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The Battery

F. Britten Austin

Categories:Stories Short classics Rating 5+F. Britten Austin

6,546 words

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Run: 2026-09-08 00:45Page 1 / 21

The sun hung in the morning mists, swollen and blood-red, like a portent, as the artillery brigade pulled out of the village where it had been billeted overnight. At the tail of its long line of slowly moving vehicles marched a compact column of brown-clad infantry. Ahead of them rode a squadron of cavalry. The lieutenant-colonel commanding the brigade trotted smartly past the batteries with his staff. Fresh from his interview with the divisional artillery commander, he tried not to look preoccupied and anxious as he met the searching gazes of his men. From an unknown distance came a dull thud, irregularly repeated, vibrating through the dense air. The colonel raised his head sharply to listen. The men in the column exchanged knowing glances.

The dull concussions continued, but the column did not quicken its pace. The long line of guns and wagons rolled onward at a steady walk, amid a jangle of chains and harness. The gunners on the limbers smoked and talked. Occasionally, there was a burst of laughter. It seemed that the ominous thudding was a summons that concerned them not at all. In the fog that drifted in patches across the road, its origin seemed enormously remote.

The junior subaltern of the third and last battery in the column heard the sound with less indifference. Each of those muffled shocks came to him like a knock upon his heart. He listened for them anxiously and shuddered, in spite of himself, as the air vibrated on his ears. He needed no one to tell him their meaning, novel though the sound was to him. They were the first long shots of the opening battle. As he listened, as if blindfolded in the fog, his animal instincts shrank from this menace of an untried experience, while another part of him, the dominant part, grew fretfully anxious lest the battery was too far in the rear, lest they should be too late. The conflict of these opposing impulses made him nervous and fidgety. He wanted to talk to someone, to discuss the situation, to exchange opinions on the host of possibilities. He looked longingly at the No.

1-the-batterySide 1 / 21Kapittelside 1

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# chapter_title: The Battery
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The sun hung in the morning mists, swollen and blood-red, like a portent, as the artillery brigade pulled out of the village where it had been billeted overnight. At the tail of its long line of slowly moving vehicles marched a compact column of brown-clad infantry. Ahead of them rode a squadron of cavalry. The lieutenant-colonel commanding the brigade trotted smartly past the batteries with his staff. Fresh from his interview with the divisional artillery commander, he tried not to look preoccupied and anxious as he met the searching gazes of his men. From an unknown distance came a dull thud, irregularly repeated, vibrating through the dense air. The colonel raised his head sharply to listen. The men in the column exchanged knowing glances.

The dull concussions continued, but the column did not quicken its pace. The long line of guns and wagons rolled onward at a steady walk, amid a jangle of chains and harness. The gunners on the limbers smoked and talked. Occasionally, there was a burst of laughter. It seemed that the ominous thudding was a summons that concerned them not at all. In the fog that drifted in patches across the road, its origin seemed enormously remote.

The junior subaltern of the third and last battery in the column heard the sound with less indifference. Each of those muffled shocks came to him like a knock upon his heart. He listened for them anxiously and shuddered, in spite of himself, as the air vibrated on his ears. He needed no one to tell him their meaning, novel though the sound was to him. They were the first long shots of the opening battle. As he listened, as if blindfolded in the fog, his animal instincts shrank from this menace of an untried experience, while another part of him, the dominant part, grew fretfully anxious lest the battery was too far in the rear, lest they should be too late. The conflict of these opposing impulses made him nervous and fidgety. He wanted to talk to someone, to discuss the situation, to exchange opinions on the host of possibilities. He looked longingly at the No.

Page 2 / 21

1 of the leading gun of his section, who walked his horse at the side of the leaders and chatted quietly to the driver. The sergeant appeared so calm, so strong with already acquired experience. He felt almost irresistibly impelled to strike up a conversation with him; opening phrases kept coming to his tongue, but a sense of shame at his own weak nerves restrained him. He braced himself with a thought of his rank and responsibilities and remained silent. The subaltern was new to war and new to the battery. He had come straight from the military academy with a draft of recruits to replace the wastage of the last battle. He was very young and, until that morning, very proud of himself.

