What did they want? Ammunition? Yes, a few extra rounds for the platoon which was to stay and cover the retreat.
I started. So some men were to be sacrificed. I put on a detached tone:
"Which platoon has been warned for the job?"
"They drew lots," he said. "It's to be Delafosse's."
No. 1. I hurried along to them, feeling that I could not go without shaking Humel by the hand. He was touched by it.
"It means hell for us," he said. "But mind you fellows get off all right."
The men accepted their lot without keenness or bitterness. Descroix was standing a few yards away. I took a step towards him.
"Good luck, Descroix."
"Like to change places?" he snapped, in a fury.
I felt certain that he was going to be killed, and I was sorry that his last hour should not see his mind ennobled.