The colonel stood on a platform, head just under the parapet, periscope just above. His size caused him to crouch, and his legs were wide apart. The brisker grew the battle, the more engrossed became he; so that now he never moved his head, but stayed bent forward staring into the glass. His exclamations made to himself were to be heard. “That’s a good one! Very good! Right on the target! That’s pretty shooting! Green’s into ’em now! Oh, damn! now they’re off! Hay has got off! Are you there, Lake?”
I stood just below watching for the least sign, for when he grew interested, often a movement of the hand was all his signal, and at best he would jerk out an abrupt word or two. Now I answered, “Yes, sir,” and stood ready. “Tell Mr. Hay to come over more. Two degrees more right. That’s better, that’s better! Still he can come over more. Two degrees more right, tell him!”
Away went I. Mr. Hay was at the periscope and nodded to show he had heard. As I moved off again, he called out: “Tell the colonel they seem to be waving flags over there. They seem to want to attract attention. They were doing it before, and now they have started again.” I told the colonel what he said, but got no answer for my pains. I would have looked myself had there been time.
“That’s better, that’s better!” the colonel started to say. “Now he is short! Damn it, he’s short! Lake, tell him to add fifty. Say he wants fifty or a hundred.” I took the message and came back again, finding time to sit down. The action went on, losing little or nothing of its briskness. Then came word down the line, passed in a mysterious unofficial way, that something was happening on the other side; the enemy was waving flags and looking over the parapets, as if to attract attention. But it seemed no more was to come of it, as the fire went on and the moment’s excitement was spent. Yet five minutes later it had grown again, and methought something must happen now. I itched to see how matters went, but I must not leave the spot. The firing lost heart, becoming a number of sharp explosions in place of an unbroken roll. Again the word came along. The colonel took interest finally and stopped a passing officer to inquire, and next looked again at the opposite trenches. Finally he gave word for the batteries to cease fire, and stepped down on to the floor of the trench. Our part in the battle was over. I lost no time picking up a periscope and seeing all there was to see. It was little enough worth the bother. The enemy must have given up their idea, for not one flag flew, gaze as I would. I soon tired and sat down on a ledge belonging to some machine gunners who lived round here. It was their habit to sleep through the day and come out at evening. Each man had a recess of his own, with a blanket hung before it to cheat the sun. Their legs only were left in sight. It came about that I knew them better by their feet than their faces.
When I sat down, the colonel disappeared. Maybe he went to pass the time of day with an infantry colonel whose dug-out was a few steps down the path. Commonly he did this, leaving me in the trench to call him if need be. Just now were several sets of legs showing beyond the blankets, and a half-hearted argument went forward.
“I joined fer the six bob of course: what else’d a bloke do it fer?”
“I joined ’cos I ’ad a row with the old woman. I went out in a ’urry and joined right away, and I blasted well wish I ’adn’t.”
“What did you join fer, Darkie? Was it the six bob, or a row with yer tart, or was the police after yer?” Darkie made no answer. “Wot was it, Darkie?”
“I joined cos I thought a bloke ought ter join.”
It was like the bursting of an 8·25 shell. Nobody said anything. Nobody moved at all. I looked around for a museum to put the sentiment in.