We see distinctly a body blown high into the air, and the body still holds the mount of the machine gun which he was just setting in place. Headless, disemboweled, it falls just in front of our dugout within reach of our hands. It is Gouzé, the chief gunner. “The _salauds_!” An intelligence officer from the major reaches us. “Get ready to support the wave which is going over with all your guns!” The shells burst on our position implacably. There isn’t the slightest choice between the emplacements. Three guns are still intact and ready to fire at the blast of the whistle. But the fourth gun must be put in position, too. “Tell the adjutant of the section to occupy the crater,” comes the order. By means of the half-destroyed communication trench I reach the section which I find burrowing in shelters built hastily out of whatever came handiest and deliver my order. The adjutant takes it and turns pale. “All right, but there’s no great chance of our getting there.” Their hearts throb, and they look at each other. It is true that it is necessary, but on the parapet between the trench and the crater, no longer the slightest protection, shells fall like hail and without a let-up. They hesitate. As if he had foreseen this, the lieutenant had followed behind me. He reads their hesitation in their faces and is about to say something to overcome it when the blast of the major’s whistle sounds. It is the signal. The wave jumps from the parallels and dashes forward. We must fire. Our three guns have already begun their rattle and are spraying the terrain before the enemy’s trenches close to the ground, probing the loopholes, mowing the parapets, and cutting the last of the barbed wire. The fourth gun ought to fire too; it must. Then, quietly, with that unusual coolness which characterizes him, the lieutenant clambers over the parapet. “Will you come with me, _Margis_?” Cigarette between his lips, leaning carelessly on his curved handled cane, as though he were going for a morning walk through the fields, he advances, standing very straight, without hurrying, and without losing an inch of his great height. The men understand. Five seconds later we are in the crater and in less time than it takes to tell it the gun begins to fire like the rest. The enemy’s artillery has now changed its objective. It now aims its fire on the assaulting wave. We return to our shelter. The spectacle is wonderful. Almost without losses, our waves reach the first of the enemy’s lines and clear them at a bound. “Lengthen the fire.... On the second position.... Farther ... on the third; on the fortified emplacement; to the left of the woods.... Fire, fire, fire, nom de Dieu!” The fire on our sector begins again more violently than ever. We have bothered the enemy and he wants to silence us.