The battle had opened well. Their guns no more than sniped at us, and very soon we shut them up altogether. The colonel peered into his periscope and chuckled to himself. Then all of a sudden they woke up and answered with big shells along our first line of trenches. It was our turn to be surprised. Our laughter lost its hearty ring. Our little party, the engineers of this business, had chosen a safe place for the present; but matters looked uncomfortable to the left hand, and the blameless infantry suffered. I sat by the colonel’s feet, gathering how matters went from his brief remarks, from the explosions, and from the voices of our own shells tearing overhead. To and fro before me men pushed past on some duty or other, with lively faces and lively movements. The telephonist was crouched at my back, receiver strapped to his head. He repeated the colonel’s orders In monotonous voice, and called out the replies. I was sleeping partner in the fight. I crossed my legs and put my chin in the cup of my hand, waiting what might happen. The colonel’s face was crimson from the sun and from his feelings. Something was going wrong, for he was losing patience. He shifted from one leg to the other and frowned, and stared through the periscope, and snapped out orders at the telephonist. Just now I took the cigarette from my mouth, and looked at it. It was half-smoked.
“Why have the New Zealanders shut up shop?” the colonel burst out. “What’s happened to them? Find out from Mr. Sands what’s happened to them!”
The telephonist buzzed the call, but got no answer. He buzzed again with like result. Alternately he buzzed and called for the next minute. Then he said: “Can’t raise them, sir.” The colonel was too busy to hear, and he went on calling.
“Have you got that through?” said the colonel, all of a sudden.
“No, sir. Can’t raise them.”
“What’s up?”
“Don’t know, sir. The line must be cut.”
“Oh, damn!” The colonel chewed his top lip. “Are you there, Lake?”
“Yes, sir.” I got up.
“Go along to Mr. Sands, and ask what’s happened to the New Zealanders. Tell him the line is cut, and he must send someone along to mend it at once. Hurry, man, there’s no time to lose!”