"Behind that mound of chalk. Several of them." The sergeant's eyes
followed the line of the outstretched hand until they picked up the
dark menacing lump in the ground twenty feet away. Sombre, grim,
apparently lifeless, outlined against the night sky--it appeared almost
monstrous in size to the men who lay on the edge of a shell hole, with
every nerve alert. A bullet spat over them viciously, but they did not
alter their position--they knew they were not the target; and from
their own lines came the sudden clang of a shovel. All around them the
night was full of vague, indefinable noises; instinctively a man,
brought suddenly into such a place and ignorant of his whereabouts,
would have known that there were men all around him: men whom he could
not see, men who flitted through the shadows bent on mysterious tasks,
men who moved silently, with eyes strained to pierce the darkness.
Behind the German lines a trench tramway was in use; the metallic
rumble of the trolleys on the iron rails came continuously from the
distance. And suddenly from close at hand a man laughed. . . .
"Do you see them?" Once again the officer was whispering, while he
still grasped, almost unconsciously, the sergeant's arm.
"There--there! Look!"
Two or three shadowy blobs seemed to move uncertainly above the edge of
the chalk mound and then disappear again; and a moment afterwards, from
almost on top of them, came a hoarse guttural whisper. The officer's
grip tightened convulsively; the night of a sudden seemed alive with
men close to them--pressing around them. Almost involuntarily he got
up and moved back a few steps, still peering, straining to see in the
inky blackness. Something loomed up and bumped into him, only to
recoil with a muttered oath; and even as he realised it was a German he
heard his sergeant's low voice from a few feet away. "Where are you,
sir? Where are you?" The next moment he was back at his side.
"Get back your own way," he whispered; "we've bumped a big patrol.
Don't fire." And as he spoke, with a slight hiss a flare shot up into
the night.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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