He looked farther away to the south and to the north; and he could
witness the truth which already he had been told. The “line,” in the
sense in which one had known the line for three years, was swept
away--first, second, third, and all supporting systems of defense;
attempts to form new lines behind the old had failed. Open field
battle, swift and Napoleonic, was established; for this battle the
Germans had gathered men by the hundred thousands, guns by the
thousand while the English here had--well, the remnants of brigades
and divisions which here and there held to the slope of a hill.
Gerry wondered, as he gazed down, whether these men on the nearest
slope knew that--already half surrounded--there was no support
behind them. He was steering lower as he neared them, drawing to
himself a shell or two from some German anti-aircraft gun which he
did not trouble to try to place. Airplanes appeared all about him
now, above, before, behind, and on both sides; but they were, most
of them, English or French; here and there he glimpsed a German
machine; but none of these approached him to attack. For if the
ground that morning was the Germans’, the air was the allies’; it
was only from the air, from him and his flight of five machines
trailing behind him and from other similar flights of fighting
airplanes likewise arriving, that any help could reach those English
about to be attacked.
For the storm of German shells, which a few seconds before had been
sweeping the slope, lifted suddenly; before the hill and from the
flank, specks which were German storm troops moved forward; and
Gerry, turning his head, saw that the other machines followed him in
position. In signal to them, he rocked his ship a little. Steadying
again, he leaned forward and saw that his machine guns were ready;
softly he touched the release levers of his bombs. His hands went
back to his controls and, gazing below at the German ranks again, he
put the nose of his machine down and dived.
Ordinarily, during the tremendous seconds of the drop, he could see
nothing but the spot of earth at which his eyes were focused,
leaping up and up at him; ordinarily, sensation stopped with the
feeling of fall and the rush of that seeming suck of destruction.
But now his senses took in many things. His eyes never lost the
swelling specks of gray which were becoming German storm troops
leaping to the attack; but his eyes took in, too, the file of forms
in English brown lying waiting over the crest of the hill.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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