nervous of was falling off the waggons. As they drove past a redoubt some way behind the reserve line, Charles MacRae spoke, ‘‘That’s fine wire,’’ he said. “‘You wouldn’t get through that easily.” “Oh,” said his Senior, “that’s back wire. You won’t get anything like that in a front line.” But the nightmare had gripped them again, and both were silent until they dismounted from their waggons and started to file up the communication trench, when the babble of talk died down among the men too, and the only sound was the heavy breathing of an apoplectic Sergeant.
“I’m sorry hurrying you, Sergeant Dunnet,” said the Senior Subaltern, “but we’ve got to be at Battalion Headquarters at 5, although I don’t suppose zero’ll be for a good time after that.”
Zero, it must be explained, is the time of the raid. In the orders it had been stated, “The artillery will barrage at X. 20. The infantry will advance at X. 25.” What time X. was, would not be given out until they reached Battalion H.Q. Hence the uncertainty of the Senior Subaltern and his hurry.
The battalion was lying in the reserve trench near Brigade H.Q. As they moved along the trench comrades came out of their dug-outs into the sunlight to wish them good luck, and from the Coy. Mess to which the two officers belonged
