It is a bomb. With a kick Corporal
Bertrand returns it so well that it rises and bursts just over the
trench.
With that fortunate deed the squad reaches the trench.
Pepin has hurled himself flat on the ground and is involved
with a corpse. He reaches the edge and plunges in--the first to
enter. Fouillade, with great gestures and shouts, jumps into the pit
almost at the same moment that Pepin rolls down it.
Indistinctly I see--in the time of the lightning's flash--a whole
row of black demons stooping and squatting for the descent, on the
ridge of the embankment, on the edge of the dark ambush.
A terrible volley bursts point-blank in our faces, flinging in front
of us a sudden row of flames the whole length of the earthen verge.
After the stunning shock we shake ourselves and burst into devilish
laughter--the discharge has passed too high. And at once, with
shouts and roars of salvation, we slide and roll and fall alive into
the belly of the trench!
* * * * * *
We are submerged in a mysterious smoke, and at first I can only see
blue uniforms in the stifling gulf. We go one way and then another,
driven by each other, snarling and searching. We turn about, and
with our hands encumbered by knife, bombs, and rifle, we do not know
at first what to do.
"They're in their funk-holes, the swine!" is the cry. Heavy
explosions are shaking the earth--underground, in the dug-outs. We
are all at once divided by huge clouds of smoke so thick that we are
masked and can see nothing more.
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