We called each other, got clear of the smoke and hurried out of the line of fire of the Howitzers. But the enemy's shells pursued us over the field as we ran, crouching down, in scattered order.
A projectile, the flash of which blinded me for a moment, knocked down a sergeant of the 12th Battery, who was running by my side. The man picked himself up immediately. Just above his eyes a couple of splinters had drilled two horribly symmetrical red holes. He made off, bending his head so that the blood should not run into his eyes. I offered to help him, but he said:
"No, leave me.... Run! It's nothing, this ... skull isn't smashed to bits!"
We took cover behind some large hayricks and waited for orders.
The roll was called:
"Eleventh?"
"Eleventh!"
"Hutin?"
"Here!"