For a few minutes, after the first thundering crash of the French artillery, there is deep silence. It seems as if nature itself were holding its breath. The crash had fallen in the alley of poplars along the road. The roadway is strewn with branches and twigs. Just beside the northern column of our battery the monstrous shell has buried itself in the clay soil. A hail of earth-crumbs has rained upon us. We cannot note any other damage. But all the companies that are still in closed formation spread out in order to offer no compact target. For hours, now, there continues this terrible cannonading backward and forward, this dreadful argument of batteries. Horrible as is the devastation which such an instrument of murder can wreak, you gradually grow accustomed to the roaring storm. And you almost smile because you still lower your head each time. Until you remember: We greet Death, and he greets us. "Near the church tower southeast of L. where the railway bridge can be seen, are hostile riflemen, strength several companies." Our cavalry patrol disappears again--a French machine gun fires at it without hitting--and the battalion commander calls to me: "Company left across the road, right and left of the farmhouse, developing a column on each side, with wide intervals between!" Quickly the right wing column darts across. My Turkish professor, the Chief Lieutenant, manages it beautifully. One sharpshooter always darts ahead, throws himself on his belly, creeps on; a second follows. At one, two kilometers, scarcely a headpiece is visible. The left column is less successful. Over the heads of the sharpshooters there at once whistle shells. They feel the air pressure; the tremendous noise grips them. "Dodge! Lie down! Forward only one at a time, with long pauses! You'll betray our positions, fellows!" And at this moment there is a clattering sound in the air above. A French airman! "An airman, Captain!" "Yes, yes, I've heard him." The only thing that can help us is to keep from looking up. Only the rows of flesh-colored oval faces, that immediately turn up to greet each flight of an airman, permit the strength of forces to be estimated at such great distances. Beyond any doubt the foe has overestimated our strength tenfold. Otherwise he would not have put forth these tremendous efforts. His strength, in such fortified positions, would have sufficed to hold an entire army corps in check. And our poor weak brigade? I lie on my belly, creeping forward. To remain standing would be suicide. Sst-sst-teewheet--boom-buzz--tsha! Tacktack-tacktack-tack! It's a bad music. We are being rained upon with iron. We hear it whistle past our ears, we feel it whizz over our helmets. Our artillery covers us in front, so that we cannot fire at the single bodies of advance riflemen. They are drawing to the left toward the entrance to F. Soon the infantry bullets are striking close among us. Nothing to be seen! Nothing to be seen!