After taking Pozieres and driving over the ridge and on down into the
Courcelette Valley, we took up a position about 500 yards from the
German front lines. Here occurred another of those remarkable escapes
from the Grim Reaper's toll that won for me throughout the unit the
pseudonym, "Horseshoe Grant."
Eighteen loads of ammunition were being hauled to the guns and when
being unloaded, enemy fire opened up on the position, several horses
were hit, the doors of the wagons were flung open and the horses,
stricken with fright, galloped madly about, the shells being strewn over
the ground all the way to the bridge several hundred yards off,--a
bridge that was a vitally important structure to us, because over it
every pound of supplies and ammunition had to cross in order to get to
us. I have often thought what a disaster it would have meant to us had
Fritz ever got to this passageway. The drivers finally managed to close
the wagon doors and get most of them back over the bridge, but the shell
fire had then become so heavy that "Take cover!" was ordered.
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