"
A word came along the wire from the officer in the observation post a
mile away.
Another order was called through the tin mouthpiece.
"Repeat!"
"We've got'em," said the young gentleman by my side, in a cheerful
way.
The officer with the megaphone looked across and smiled.
"We may as well give them a salvo. They won't like it a bit."
A second or two later there was a tremendous crash as the four guns
fired together. "Repeat!" came the high voice through the megaphone.
The still air was rent again. . . In a waterlogged trench, which we
could not see, a German pumping-party had been blown to bits.
The artillery officers took turns in the observation posts, sleeping
for the night in one of the dugouts behind the front trench instead of
in the billet below.
The way to the observation post was sometimes a little vague,
especially in frost-and-thaw weather, when parts of the communication
trenches slithered down under the weight of sand-bags.
The young officer who walked with luminous eyes and eager step found
it necessary to crawl on his stomach before he reached his lookout
station from which he looked straight across the enemy's trenches.
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