"Let's get back out of it," suggested Malcolm. "It's too jolly cold to stand here. What's the time?"
He consulted the luminous dial of his wristlet watch.
"By gum--a quarter to five!" he exclaimed. "The boys will start assembling in another fifteen minutes."
"What's it doing?" enquired Fortescue when the chums returned to the dug-out.
"Fine so far, but threatening," replied Selwyn. "It'll be our usual luck--raining in torrents, I'm afraid."
"Anyone know our objectives?" enquired M'Kane as he slowly adjusted the straps of two empty canvas bags that later on were to be crammed full with Mills's bombs.
"Eighteen hundred yards on a two-thousand-yards front, and not an inch beyond," replied Fortescue. "That'll bring us on to the hill, which is what we want. Dry ground during the winter, you know."
At last Fortescue gave the word. The men, grasping their rifles, filed out, to find the fortified craters filling up with silent khaki-clad Diggers.
"Keep together," whispered Malcolm to Selwyn.
"Rather!" replied his chum. "Dash it all, I wish we were off. I always loathe this hanging-about business."