Unexpectedly, the column halted. Why? The subaltern chafed. It was intolerable to idle there upon the road with that urgent summons shaking the air every moment. The concussions now followed one another much more quickly and came with a sharper sound. They seemed to run all along a wide arc stretched far to the right and left in front of him. Occasionally they merged into heavy salvos that swallowed the noise of isolated shots. He could see nothing. The fog lay thick upon the road, a white curtain against which black specks danced as he strained his eyes. The column stood still and silent. Only the jingling of chains arose as the horses nosed at one another. Presently, as the passengers in a fog-bound train hear the rumble of the other train for which they wait, a sound came to him out of the mist and explained the halt. It was the hollow, rhythmic tramp of infantry. The sound increased and then maintained itself at a uniform pitch.

In the distance, the artillery salvos followed one another ever more quickly, peal upon peal of thunder. Still, the hollow beat of boots upon the road continued. The subaltern swore under his breath. Were they to wait there while the entire army passed? At last, the hollow sound diminished, died down, ceased. A sharply uttered order ran down the column. The line of vehicles moved on again.

1-the-batterySide 2 / 21Kapittelside 2

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1 of the leading gun of his section, who walked his horse at the side of the leaders and chatted quietly to the driver. The sergeant appeared so calm, so strong with already acquired experience. He felt almost irresistibly impelled to strike up a conversation with him; opening phrases kept coming to his tongue, but a sense of shame at his own weak nerves restrained him. He braced himself with a thought of his rank and responsibilities and remained silent. The subaltern was new to war and new to the battery. He had come straight from the military academy with a draft of recruits to replace the wastage of the last battle. He was very young and, until that morning, very proud of himself.

Unexpectedly, the column halted. Why? The subaltern chafed. It was intolerable to idle there upon the road with that urgent summons shaking the air every moment. The concussions now followed one another much more quickly and came with a sharper sound. They seemed to run all along a wide arc stretched far to the right and left in front of him. Occasionally they merged into heavy salvos that swallowed the noise of isolated shots. He could see nothing. The fog lay thick upon the road, a white curtain against which black specks danced as he strained his eyes. The column stood still and silent. Only the jingling of chains arose as the horses nosed at one another. Presently, as the passengers in a fog-bound train hear the rumble of the other train for which they wait, a sound came to him out of the mist and explained the halt. It was the hollow, rhythmic tramp of infantry. The sound increased and then maintained itself at a uniform pitch.

In the distance, the artillery salvos followed one another ever more quickly, peal upon peal of thunder. Still, the hollow beat of boots upon the road continued. The subaltern swore under his breath. Were they to wait there while the entire army passed? At last, the hollow sound diminished, died down, ceased. A sharply uttered order ran down the column. The line of vehicles moved on again.

Page 3 / 21

For a long time they marched through the fog, drawing ever nearer to the cannonade. There were no more halts. Nevertheless, it seemed to the subaltern that their progress was willfully, culpably slow. As a matter of fact, the column, responding to the magnetism of battle, had involuntarily quickened its pace. The physical anxiety of the subaltern communicated itself to his brain and was misinterpreted. He imagined that he was concerned wholly for the fate of the army if it were deprived of the valuable support of the brigade to which he was attached. He conceived enormous disasters hinging on their non-appearance. Suddenly, he noticed with surprise that his knees were trembling against the saddle, his hands shaking as they held the reins. This discovery startled him. His anxiety for the army was obliterated by another. Could he be sure of himself? A spasm of alarm shot through him.

Would that calm, mysterious higher self in him lose control? He caught a glimpse of himself in a whirlwind of sensations, a maddened animal dashing to escape. It must not be. He exercised his will as an athlete exercises a muscle, testing it. Desperately, he willed himself to immobility. The tremor in his limbs did not cease. He agonized lest anyone should perceive it. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Nevertheless, his brain was clear. He held fast to that. Never mind what his body did; at all costs, his brain must be kept clear and cool. Engaged in these introspections, he forgot the fog, forgot the lagging brigade, forgot the ever-swelling uproar ahead.

1-the-batterySide 3 / 21Kapittelside 3

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For a long time they marched through the fog, drawing ever nearer to the cannonade. There were no more halts. Nevertheless, it seemed to the subaltern that their progress was willfully, culpably slow. As a matter of fact, the column, responding to the magnetism of battle, had involuntarily quickened its pace. The physical anxiety of the subaltern communicated itself to his brain and was misinterpreted. He imagined that he was concerned wholly for the fate of the army if it were deprived of the valuable support of the brigade to which he was attached. He conceived enormous disasters hinging on their non-appearance. Suddenly, he noticed with surprise that his knees were trembling against the saddle, his hands shaking as they held the reins. This discovery startled him. His anxiety for the army was obliterated by another. Could he be sure of himself? A spasm of alarm shot through him.

