As we returned, I saw our left flank retiring in some disorder, further confusing our hard pressed right. The enemy had driven back the post holding the head of the ravine on our left, and we were in the desperate position of being enfiladed from both flanks. Our losses were heavy, and ammunition was very low. I glanced at my watch--only 6:20. No chance for the Lt. Col. to have gotten a counter-attack under way. The position had become untenable, and at any moment might develop into a complete cul-de-sac. It was time to pull out. I gave the order to withdraw by squads and fall back to the old outpost line; 4th platoon to go first, covered by the 1st and 3rd; then the 4th platoon to cover our withdrawal from the other side of the wire. As the first squad from the 4th platoon started through the wire, a machine gun opened on the wire and the road before it, killing two and driving the rest back. The platoon leader reported that it was impossible to get across. To remain, however, meant almost certain death for all, with very little chance of inflicting compensating losses on the enemy. So as a last resort I took the 1st platoon, and during a momentary lull in the firing we made a rush for it in two or three groups at different places. The wire clawed and tore at us as though it were alive. My group scrambled through, somehow, anyhow, marvelling that the bullets did not come. When half way through I noticed that I was still mechanically holding Fahey’s bomb, with the pin out. I went a bit carefully after that, so was the last one through. As I ripped my puttee free from the last strand of wire, the machine guns started up again, and I hugged the dirt while bullets cracked viciously overhead. The grass and green leaves felt cool and smelled fresh and green, and a little green bug went scrambling along a creeper, two inches from my nose. Presently another lull came, and I proceeded to worm my way through the underbrush, looking for my half platoon. Not a sign of them. They had gotten clear of the last burst of fire, and then made a break for it. The machine guns were still firing intermittently, but I heard no reply from our rifles, and hoped that the others had followed us through the wire. Most of them had, as I found out later. Then came the hardest moment of the war for me. A group of about 20 men had remained on the hill, apparently despairing of crossing the wire alive. An officer was with them, and upon him lies the responsibility of what happened. The men themselves had done brave service before that time. But, as I understand by permission if not under orders, they raised the cry of “Kamerad.”