ath--this rifle, and kit were handicap enough! Two days ago he had
been reading in some paper how men felt just before an attack. And now
he knew. He just felt nervous. If only the moment would come, and get
itself over! For all the thought he gave to the enemy there might have
been none--nothing but shells and bullets, with lives of their own. He
heard the whistle; his foot was on the spot he had marked down; his hand
where he had seen it; he called out: "Now, boys!" His head was over the
top, his body over; he was conscious of someone falling, and two men
neck and neck beside him. Not to try and run, not to break out of a
walk; to go steady, and yet keep ahead! D--n these holes! A bullet tore
through his sleeve, grazing his arm--a red-hot sensation, like the touch
of an iron. A British shell from close over his head burst sixty yards
ahead; he stumbled, fell flat, picked himself up. Three ahead of him
now! He walked faster, and drew alongside. Two of them fell. 'What
luck!' he thought; and gripping his rifle harder, pitched headlong into
a declivity. Dead bodies lay there! The first German trench line,
and nothing alive in it, nothing to clean up, nothing of it left! He
stopped, getting his wind; watching the men panting and stumbling in.
The roar of the guns was louder than ever again, barraging the second
line. So far, good! And here was his captain!

"Ready, boys? On, then!"

This time he moved more slowly still, over terrible going, all holes and
hummocks. Half consciously he took cover all he could. The air was
alive with the whistle from machine-gun fire storming across zigzag
fashion-alive it was with bullets, dust, and smoke. 'How shall I tell
her?' he thought. There would be nothing to tell but just a sort of
jagged brown sensation. He kept his eyes steadily before him, not
wanting to seethe men falling, not wanting anything to divert him from
getting there. He felt the faint fanning of the passing bullets. The
second line must be close now. Why didn't that barrage lift? Was this
new dodge of firing till the last second going to do them in? Another
hundred yards and he would be bang into it. He flung himself flat and
waited; looking at his wrist-watch he noted that his arm was soaked with
blood. He thought: 'A wound! Now I shall go home. Thank God! Oh, Noel!'
The passing bullets whirled above him; he could hear them even through
the screech and thunder of the shell-fire. 'The beastly things!' he
thought: A v