Presently the shells began to go dud; we realised that
they were gas-shells. A thin, bluish vapour spread throughout the
valley and breathing became oppressive. Then like stallions, kicking
in their stalls, the heavy guns on the ridge above us opened. It was
fine to hear them stamping their defiance; it made one want to get to
grips with his aggressors. In the brief silences one could hear our
chaps laughing. The danger seemed to fill them with a wild excitement.
Every time a shell came near and missed them, they would taunt the
unseen Huns for their poor gunnery, giving what they considered the
necessary corrections: "Five minutes more left, old Cock. If you'd
only drop fifty, you'd get us." These men didn't know what fear
was--or, if they did, they kept it to themselves. And these were the
chaps whom I was to order.
A few days later my Major told me that I was to be ready at 3:30 next
morning to accompany him up front to register the guns. In registering
guns you take a telephonist and linesmen with you. They lay in a line
from the battery to any point you may select as the best from which to
observe the enemy's country. This point may be two miles or more in
advance of your battery. Your battery is always hidden and out of
sight, for fear the enemy should see the flash of the firing;
consequently the officer in charge of the battery lays the guns
mathematically, but cannot observe the effect of his shots. The
officer who goes forward can see the target; by telephoning back his
corrections, he makes himself the eyes of the officer at the guns.
Pages:
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84