Cries of anguish come from the tall grass, then the calls of the unhurt for their chiefs. But all, officers and subalterns, have fallen. "My captain ... My lieutenant ... Sergeant ..."
No answer.
Suddenly a voice is heard: "No more chiefs left. Come on, all the same, nom de Dieu! Come on! Lie flat, boys, he that lifts his head is done for. En avant!"
And the legionaries, crawling onward, continue the attack.
The wounded see the second wave pass, then the third.... They cheer on their comrades:
"Courage, fellows, death to the Boches! On with you!"
One of them sobs with rage: "To think I can't go too!"
And the high grasses shudder, their roots trodden by the men, their tops fanned by the hail of projectiles.
From the sunken road the German mitrailleuses work unceasingly....
Now, in all the plain, not a movement; the living have passed out of sight. The dead, outstretched, are as if asleep, the wounded are silent; they listen, they listen to the battle with all their ears, this battle so near to them, but in which they have no part. They wait to hear the shout of their comrades in the supreme hour of the
