did not realise it until De Valpic hove in sight. There he was, safe and sound. What a relief! His cap was pushed back on his forehead, his cheek-bones were purple, and he had a scratch on his temple which was bleeding.
He had caught sight of me, and was coming up when I saw Chailleux, our connecting file, appear behind him. He shouted:
"Where's the lieutenant?"
"Any orders?"
"Yes, we're to fall back."