At ten o'clock the men crowded into the fire-trench. Although no information had been given out concerning the revised arrangements for the attack the men instinctively realized that the crucial moment was at hand.
Suddenly the desultory cannonade gave place to a violent artillery bombardment, to which the German guns could do little or nothing in reply. Admirably registered, their range being regulated either by observation officers at isolated posts or else from the aeroplanes that hovered overhead, the shells battered the Hun wire entanglements and first-line trenches almost out of recognition. The air was filled with dust and smoke—red, yellow, and green in colour—while through the clouds of vapour could be discerned the dismembered bodies of German soldiers hurled twenty feet or more into the air by the terrific force of the exploding missiles.
For a solid twenty minutes the hail of high explosive projectiles continued, while simultaneously shrapnel put up a barrage in the rear of the hostile trenches with a two-fold purpose: to prevent the Huns running away and also to make it almost impossible for reinforcements to be brought up to the firing line.
"They're lifting!" exclaimed Penfold as the shells began to drop further away.
"Five minutes more, lads!" said the platoon commander in clear, decisive tones. "Now, show them what the Wheatshires can do in broad daylight."
"D'ye want a leg-up, Tubby?" sang out George Anderson, addressing his remarks to a corpulent private whose previous efforts to surmount the parapet were ludicrous in spite of the mental and physical strain of "going over the top."
A general laugh greeted George's words, the butt of his remarks joining in the hilarity. With few exceptions the men were high-spirited. Their confidence in the artillery and the knowledge that they were "top-dog" when it came to hand-to-hand fighting made them eager and alert to rush forward at the first blast of the whistle.
Thirty seconds more.
With an ear-splitting roar and a veritable volcano of flame the mine under the Pumpnickel Redoubt was exploded. The earth trembled violently with the crash of the detonation. In places sand-bags slipped bodily into the British trench. A gust of violently displaced air, bearing grit and dust, mingled with weightier fragments, swept over the heads of the waiting Tommies. Where the strongly fortified earthworks had stood was a crater quite two hundred yards across, but how deep the British were yet to learn.
Before the last of the far-flung debris had fallen to earth the whistles sounded. With a rousing cheer the line of khaki-clad men swarmed over the parapet into the muddy and smoke-laden, crater-pitted No Man's Land.