Ah,
isn't he letting fly!"
A heavy hail was pouring over us, hacking terribly at atmosphere and
sky, scraping and skimming all the plain.
I looked through a loophole and saw a swift and strange vision. In
front of us, a dozen yards away at most, there were motionless forms
outstretched side by side--a row of mown-down soldiers--and the
countless projectiles that hurtled from all sides were riddling this
rank of the dead!
The bullets that flayed the soil in straight streaks amid raised
slender stems of cloud were perforating and ripping the bodies so
rigidly close to the ground, breaking the stiffened limbs, plunging
into the wan and vacant faces. bursting and bespattering the
liquefied eyes; and even did that file of corpses stir and budge out
of line under the avalanche.
We could hear the blunt sound of the dizzy copper points as they
pierced cloth and flesh, the sound of a furious stroke with a knife,
the harsh blow of a stick upon clothing. Above us rushed jets of
shrill whistling. with the declining and far more serious hum of
ricochets. And we bent our heads under the enormous flight of noises
and voices.
"Trench must be cleared--Gee up!" We leave this most infamous corner
of the battlefield where even the dead are torn, wounded, and slain
anew.
We turn towards the right and towards the rear. The communication
trench rises, and at the top of the gully we pass in front of a
telephone station and a group of artillery officers and gunners.
Pages:
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279