They longed to help; instead they noted the time and place and entered the information in their Intelligence report. “Zero was set for 5 A.M., this time a zero that concerned the 4th Battalion alone. The Commanding Officer and the Intelligence Officer moved forward through the darkness to an advanced position at three o’clock in the morning. Here the nerve centre of the 4th Battalion was established. Here would enter the news of battle. The Intelligence Officer established himself in a corner of the new dug-out. His carrier-pigeons made little noises to themselves, while the telephone operators tested and re-tested their lines. The Intelligence Officer’s hand kept wandering to his watch. The Commanding Officer snored. His plans had been truly laid; interference now would be fatal. He was a well-trained soldier, and he slept. “Five minutes before zero the Intelligence Officer woke the Commanding Officer, and both waited for the well-known throb of innumerable guns. One of them at least thought of his friends waiting to follow up the moving death. What were those others, his enemies, doing? Did they realise what hell would break upon them? Did they suspect the impending stroke? “The blow fell to the minute. The dug-out rocked. A sheet of flame lit up the sky. A thousand devils seemed to be forging a red-hot band on the earth as far as the eye could see. Their countless hammer-strokes were merged into one loud growling, rumbling noise. Gradually the ear became accustomed to the sound and detected the sharp crack of answering bullets and the rattle of machine-gun fire. Dawn was breaking and eyes were strained to pierce the half-light. Minutes seemed like hours. “The first messenger arrived at the nerve centre. He brought good news. Others followed. All reported success. The Intelligence Officer took out one of his pigeons, attached a message to its leg, and released it. He noticed how clumsy his handling of the bird had become. The pigeon circled once and flew straight as an arrow in the right direction. This was dramatic, exciting, the cream of war. Then came the sordid side. “The enemy artillery awoke. Great shells came hurtling through the sky. “The shelling grew less. The machine-gun fire died away. The enemy was accepting the new situation. We had won; he had lost. Both sides prepared to settle down where they found themselves, too tired to prolong the struggle.