"These 'ere branches ain't arf a barney," said Bubb, who understood only a little of what Flanagan was saying.
"Birnam Wood! Copied from Macbeth," said Flanagan with an air of scorn. "There's nothing new in the world. There were trenches and dug-outs at the siege of Sebastopol."
Sergeant Snogger came in at that moment, his body festooned with bombs, his face the colour of ebony. He looked at his men.
"Wot are yer waitin' for?" he asked. "Gawd, ye are slummicky. Come on, we've got to get across to-night. To-morrow won't do for this 'ere job."
The party went out, crossed the parapet into No Man's Land and advanced in open order, six yards' interval between each man and his neighbour. Reynolds near the centre of the line, had Flanagan on his right, Bowdy Benners on his left, whilst the sergeant, who led the party, moved warily along, a few yards in advance. From time to time he halted and waited for those who followed to come abreast and issued orders which were passed from the centre to the flanks in whispers. He used the words "damned unlucky" whenever he spoke.
"Spread out from the centre," he cautioned. "The whole party's bunchin' up. If the henemy flings some dirt across, yer'll be damned unlucky."
Again he gave the order "Close in in the centre! You're losing touch. Some of yer'll be goin' in to the German trench all alone; then yer'll be damned unlucky."
Whenever a star-shell rose in air, the raiders flung themselves flat to the ground and waited for the flare to die out. As they went down, they placed the branches over their heads and held them there until the order to advance was given. Lying thus, they were immune from discovery, for an enemy patrol ten yards away would mistake the prone bundles under their covering of branches for derelict bushes which the fury of incessant shell fire had spared.
Star-shells rose at frequent intervals from the enemy lines; the British sent up very few. This was the case all along the line. The enemy, in eternal dread of raids, kept up a continual watch over No Man's Land.
The party, now half way across, lay down, for a starshell rose from the German trench, stood high and lit the derelict levels with the brilliance of day. Then oscillating sleepily from side to side, it dropped a myriad petals of flame and sank lazily to earth.