Would that calm, mysterious higher self in him lose control? He caught a glimpse of himself in a whirlwind of sensations, a maddened animal dashing to escape. It must not be. He exercised his will as an athlete exercises a muscle, testing it. Desperately, he willed himself to immobility. The tremor in his limbs did not cease. He agonized lest anyone should perceive it. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Nevertheless, his brain was clear. He held fast to that. Never mind what his body did; at all costs, his brain must be kept clear and cool. Engaged in these introspections, he forgot the fog, forgot the lagging brigade, forgot the ever-swelling uproar ahead.

Page 4 / 21

Suddenly the mist broke, rolling away from a sunlit landscape. They were at the summit of a slight elevation. Around them was open country, dotted with trees and farms. In front, the road dropped and then mounted. He looked over the heads of the artillerymen before him and saw a long column of infantry ascending the further hill. It was for that column the brigade had waited. The recognition of that fact reawakened his perception through a linked memory. He heard again the pealing thunder of the guns, to which he had been oblivious for some minutes. Instantly, an intense, anxious curiosity took possession of him. Where were they fighting? In the fog, his mind had formed a picture of lines of guns coughing out flame and noise at each other, desperately in conflict, just at the other side of the curtain drawn before his eyes. Now the veil had dropped; he looked at reality, and only so much of that picture persisted as to puzzle him.

Except for the column marching ahead, there was no sign of life in that open countryside. Yet the air was full of sound. No longer was it a series of dull concussions; it was one vast, continuous, ringing roar, broken at intervals by the sound of violent fracture as a puff of wind came to his cheek. Excitedly, he strained his eyes at the distances, seeking some point where he could localize the conflict. There was nothing. Yes! Far ahead of him, beyond the hill the infantry were climbing, a faint haze of smoke hung in the air. In that haze, tiny puffs sprang into being and spread lazily. There, then! Encouraged, his gaze searched the landscape. Far to his left, over a little wood that closed the view, hung another such haze, and as his eyes ranged over the countryside, he saw a line of smoke-puffs leap from nowhere above a hill to his right. The line was constantly renewed until the smoke trailed across the blue sky like a cloud.

1-the-batterySide 4 / 21Kapittelside 4

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Suddenly the mist broke, rolling away from a sunlit landscape. They were at the summit of a slight elevation. Around them was open country, dotted with trees and farms. In front, the road dropped and then mounted. He looked over the heads of the artillerymen before him and saw a long column of infantry ascending the further hill. It was for that column the brigade had waited. The recognition of that fact reawakened his perception through a linked memory. He heard again the pealing thunder of the guns, to which he had been oblivious for some minutes. Instantly, an intense, anxious curiosity took possession of him. Where were they fighting? In the fog, his mind had formed a picture of lines of guns coughing out flame and noise at each other, desperately in conflict, just at the other side of the curtain drawn before his eyes. Now the veil had dropped; he looked at reality, and only so much of that picture persisted as to puzzle him.

Except for the column marching ahead, there was no sign of life in that open countryside. Yet the air was full of sound. No longer was it a series of dull concussions; it was one vast, continuous, ringing roar, broken at intervals by the sound of violent fracture as a puff of wind came to his cheek. Excitedly, he strained his eyes at the distances, seeking some point where he could localize the conflict. There was nothing. Yes! Far ahead of him, beyond the hill the infantry were climbing, a faint haze of smoke hung in the air. In that haze, tiny puffs sprang into being and spread lazily. There, then! Encouraged, his gaze searched the landscape. Far to his left, over a little wood that closed the view, hung another such haze, and as his eyes ranged over the countryside, he saw a line of smoke-puffs leap from nowhere above a hill to his right. The line was constantly renewed until the smoke trailed across the blue sky like a cloud.

Page 5 / 21

A thrill ran through him. He forgot himself, lost all memory of his doubts. He quivered, but it was with eagerness to rush into the fight. Oh, to mount that hill and see what was happening! The infantry drew up over it and disappeared beyond the summit like a snake drawing in its tail. The artillery crawled onward.

