The men scrambled up the sides of the giant crater. From the pits on both sides of them the other sections were doing the same thing.
"Spread out," was the order. "Advance in open formation."
With several feet between them the French dashed down the hill. The German machine-guns barked at them angrily and the spiteful crack of the rifles could be heard now and then above the din of the cannonade. Two hundred yards from the enemy's positions they flung themselves down upon the ground and began digging furiously. Every man had a shovel in his equipment and he made the dirt fly.
In an incredibly short time a parapet a little over a foot high was thrown up and every man's knapsack was placed to keep the dirt in position so that they were fairly safe against infantry and machine-gun fire. This done, every soldier then began to dig a little individual ditch for himself. Three feet deep and two feet wide and long enough to lie down in they furnished excellent protection against anything but a direct hit by one of the enemy's shells.
"Hello, Jacques," called Leon. "How do you feel?"
"Fine. Do you know our section didn't lose a man on the way down the hill?"
"That so? Good for us."
"Where's Earl?"
"The other side of you, I think. Yell at him."
"Hey, Earl," called Jacques.