Dennis's blood boiled at the coarse indignity, but the man stood rigid without the slightest sign of resentment; and when the beast had passed, he quietly wiped his face with his chalk-stained sleeve. A sharp command came down the line, everyone turned to his right, and away they shuffled--that grey-green battalion, with Dennis in the middle of them! For a long distance they stumbled mechanically through trenches and a labyrinth of mystifying communications, until the head of the column reached a light railway, where a train of open trucks was waiting. The sound of escaping steam mingled with the perpetual thunder of guns, and the train seemed to stretch away in never-ending perspective along a chalk cutting. Hoping against hope to the last minute that something would happen, almost praying in his heart that one of those whistling shells might fall in their midst and, tearing up the lines, so stop their going, he realised how lonely one can be even in the midst of a crowd. Already the leading companies were entraining, and a hum of voices rose as the non-commissioned officers drove the men like sheep, with their rifles held crosswise, now and then pounding some bungler in the ribs with the butt end. Even if he had been able to slip aside, he knew that to stay in that place was to court certain discovery; and now no alternative was left him, as half a dozen shouting sergeants cut off his retreat, and with a wildly beating heart Dennis Dashwood climbed up into the nearest truck with a herd of unwashed, unshaven enemies, packed tightly almost to suffocation. Then he grasped the side of the wagon as a great jolt ran along the train from end to end, and the couplings tightened. The 307th Reserve Battalion was on its way to fight the French, and Dennis was going with them! CHAPTER XXVII On the Part Dennis Played in the Recapture of Biaches It was growing dark now, and the rolling country through which they passed became rapidly blurred. The white excavations that here and there marked the presence of a trench were like a child's scribbling on a slate, if the occasional glow of a brazier had not told Dennis that those trenches were full of men, all waiting to repulse the great Allied push. He was happier now that the night was at hand, for it lessened his chances of being recognised; but most of all was he pleased that no one seemed to bother his head about him--no one entered into conversation. For all that his condition was one of cramped discomfort, apart from its peril. The tightly packed mass of human beings smelt offensively, for the German, even in peace time, is a dirty animal, not fond of washing himself. The train moved so slowly--it was one of half a dozen similar trains all using a single line--that he seriously contemplated trying to escape when it should become quite dark, only the obvious presence of large bodies of troops in every direction made him abandon the idea.