He was calculating the minutes that must elapse before their arrival on the crest when suddenly his hopes were dashed. The brigade was turning off along a by-road to the left. Baulked of his desire, he swore savagely, almost with tears. A man on the limber near him looked up in sharp surprise. He desisted, clenching his teeth. Inwardly he raged. As he too swung round the corner, his back to the direction of the smoke-cloud he had so excitedly watched, it seemed that he was turning away from the battle. The brigade moved along that road for some distance and then halted, drawn close in to the hedge. Behind them swelled the noise of tramping infantry, growing louder. The men who had followed them were going to pass. They came, swinging along at a good pace, steadily rhythmic. They passed, endlessly. The subaltern found himself gazing curiously at the faces of the men in the stream.

Some were stern and set, some laughed carelessly, some shouted jokes to the artillerymen, many were strangely haggard and drawn. He noticed one man who gazed at nothing with a rapt expression. His lips were moving; he was praying. They were going into battle. The subaltern was again aware of the thunder of the guns.

1-the-batterySide 5 / 21Kapittelside 5

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A thrill ran through him. He forgot himself, lost all memory of his doubts. He quivered, but it was with eagerness to rush into the fight. Oh, to mount that hill and see what was happening! The infantry drew up over it and disappeared beyond the summit like a snake drawing in its tail. The artillery crawled onward.

He was calculating the minutes that must elapse before their arrival on the crest when suddenly his hopes were dashed. The brigade was turning off along a by-road to the left. Baulked of his desire, he swore savagely, almost with tears. A man on the limber near him looked up in sharp surprise. He desisted, clenching his teeth. Inwardly he raged. As he too swung round the corner, his back to the direction of the smoke-cloud he had so excitedly watched, it seemed that he was turning away from the battle. The brigade moved along that road for some distance and then halted, drawn close in to the hedge. Behind them swelled the noise of tramping infantry, growing louder. The men who had followed them were going to pass. They came, swinging along at a good pace, steadily rhythmic. They passed, endlessly. The subaltern found himself gazing curiously at the faces of the men in the stream.

Some were stern and set, some laughed carelessly, some shouted jokes to the artillerymen, many were strangely haggard and drawn. He noticed one man who gazed at nothing with a rapt expression. His lips were moving; he was praying. They were going into battle. The subaltern was again aware of the thunder of the guns.

Page 6 / 21

The brigade waited. The tramp of the infantry had long since ceased. They seemed alone, forgotten, on the road. Suddenly an order was passed down the column. The subaltern repeated it almost before he was aware he had heard it. "No. 3 Section—Prepare for action!" Instantly, the gun detachments leaped to the ground. The breech and muzzle covers were removed and strapped to the front of the gun shields. The breech, firing mechanism, ranging gear, and sights were swiftly examined. The men on the ammunition wagons tested the opening of the lids, looked to the fuse indicators, saw that the fuses were set at safety. These things done, they resumed their seats. The subaltern's heart beat fast. Now?

Minute after minute passed. The brigade waited in all readiness to move. Presently the order came. "Walk!—March!—Trot!" The column moved quickly along the road. The subaltern looked ahead and saw his battery commander turn through a gate into a broad meadow on the right. The other batteries were turning into the field further up. He lost sight of one of them. He arrived at the gate and wheeled in. "By the left—Form Battery Column!" The subsections of single guns drew out and came up level with the other gun of each section, each followed by its wagon. The first-line reserve wagons dropped behind. The battery trotted smartly forward across the field. It was a large meadow, free of hedge or ditch, rising gently to the ridge where the original road would have climbed. At the summit was a small copse. Far ahead, the subaltern saw a group of horsemen riding swiftly towards the copse. He knew it to be the colonel and his staff.

Between him and them stood a mounted figure, halted, and further away another. That was the battery commander and the sergeant-major marking the battery position and line of fire. The battery went on. The ridge loomed close in front. "By the left—Form Line!"

1-the-batterySide 6 / 21Kapittelside 6

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The brigade waited. The tramp of the infantry had long since ceased. They seemed alone, forgotten, on the road. Suddenly an order was passed down the column. The subaltern repeated it almost before he was aware he had heard it. "No. 3 Section--Prepare for action!" Instantly, the gun detachments leaped to the ground. The breech and muzzle covers were removed and strapped to the front of the gun shields. The breech, firing mechanism, ranging gear, and sights were swiftly examined. The men on the ammunition wagons tested the opening of the lids, looked to the fuse indicators, saw that the fuses were set at safety. These things done, they resumed their seats. The subaltern's heart beat fast. Now?

