A terrible hand to hand fight follows. The lieutenant, wounded, dripping with blood, on his knees on the parapet, stops the demoralized enemy with shots from his revolver. But this heroic defense of the breach can’t last long. Most of our men have fallen and most of the rest are wounded. The enemy is still advancing, in close ranks now. He is going to get by.... Then, from the support trench, which the ... first Territorials hold, a company dashes out like a whirlwind, with an irresistible dash. It throws the mass of the enemy into disorder, and it is soon just a mob, which turns its back and flees frantically, as fast as it can go, falling under our rifle fire, and strewing the ground with corpses and innumerable wounded who drag themselves along on the ground begging for mercy. CHAPTER XVIII WITH ORDERS “There he is, Captain,” shouted a non-commissioned intelligence officer. “It is necessary,” said the captain, “to take this order to the lieutenant commanding your company at once. You’ll find that it’s only a promenade. Go ahead.” A promenade! From the Château de Cappy where the headquarters of our brigade were all one could see that morning on the horizon was smoke and flame. The earth trembles as though there were some sort of a fanciful, continuous earthquake. Since the attack began and our waves crossed the first Boche lines, the enemy’s artillery planted on the heights of Cléry, Mont St. Quentin, Barleux has sent over a formidable barrage to prevent all possibility of the arrival of reinforcements. It hopes to cut off in the rear the forces engaged in the attack, to encircle them, to exterminate or capture them. A wall of shell and fire separates them from us. Three hundred yards in front of the heights of the La Vache woods from La Vierge clear to Dompierre and Fontaine-les-Cappy, it is one uninterrupted explosion of great shells which throw to great heights enormous masses of earth and stones almost as though they were gushing from the bowels of the earth. This waste of shells is further beautified with “tear” shells and asphyxiating shells and is designed to stop all attempts at passing the barrage. This is the delightful place in which I have to take a “promenade.” I adjust my mask, make sure that the straps are on, and secure my steel helmet by the chin strap. With the order in the pocket of my revolver case, a solid boxwood baton in my hand, I start towards the fiery furnace. The communication trench which I try to follow is impracticable. It is partly blown in and such dugouts as are still tenable are full of wounded fleeing from the zone of combat. They crowd in pell-mell in their efforts to find a breathing place. Then, sooner or later, after the La Vache woods are passed, one has to walk absolutely unprotected so one might as well go at once.