"We see it, sir!"
"That's your aiming-point. Plate 0, dial 150."
The men ran to the guns and layed them, the breeches coming to rest as they closed on the shells. The gun-layers raised their hands.
"Ready!"
"First round," ordered the gun-commander.
The detachment stood by outside the wheels of the gun, the firing number bending down to seize the lanyard.
"Fire!"
The gun reared like a frightened horse. I was shaken from head to foot, my skull throbbing and my ears tingling as though with the jangle of enormous bells which had been rung close to them. A long tongue of fire had darted out of the muzzle, and the wind caused by the round raised a cloud of dust round us. The ground quaked. I noticed an unpleasant taste in my mouth—musty at first, and acrid after a few seconds. That was the powder. I hardly knew whether I tasted it or whether I smelled it. We continued firing, rapidly, without stopping, the movements of the men co-ordinated, precise, and quick. There was no talking, gestures sufficing to control the manœuvre. The only words audible were the range orders given by the Captain and repeated by the Nos. 1.
"Two thousand five hundred!"
"Fire!"