A shower of shrapnel shells suddenly burst in the distance, over the dark woods.
"Swine!" growled Millon between his teeth. He had given up his bread.
He shook his fist towards the enemy.
Once in position to sweep the uplands on the right bank of the Meuse, we dried ourselves in the sun.
In the afternoon a few horsemen, Uhlans presumably, appeared on the edge of a distant wood. A broadside of shells quickly made them seek cover again.
Friday, August 28
"Alarm!"
"What?"
"Come on, up you get!"