Further on, the road descended slightly, and a very little way ahead the Subaltern saw, for the first time, a Battery of heavy artillery at work. The whole affair seemed to him to be singularly peaceful. The men went to work in the same efficient and rapid way that they would have done in a machine-room. Their targets were, of course, invisible, and there was no attempt to cover the guns from sight, nor to protect them from hostile shells. He was surprised to see how comparatively slowly the gun recoiled after discharge. The noise was ear-splitting, terrific.
"There'll be some fun when the Transport comes along," said the Senior Subaltern, with unholy glee.
He was right: there probably would be a great deal of "fun." The Battery was not more than fifty yards from the road on the left, while on the right there was a drop, at an angle of at least sixty degrees, of twenty yards. He imagined the frightened horses careering madly down the slope, the carts and wagons bumping and crashing down upon them—the kicking, struggling heap below!
Then, just as it was growing dark, they reached the edge of the plateau, and the huge rolling valley of the Aisne swam before them in the purple twilight. The further heights were already wrapt up in darkness; and the ground, glowing green at their feet, merged in the distance to rich velvet patches of purple and brown. The river itself was hidden by the trees clustering round its banks, but they could guess its course, winding away for a score or so of miles to the east.
"What a beautiful scene," he said reverently.
The Senior Subaltern may, or may not, have appreciated the beauty of the scene. His eye was on the further heights.
"This is where they will try to stand," he said.
And, as usual, he was right.
They looked across to where the dark heights opposite were thrown out clearly against the pale sky, faintly yellow with the reflected glory of the sunset at their backs. Lights momentarily twinkled, now here, now there, intermittently along the whole line, as far as they could see. It was just as if matches were being struck, and instantly blown out again. But all the time the low, booming noise floated across to them. It was the German heavy artillery, slinging over heavier projectiles than, so far, it had been their bad fortune to meet.
Just as they were entering a little village, nestling half-way down the slope, a tremendous explosion happened. There was a thunder-clap of noise, and a perfect cloud of earth and stones and wood was thrown high into the air. It was their introduction to the famous "Jack Johnson."