"When you get through, advance in skirmishing order by the right." He sent two men on ahead, and then joined them. The rest crowded through. There were no hitches until it got to the last men, two of whom fell, one killed outright, the other wounded. "I say, get them to fire a round!" shouted Guillaumin. I gave the order for a volley. It was distinctly thin, and besides that, his men, having cleared the obstacle, stupidly inclined to the left. We were firing straight into their backs. I had some difficulty in getting my men to cease firing. Bouillon said to me: "The lucky chaps!" "Why?" "To have gone through first!" They had left two dead men behind them, whose bodies half filled up the gap. Our turn now. I felt strangely detached. I watched myself get up and heard myself telling off the three men nearest to me: "Get on, you, and you, and you!" They went, much against their will. "Get a move on!" The first man lost his balance just as he got to the entanglement, and fell back into the ditch. The others immediately flung themselves back again. I turned to the next two: "You show them the way, Trichet and Bouillon!" Bouillon looked at me imploringly, and neither of them budged an inch. Pffmm! Pffmm! went the bullets above us! "Aren't you ever coming?" shouted Guillaumin. "No. 2 section is just as good as No. 1 section, surely!" I exclaimed. Somebody muttered: "After you!" I implored Bouillon to try and get one or two through. He sighed, and called out: "Villain ... and Judsi, old chap, aren't you going to show them how?" "You don't mean it?" said Judsi. He came rolling along. Villain stood up with difficulty. "Aa-h!" His head burst like a hand-grenade. Judsi ducked, giving vent to Cambronne's historical exclamation. Shaking like an aspen I wiped my sleeve on the grass. At that instant a shot rang out among our men. What clumsiness! Beside myself, I shouted: "Donnadieu!" The corporal answered from his half-section. Was he there? Yes, I caught sight of him and went up to him. "Donnadieu," I said excitedly, "I'm going on with some of the men. You'll shove the others along, see?... Kick them if necessary." He looked down, and muttered something. I caught the word "wounded." "What wounded? You wounded?" This expression of misery and terror on his face ... his rifle lying on the ground. With his right hand he took hold of the other fist, and raised it with difficulty to show me.... Blood was dripping from his hand. The middle finger was in a horrid mess and hung down limply, by a strand of skin; a fragment of bone was sticking out. "Poor old chap ..." I began. But I suddenly had an intuition. The man's eyes avoided me. "It's a put-up job," I shouted down his ear; "you've done it yourself!" I shook him roughly by the shoulder. The wretched creature tottered, and fell on his side, protecting his mutilated hand. "You hound!" I ground my teeth: "A good job if it kills you!"