Minute after minute passed. The brigade waited in all readiness to move. Presently the order came. "Walk!--March!--Trot!" The column moved quickly along the road. The subaltern looked ahead and saw his battery commander turn through a gate into a broad meadow on the right. The other batteries were turning into the field further up. He lost sight of one of them. He arrived at the gate and wheeled in. "By the left--Form Battery Column!" The subsections of single guns drew out and came up level with the other gun of each section, each followed by its wagon. The first-line reserve wagons dropped behind. The battery trotted smartly forward across the field. It was a large meadow, free of hedge or ditch, rising gently to the ridge where the original road would have climbed. At the summit was a small copse. Far ahead, the subaltern saw a group of horsemen riding swiftly towards the copse. He knew it to be the colonel and his staff.

Between him and them stood a mounted figure, halted, and further away another. That was the battery commander and the sergeant-major marking the battery position and line of fire. The battery went on. The ridge loomed close in front. "By the left--Form Line!"

Page 7 / 21

The guns wheeled into a long line, their accompanying wagons slackening speed and dropping some forty yards to the rear. "Walk!—Halt!—Action Front!" The guns stopped. The detachments leaped down. Two men seized the gun trail, unhooked it from the limber, and gave the order "Limber drive on!" The horses trotted quickly round in a half-circle and went to the rear. The trail was carried round, reversing the gun. A moment later, the accompanying wagon came up, placing itself close on the left, its axle a little to the rear of the gun axle. Around each gun in the line there was a second or two of busy movement. The No. 1 threw back the traversing lever, laid the gun approximately in the right direction, and noted the level of the wheels. Others lowered the shield, put on the brakes, fixed the sights. Two men opened the ammunition wagon and half-withdrew several rounds in readiness. The subaltern's horse-holder came up.

As he surrendered his mount, he felt that he was stepping into the arena.

He looked along the line of guns. The detachments were all in position, motionless: No. 1 kneeling on the left side of the trail, No. 2 on the seat on the right-hand side, No. 3 on the left, No. 4 kneeling behind No. 3, No. 5 and No. 6 kneeling in rear of the wagon by the gun. At the right-hand end of the line stood the battery commander. In front of him, a wagon limber had been placed for his protection. Up the hillside, men were swiftly laying a telephone wire. A lieutenant and a couple of look-out men were cantering up to join the party now halted at the side of the copse.

The subaltern turned to see the captain of the battery at his side. The captain smiled and nodded. "How do you feel?" he asked. "Shivery?" The captain was in command of the first-line wagons in reserve. He stood near the battery to monitor the expenditure of ammunition.

1-the-batterySide 7 / 21Kapittelside 7

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The guns wheeled into a long line, their accompanying wagons slackening speed and dropping some forty yards to the rear. "Walk!--Halt!--Action Front!" The guns stopped. The detachments leaped down. Two men seized the gun trail, unhooked it from the limber, and gave the order "Limber drive on!" The horses trotted quickly round in a half-circle and went to the rear. The trail was carried round, reversing the gun. A moment later, the accompanying wagon came up, placing itself close on the left, its axle a little to the rear of the gun axle. Around each gun in the line there was a second or two of busy movement. The No. 1 threw back the traversing lever, laid the gun approximately in the right direction, and noted the level of the wheels. Others lowered the shield, put on the brakes, fixed the sights. Two men opened the ammunition wagon and half-withdrew several rounds in readiness. The subaltern's horse-holder came up.

As he surrendered his mount, he felt that he was stepping into the arena.

He looked along the line of guns. The detachments were all in position, motionless: No. 1 kneeling on the left side of the trail, No. 2 on the seat on the right-hand side, No. 3 on the left, No. 4 kneeling behind No. 3, No. 5 and No. 6 kneeling in rear of the wagon by the gun. At the right-hand end of the line stood the battery commander. In front of him, a wagon limber had been placed for his protection. Up the hillside, men were swiftly laying a telephone wire. A lieutenant and a couple of look-out men were cantering up to join the party now halted at the side of the copse.

The subaltern turned to see the captain of the battery at his side. The captain smiled and nodded. "How do you feel?" he asked. "Shivery?" The captain was in command of the first-line wagons in reserve. He stood near the battery to monitor the expenditure of ammunition.

