Beyond that, upon our left front, looms Fosse
Eight, still surmounted by its battered shaft-tower. Right ahead,
peeping over a low ridge, is a church steeple, with a clock-face in
it. That is our objective.
Next moment we have deployed into extended order, and step out, to
play our little part in the great Battle of the Slag-Heaps.
II
Twenty-four hours later, a little group of officers sat in a roomy
dug-out. Major Kemp was there, with his head upon the plank table,
fast asleep. Bobby Little, who had neither eaten nor slept since the
previous dawn, was nibbling chocolate, and shaking as if with ague. He
had gone through a good deal. Waddell sat opposite to him, stolidly
devouring bully-beef out of a tin with his fingers. Ayling reclined
upon the floor, mechanically adjusting a machine-gun lock, which he
had taken from his haversack. Captain Wagstaffe was making cocoa over
a Tommy's Cooker. He looked less the worse for wear than the others,
but could hardly have been described as spruce in appearance. The
whole party were splashed with mud and soaked to the skin, for it had
rained hard during the greater part of the night. They were all sick
for want of food and sleep. Moreover, all had seen unusual sights. It
was Sunday morning.
Presently Wagstaffe completed his culinary arrangements, and poured
out the cocoa into some aluminium cups.
Pages:
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289