Presently to the eastward there came a low roar. He looked at his wrist watch. The hands pointed to six minutes before four o’clock. The ground trembled slightly to the sound of the distant guns and the air stirred in faint gusts that pulled at blue wraiths of his cigarette smoke. The push had started. His muscles stiffened at the knees as he listened. The first shock of the guns was raw and sharp in the quiet air; then it settled into a lower, full-throated rumble like the heavy notes of an organ growling in an underground basilica. Now it rose again in its greater volume--rose steadily, slowly, as if it were a colossal express train hammering down the switch points at unthinkable speed. Presently it soared to its highest pitch and held the blasting monotony of its tone. The minutes ticked off, but the guns never faltered in their symphony of blood. At 4:35 one pipe of the organ to the southeastward cut out suddenly and almost immediately began again, closer than before. Again it broke, as he listened, and crept nearer still. He walked down the line of huts, thrashing his arms and blowing on his cold hands. An impersonal thing to him, yet he shivered slightly and stared upward at the low clouds. Men out there to the eastward were in it. The suspense was over for them. And suddenly he found himself annoyed at the delay, annoyed at the fog and clouds above, that kept him on the ground. He wanted to see what was going on--to know. He turned impatiently and went into the mess. The sergeant brought him coffee, and presently Muirhead of A Flight came in with Church of B. “It’s on,” Church said absently. “I suppose this fog means hell up the line.” They drank their coffee and smoked in silence. The sound of the guns crept nearer and nearer, and one by one the rest of the squadron drifted in for breakfast. Hoyt sat down next to Paterson. “I don’t like it,” he said. “Something is giving way up there.” He went to the window and looked out. “Clouds are higher,” he said, “and the fog’s lifted a bit. What do you think, major?” They crowded out of the mess doorway and stood in an anxious knot, staring upward. It was well after six o’clock. “All right”--the major turned around--“get ready to stand by.” C Flight collected in a little knot in front of Hoyt’s Camel, smoking and talking nervously. Paterson kept his eyes on Hoyt and stamped his feet to get the circulation up. A strange elation crept into his veins and warmed him. In a moment now--in a moment. Awkward waiting here. Awkward standing around listening to Darlington curse softly and pound his hands together.