Page 8 / 21

The subaltern placed himself behind the wagon of his gun nearest the commander and waited, stiffly erect. He felt himself tingling with eagerness, yet he could scarcely believe that this was battle; it might have been parade. He forgot the all-enveloping roar around him, remembering only that he was command of those two guns, responsible for dealing out death coolly, accurately, scientifically.

The telephone was connected. A man knelt on the ground near the battery commander, receiver to his ear. Almost immediately came a sharp order: "Lines of Fire!" From each gun, a man ran out quickly towards the ridge with a couple of black-and-white posts. He planted them in a line and ran back. The angle of sight was passed down the battery. The gun barrels moved slightly, aiming at the invisible enemy. Despite the ceaseless roar that trembled the air, a hush of expectancy seemed to lie over the line of guns. More orders came rapidly down from the commander: "Angle of sight 1.25 elevation. Collective. Corrector 154. 4100." No. 6 of each gun called out the fuse setting; five set it and passed the shell to No. 4, who pushed it into the breech. No. 2 closed the breech and adjusted the range indicator. No. 3 laid the gun and sat with his hand on the firing lever. "Ready."

1-the-batterySide 8 / 21Kapittelside 8

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The subaltern placed himself behind the wagon of his gun nearest the commander and waited, stiffly erect. He felt himself tingling with eagerness, yet he could scarcely believe that this was battle; it might have been parade. He forgot the all-enveloping roar around him, remembering only that he was command of those two guns, responsible for dealing out death coolly, accurately, scientifically.

The telephone was connected. A man knelt on the ground near the battery commander, receiver to his ear. Almost immediately came a sharp order: "Lines of Fire!" From each gun, a man ran out quickly towards the ridge with a couple of black-and-white posts. He planted them in a line and ran back. The angle of sight was passed down the battery. The gun barrels moved slightly, aiming at the invisible enemy. Despite the ceaseless roar that trembled the air, a hush of expectancy seemed to lie over the line of guns. More orders came rapidly down from the commander: "Angle of sight 1.25 elevation. Collective. Corrector 154. 4100." No. 6 of each gun called out the fuse setting; five set it and passed the shell to No. 4, who pushed it into the breech. No. 2 closed the breech and adjusted the range indicator. No. 3 laid the gun and sat with his hand on the firing lever. "Ready."

Page 9 / 21

"Fire!" The No. 1 of the first gun repeated the order. No. 3 pulled the lever sharply upwards. A long tongue of flame spurted from the muzzle with a deafening report. The gun barrel shot violently back under its hydraulic buffer and was back in place before the eye could well note the movement. The other two guns of the right half-battery fired successively at three-second intervals. A message came through the telephone and was transmitted as orders to the battery. "No. 1: 30 degrees more right. No. 2: 20 degrees more right. No. 3: 30 degrees more right. Left half: 30 degrees more right. Corrector 162. 4300." The first three shells had gone too far left. "Fire." The subaltern heard the sergeant on his right give the order, "No. 4—Fire!", then his own sergeants: "No. 5—Fire!" "No. 6—Fire!" He thrilled at the loud explosions. He was in action! He was pleased to find how clear his mind was, how steady his nerve.

He supervised the laying of the guns as the next order came down the line: "Corrector 158—4350. One round battery fire." At five-second intervals, the six guns fired one after another. There was a wait. Had they found the range? Yes! "Section Fire—10 seconds." He became absorbed in his two guns as they were swiftly loaded and fired at the ordered interval.

1-the-batterySide 9 / 21Kapittelside 9

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"Fire!" The No. 1 of the first gun repeated the order. No. 3 pulled the lever sharply upwards. A long tongue of flame spurted from the muzzle with a deafening report. The gun barrel shot violently back under its hydraulic buffer and was back in place before the eye could well note the movement. The other two guns of the right half-battery fired successively at three-second intervals. A message came through the telephone and was transmitted as orders to the battery. "No. 1: 30 degrees more right. No. 2: 20 degrees more right. No. 3: 30 degrees more right. Left half: 30 degrees more right. Corrector 162. 4300." The first three shells had gone too far left. "Fire." The subaltern heard the sergeant on his right give the order, "No. 4--Fire!", then his own sergeants: "No. 5--Fire!" "No. 6--Fire!" He thrilled at the loud explosions. He was in action! He was pleased to find how clear his mind was, how steady his nerve.

