, from their positions on
the canal to L., in the belief that mighty forces were being assembled
here for a further tremendous blow. The object of our assignment would
in that case already have been for the most part accomplished. But all
of us subordinate officers--who neither possess nor should possess an
insight into the strategic movement--we have but a single desire:
Forward!

For a few minutes, after the first thundering crash of the French
artillery, there is deep silence. It seems as if nature itself were
holding its breath. The crash had fallen in the alley of poplars along
the road. The roadway is strewn with branches and twigs. Just beside
the northern column of our battery the monstrous shell has buried
itself in the clay soil. A hail of earth-crumbs has rained upon us. We
cannot note any other damage. But all the companies that are still in
closed formation spread out in order to offer no compact target.

For hours, now, there continues this terrible cannonading backward and
forward, this dreadful argument of batteries. Horrible as is the
devastation which such an instrument of murder can wreak, you
gradually grow accustomed to the roaring storm. And you almost smile
because you still lower your head each time. Until you remember: We
greet Death, and he greets us.

"Near the church tower southeast of L. where the railway bridge can be
seen, are hostile riflemen, strength several companies."

Our cavalry patrol disappears again--a French machine gun fires at it
without hitting--and the battalion commander calls to me:

"Company left across the road, right and left of the farmhouse,
developing a column on each side, with wide intervals between!"

Quickly the right wing column darts across. My Turkish professor, the
Chief Lieutenant, manages it beautifully. One sharpshooter always
darts ahead, throws himself on his belly, creeps on; a second follows.
At one, two kilometers, scarcely a headpiece is visible. The left
column is less successful. Over the heads of the sharpshooters there
at once whistle shells. They feel the air pressure; the tremendous
noise grips them.

"Dodge! Lie down! Forward only one at a time, with long pauses! You'll
betray our positions, fellows!"

And at this moment there is a clattering sound in the air above. A
French airman!

"An airman, Captain!"

"Yes, yes, I've heard him."

The only thing that can help us is to keep from looking up. Only the
rows of flesh-colored oval