"So I did, Captain. But it was a harmless one this time. I am in luck."
I put myself at the head of my poilus. "Come along, boys! We're not going to be knocked out by that lot. Behind that pile of logs there."
There are more of our men a little further away to the right, disposed in skirmishing formation, forming an irregular but continuous line. They have made wonderfully good use of every inch of cover; kneeling behind tree-boles or piles of logs and firing; lying down behind miniature mounds, or in holes they have dug with their picks. The terrain is splendidly utilized—these men know how to fight.
A few yards behind them their officers watch and direct their fire. One of them walks about erect, strolls from man to man, nose in the air, pipe between his teeth, hands in his pockets. With a thrill of emotion I recognize the nose, the pipe and beard as belonging to Porchon. Ah, old man, I will tell you what I think about it afterwards!
Meanwhile I place my men over to the left, thus prolonging the line. Very soon their rifles are making a chorus with those of their neighbours.
"One round! Aim! Fire!"
A few of the men are late by a second or two.
"One round! Aim! Fire!"
A single sharp explosion; no one late this time. Excellent!
"Three rounds … at four hundred metres … fire!"