“Two minutes to go!” he said. And we waited.
“One minute to go!” said the officer next time he spoke.
Then, at ten o’clock, “Over!” he shouted. That’s all I remember of what he said. He may have said more, but I can’t tell. “Over!” was the order, and over we went.
We all cheered, and then we went helter-skelter for the Turks with the bayonet.
They were said to be two hundred and fifty yards away, but it was a lot more than that—at any rate it seemed so. And the ground we had to rush over was terrible—rough and with a lot of vines about that twined round your feet and tripped you up. Some of our chaps were knocked flat in this way, some fell of exhaustion, and lots were killed or wounded. The best part of our lot were knocked out before we ever got near the Turks.
But when we reached the trench that we were going for we found that there were not many of the Turks left. Our gunners had settled them, so that the trench was full of dead Turks, some of them with their heads blown completely off.
Our task was simple enough. We had to go for one particular trench that was straight in front of us.
I can’t give any special particulars about what happened, because it was all a sort of blur, but I remember a few things clearly, and it’s these that I am telling of.
The trench was up a hillside, and when I got to it I saw that part of it had been blown up. I rushed at the opening, and fell into the trench. I was alone. I don’t know whether I was the first man in the trench or not; but I do know that there were none of our chaps there—only myself and dead bodies.