asked. “Well, it oughtn’t to be there. Come along and see.”
The light was a mere match-head down in the ground,—Claude hadn’t noticed it before. He followed the Colonel, and when they reached the spark they found three officers of A Company crouching in a shell crater, covered with a piece of sheet-iron.
“Put out that light,” called the Colonel sharply. “What’s the matter, Captain Brace?”
A young man rose quickly. “I’m waiting for the water, sir. It’s coming up on mules, in petrol cases, and I don’t want to get separated from it. The ground’s so bad here the drivers are likely to get lost.”
“Don’t wait more than twenty minutes. You must get up and take your position on time, that’s the important thing, water or no water.”
As the Colonel and Claude hurried back to overtake the Company, five big shells screamed over them in rapid succession. “Run, sir,” the orderly called. “They’re getting on to us; they’ve shortened the range.”
“That light back there was just enough to give them an idea,” the Colonel muttered.
The bad ground continued for about a mile, and then the advance reached Headquarters, behind the eighth trench of the great system of trenches. It was an old farmhouse which the Germans had made over with reinforced concrete, lining it within and without, until the walls were six feet thick and almost shell-proof, like a pill-box. The Colonel sent his orderly to enquire about A Company. A young Lieutenant came to the door of the farmhouse.
“A Company is ready to go into position, sir. I brought them up.”
