... They would return in twenty minutes, and by
noon we would be broken. Unless--unless the miracle of miracles
happened, and they never returned.

Archie reported that his skipper would do his damnedest and that our
machines were now going up. 'We've a chance, sir,' he said, 'a good
sportin' chance.' It was a new Archie, with a hard voice, a lean face,
and very old eyes.

Behind the jagged walls of the farm buildings was a knoll which had
once formed part of the high-road. I went up there alone, for I didn't
want anybody near me. I wanted a viewpoint, and I wanted quiet, for I
had a grim time before me. From that knoll I had a big prospect of
country. I looked east to our lines on which an occasional shell was
falling, and where I could hear the chatter of machine-guns. West there
was peace for the woods closed down on the landscape. Up to the north,
I remember, there was a big glare as from a burning dump, and heavy
guns seemed to be at work in the Ancre valley. Down in the south there
was the dull murmur of a great battle. But just around me, in the gap,
the deadliest place of all, there was an odd quiet. I could pick out
clearly the different sounds. Somebody down at the farm had made a joke
and there was a short burst of laughter. I envied the humorist his
composure. There was a clatter and jingle from a battery changing
position. On the road a tractor was jolting along--I could hear its
driver shout and the screech of its unoiled axle.

My eyes were glued to my glasses, but they shook in my hands so that I
could scarcely see. I bit my lip to steady myself, but they still
wavered. From time to time I glanced at my watch. Eight minutes
gone--ten--seventeen. If only the planes would come into sight! Even
the certainty of failure would be better than this harrowing doubt.
They should be back by now unless they had swung north across the
salient, or unless the miracle of miracles--

Then came the distant yapping of an anti-aircraft gun, caught up the
next second by others, while smoke patches studded the distant blue
sky. The clouds were banking in mid-heaven, but to the west there was a
big clear space now woolly with shrapnel bursts. I counted them
mechanically--one--three--five--nine--with despair beginning to take
the place of my anxiety. My hands were steady now, and through the
glasses I saw the enemy.

Five attenuated shapes rode high above the bombardment, now sharp
against the blue, now lost in a film of