cursed them softly for not keeping low, or making a row. Then through the tunnel, and lying down below the lip he looked at his watch. Ten minutes too soon.
“We’ve plenty of time, boys,” he whispered, “I’ll give you the word to get ready.”
The men composed themselves to wait in easy attitudes, but each had some nervous trick betraying his tense condition. Some licked their dry lips again and again, some felt their bayonets. One red-haired fellow took out all his bombs, one by one, and squeezed their pins pensively. The enemy trench mortars were replying on our trench now, and the usual evening bombardment was going on. A new fear took possession of the Senior Subaltern. He looked at his watch. There would be a hitch in the timing; the barrage would be late, and they would have to go over without it. He watched the seconds go by. Only one minute, only half a minute, to the start of the barrage.
Swish—bang—bang—bang. The whole earth was convulsed with a tornado of sound, as the roar of the bursting shells in the German line convinced the Senior Subaltern that all was well. The men in the crater pressed their faces to the ground that was shaking beneath them, trying to hide themselves from that terrible crashing, but their officer’s heart
