B Co. was attacking over a full kilometer front, which in a regular supported attack would be the sector for at least a battalion. If we met any serious opposition, we could not hope to push through to our objective on this frontage. I therefore made my main objective the edge of the open field along the line 369.0-243.0 to 368.6-243.2. This line was along the top of a rather steep reverse slope, which would give us protection from frontal fire, and from this as a base we could throw out combat patrols to the flanks, and eventually get in touch with the units on either side. The company was to advance with the 1st, 4th and 2nd platoons in the first wave, in above order from right to left; all in line of combat groups. The 3rd platoon was to follow at 50 meters, and would act as support and mopping up party. All would jump off from the line of outguards, so that all would get clear of the enemy’s barrage as quickly as possible. The 1st Plt. already had a common post with D Co., which was to move down the road on our right flank as a combat patrol. Our left flank post was to arrange with the visiting patrol of the 312th Inf. to advance similarly along the left flank of our sector. By the time these orders were issued and the ground reconnoitered, it was nearly dark. Our rations were to be brought up that night by details from the rear; but they lost their way--or their ambition--and the chow never got beyond the foot of Dead Man’s Hill. About midnight Capt. Fleischmann came over for a last consultation, and we explained our plans to each other. Then we shook hands hard, wished each other “Cheery-O” after the manner of the Scotties; and the night closed behind his tall figure as he strode off down the path. Various details of the arrangements kept me busy until the 2nd and 3rd platoons came up at 5 A. M. to take their posts for the attack. Things were comparatively quiet; only the usual shells going overhead. There was just time to see the platoons properly disposed and to get my headquarters platoon into position between the 1st and 4th platoons. Then I watched my wrist watch tick off the last five minutes, as the first tinge of dawn crept into the sky on our right. I ran everything over in my mind hastily, to be sure nothing was forgotten. And then the minute hand pointed the half hour. Nothing happened. The seconds ticked away. I listened and listened for ages--twenty seconds by the watch--and nothing happened. Finally I heard Schuyler’s voice over to the right, calling cautiously “Hey, Cap, isn’t it time yet?” “Sure it is,” I replied irritably. “Turn ’em loose. It’s after the time now.” The words were not out of my mouth before his rifle cracked and his voice rang out “First platoon, Fire.” The shots began to ring out, singly, then a rattle as the other platoons took it up, each man firing a clip; then the rackety-split of the Chauchats. An instant’s lull as we reloaded, and then the command was “Forward!” Then Hell broke loose.