“Oh!” Fosbrook walked over to Hicks’s hole and jumped in. “Hello, William.” “What are you doing here? I thought you were interpreter for the colonel.” “I was, William, but I drank too much one night and he fired me,” Fosbrook answered sadly. “What do you want with the company commander?” “I don’t know whether I should tell you.” “Hell, I’ll find it out in a minute, anyway.” “Well, your company is to move to another position as soon as it gets dark enough.” “What for? Are we going to attack?” “I don’t know, William, I’m sure. Where is your captain?” “He’s over between the third and second platoons, about fifteen holes down that way.” Fosbrook got up, and, stooping over until his head was parallel with his hips, trotted in the direction Hicks had indicated. An hour later the orders came for the men to sling their packs and be ready to move again. And great was the outcry when the men heard the news. “Are we going to dig up the whole of France?” “I’ll get my old man to buy some ploughs if we are. I wasn’t cut out to be a ditch digger.” “This is a hell of a note. Diggin’ a hole for one day. I was jist gittin’ mine so’s I could sleep in it.” The company lined up in single file and marched off. * * * * * After manœuvring around for a couple of hours they came to another woods. On the way they had been joined by a section of the machine-gun company that was attached to their battalion. In a measure, this annexation was responsible for their slow progress. There were the carts to be hidden, and then the men of the machine-gun detail carried their guns and their ammunition in their arms. But they were halted at last, and amid much muttering and cursing were shooed into the woods and told that they might go to sleep for the night. It was noon of the next day before they received any food. Then a detail had to be sent back to the village after it. And when they returned they brought with them cold boiled potatoes, cold coffee, and black French bread. “Don’t eat too many of these damned potatoes,” Pugh warned all and sundry. “I was ridin’ on a box car for three days once, and I didn’t have nothin’ but these things to eat, an’ I got col’ sores all over my mouth.” Cigarettes were scarce, so the butts of them were passed around and in that way shared by all. The firing during the day was slight. Scattered rifle fire was heard on both sides, but the artillery was dumb. The men spent the day speculating upon whether their own artillery would arrive and get into position before they were ordered to attack. Time after time Kahl nervously paced the length of the woods. He had done all that he could to his rifle. The bolt worked smoothly with a satisfying “click.” The bore had been swabbed free of the oil, which had been put there to keep the metal from rusting. The chamber held five meticulously clean shells and there was one in the bore.