I think it was toward the end of July when a section of my battalion lay in the trenches not far from Montauban. We had been there, I remember, a considerable time; how long, I can scarcely tell, for hours and sometimes days passed without definite note being taken. Above our heads aircraft sped through the heavens, mostly our own, but now and then Germans! We saw little puffs of cloud forming themselves around them, as shells exploded in the skies. Now and then one of the machines would be hit, and I saw them swerve, as I have seen birds swerve before they fall, at a shooting party. Behind us our guns were booming, while a few hundred yards away in front of us, the German trenches were being levelled. It was a fascinating, yet horrible sight. More than once I saw machine-gun emplacements, with the gunners, struck by the projectiles from our great howitzers, and hurled many feet high. Not that we had it all our own way, although our artillery was superior to that of the enemy. If we had located their positions, so had they located ours, and their shells fell thick and fast along our lines, decimating our ranks. How long we had waited, I don't know. We knew by the artillery preparations that the command for advance must soon come, and we crouched there, some quivering with excitement, others cracking jokes and telling stories, and most of the men smoking cigarettes, until the word of command should pass down the line. We knew what it meant. It was true our barrage would make it comparatively safe; but we knew, too, that many of the lads who were joking with each other, and telling stories of what they did in pre-war days, would never see England again, while many more, if they went back, would go back mutilated and maimed for life. Still, it was all in the day's work. The Boches had to be beaten, and whatever might happen to us we must finish our job. The soldiers talked calmly about it, and even joked. 'Think your number's up, Bill?' 'I don't know. I've been home to Blighty twice. Perhaps I shan't have such good luck next time. But what's the odds? We're giving Fritz a rare old time.' 'Fritz ain't got no more fight in him.' 'Don't you be so sure of that, old cock. Fritz is chained to his guns, that's what _he_ is.' 'Is it true the Kaiser and old Hindenburg have come up to see this job, I wonder? Wouldn't I just like to take 'em prisoners!' And so on, minute after minute, while the heavens and the earth were full of the messengers of death.