Orders were through. Just near me someone called out: it was Major Felix, a megaphone to his mouth. He shouted something, and I caught most of it.
“Infantry advancing! Aiming point, left ridge of Battleship Hill! Line of fire, twenty degrees three-ough minutes right. Corrector one-five-ough——three-six hundred! Angle of sight three degrees one-ough minutes elevation! One round battery fire!”
The section commander saluted, and cried to his sergeants, the sergeants, kneeling at the trails, saluted and turned to the gunners. No. 3, on the left seat, laid the gun; No. 6 set the fuse, and No. 5 passed the shell to No. 4. No. 2, on the right-hand seat, opened the breech, No. 4 pushed home the shell, No. 2 closed the breech again. Then came a pause, then “Fire” was given, though I could not hear it. But there followed a mighty uproar, which seemed to beat the ground and plunge back again on to my ears, the boughs about the guns sprang into the air, long tongues of flame leaped forth, and the gun-barrels slid backwards and into place again.
The seconds went by. Again Major Felix was shouting. “C gun five minutes more left! Shorten corrector six! Drop two-ough-ough! Repeat!”
“What?” the section commander shouted.
“C Gun Five Minutes More Left! Shorten Corrector Six! Drop Two-ough-ough! Repeat!”
“What?” the section commander shouted.
“C GUN FIVE MINUTES MORE LEFT! SHORTEN CORRECTOR SIX! DROP TWO-OUGH-OUGH! REPEAT!”
The section commander saluted and turned to his sergeants, the sergeants saluted and directed the gunners, and again the yellow flames stabbed the air, and the uproar seemed to rebound and strike me.
A third time the order came: “C gun two minutes more left! Drop five-ough! Gunfire!”