A low whine and a terrific wump as a high-explosive shell arrived and burst fifty yards in the rear of the trench showed that Fritz was still strafing. A fortnight previously Malcolm's heart would have been in his boots. Now he scarcely heeded the messenger of death and destruction, although showers of dust and calcined wood flew over the parados amongst the ration party. Familiarity with missiles of that description had quickly bred contempt.
At frequent intervals lurid star-shells lit up the sky. The Huns were getting decidedly jumpy of late. Expecting a strong attack, yet not knowing the actual time, they were massing their men on the ridge under the protection of their artillery. Away to the left machine-guns were delivering a staccato obbligato.
"Our heavies are quiet to-night," remarked Selwyn, who was trudging along the duck-boards literally on Malcolm's heels. "Why to blazes don't they give Fritz half a dozen for every one he throws over? Hanged if I can make things out."
Malcolm pulled tip suddenly, to avoid charging into the back of the man immediately preceding him. Those behind bunched up and halted, while from the front of the single file came a very strong exclamation of pain and anger.
"What's wrong?" enquired the Corporal "Someone buckshied?"
"Yes," replied the voice of Grouser Joliffe. "Copped it in my blessed arm."
"Then foot it to the dressing-station," ordered Corporal Preston.
"Me?" enquired the rifleman. "Me? Not much. Wait till we've brought in the grub, and then--you don't catch me going over the top tonight."
For another hundred and fifty yards the party proceeded before the men turned into the zigzag communication-trench. This ran backwards for nearly a mile. In places it was eight feet deep, with sand-bags on either side in addition, In others, in marshy spots, where the high-explosive shells had spitefully disturbed the tranquillity of meandering streams and carried the sluggish water to overflow and swamp the surrounding ground, the "trench" was above normal ground-level, with a lofty and broad wall of sand-bags to right and left. Here and there the trench was roofed in, where, from experience, men had learnt it was unhealthy owing to being exposed to machine-gun fire. The Huns had got to know the weak spots. Aerial observation during daylight had enabled them to train machine-guns upon certain points of the communication-trenches. The lethal weapons would be ominously silent until after dark; then, on the off-chance of receiving a good bag, they would let loose a hail of bullets.
The men hastened across the more-exposed sections generally on their hands and knees. Even the bravest heaved a sigh of relief when the danger-spot was safely crossed. Going over the top they would unhesitatingly rush a machine-gun emplacement, but crawling away from the enemy, never knowing when a hail of bullets would sweep the ground, was enough to try the nerves of the case-hardened campaigner.