"Well," said Goyle, "perhaps we had better get back to the trench for a bit anyway." Our trench was only ten yards off, just the other side of the garden, and we stepped into it. Scarcely had we done so than--crash!--a black Maria fell fair and square on the farm where we had been sleeping. It was a matter of seconds, and what happened to the artillery observing officer, whom we had left behind adjusting his telephone, I do not know. Perhaps he lived. Artillery observing officers have a knack of living in places where any other man would be killed. However, we had no time to speculate on his fate, for a minute later another high-explosive shell burst fifty yards over the trench, followed by a second twenty-five yards over us. The enemy were shortening their range. The men stirred uneasily in their dug-outs. No rat in a trap could feel worse than an infantryman in a trench when a big gun is searching for him with high explosive. BANG! A shell burst on the other side of the road--ten yards from us. The next would undoubtedly do it. "Here," I called to Goyle, "what about this? They are getting our range." "We had better quit," he said. "Don't let the men run--file out slowly to the right, and lie down behind that bank there. The other platoon must stay; they are not being molested at present." With as much dignity as possible, considering I expected a black Maria in the back at any moment, I led the men out of the trench, and we threaded our way gingerly back to the bank indicated, from which we watched the vicious demolition of our empty trench. XVII. BETWEEN ACTIONS Just before dusk I was sent up with my platoon to join D Company, who had more line than the number of men in the company could safely hold. After being shown the section of ground where my men were wanted, I went off to join the other officers of the company, who were having a bit of dinner in a cottage, leaving the men to improve the trench, and telling Jenkins, my soldier-servant, to make a good big dug-out for us both.