He supervised the laying of the guns as the next order came down the line: "Corrector 158--4350. One round battery fire." At five-second intervals, the six guns fired one after another. There was a wait. Had they found the range? Yes! "Section Fire--10 seconds." He became absorbed in his two guns as they were swiftly loaded and fired at the ordered interval.

Page 10 / 21

Away to his left, the other two batteries of the brigade were firing likewise. The rapid, violent reports of the line of guns overlapped and merged into a single long-drawn-out explosion, intensifying spasmodically when two or more fired at once. The clamour of the general battle was obscured, forgotten. The subaltern glanced at the bare hill in front of him, over which the shells from the brigade were streaming at a rate of over a hundred a minute. What were they falling on, two and a half miles away? A stray thought found leisure for the question while the main forces of his mind were concentrated on the busy detachments and the guns they served. He had scarcely noted it when an order was passed down the battery: "Stand fast." Immediately there was silence; only a faint haze spread and thinned between the gun muzzles and the ridge, showing that they had been at work. What of the distant, invisible target?

The captain, who had been standing by the battery commander, passed on his way to the wagons. The subaltern stopped him.

"What was it?" he asked.

"Battery coming into action—just caught 'em—wiped out," answered the captain laconically, and hurried on.

The subaltern stared, involuntarily horror-stricken. Wiped out! He tried to imagine the wreckage of that battery overwhelmed in a few instants by a rain of shells coming from they knew not where. He failed. In that meadow, strangely quiet now despite the terrific din that welled up from over the ridge, he could not picture it. The hill in front was a wall across his vision.

The brigade waited, but no further orders came. For the moment their work was done. The guns stretched across the field, muzzles elevated, like a row of silent, expectant dogs. The lieutenant commanding the adjacent section came up and asked the subaltern for a cigarette. The subaltern gave it, repressing a smile; that lieutenant never had any cigarettes.

1-the-batterySide 10 / 21Kapittelside 10

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-6ea3440908044b09befd2312c288fadd
# book_title: The Battery
# chapter_id: 1-the-battery
# chapter_title: The Battery
# book_page: 10 / 21
# chapter_page: 10
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

Away to his left, the other two batteries of the brigade were firing likewise. The rapid, violent reports of the line of guns overlapped and merged into a single long-drawn-out explosion, intensifying spasmodically when two or more fired at once. The clamour of the general battle was obscured, forgotten. The subaltern glanced at the bare hill in front of him, over which the shells from the brigade were streaming at a rate of over a hundred a minute. What were they falling on, two and a half miles away? A stray thought found leisure for the question while the main forces of his mind were concentrated on the busy detachments and the guns they served. He had scarcely noted it when an order was passed down the battery: "Stand fast." Immediately there was silence; only a faint haze spread and thinned between the gun muzzles and the ridge, showing that they had been at work. What of the distant, invisible target?

The captain, who had been standing by the battery commander, passed on his way to the wagons. The subaltern stopped him.

"What was it?" he asked.

"Battery coming into action--just caught 'em--wiped out," answered the captain laconically, and hurried on.

The subaltern stared, involuntarily horror-stricken. Wiped out! He tried to imagine the wreckage of that battery overwhelmed in a few instants by a rain of shells coming from they knew not where. He failed. In that meadow, strangely quiet now despite the terrific din that welled up from over the ridge, he could not picture it. The hill in front was a wall across his vision.

The brigade waited, but no further orders came. For the moment their work was done. The guns stretched across the field, muzzles elevated, like a row of silent, expectant dogs. The lieutenant commanding the adjacent section came up and asked the subaltern for a cigarette. The subaltern gave it, repressing a smile; that lieutenant never had any cigarettes.

Page 11 / 21

As he relaxed from the strain of those few furious minutes, the subaltern felt suddenly hungry. He remembered that he had filled a pocket with biscuits and munched at one while he gazed idly along the battery. Fitfully, his mind returned to the brief activity of his guns, and he contemplated the recollection with comfort. Never had he lost mastery over himself. He was a man tried and proved.

With vague, dull curiosity, he watched the group by the wood on the hill above him. Members of it moved to and fro. He noticed one figure standing with both hands up to his face, elbows sticking out, examining something through his glasses. The subaltern wondered whether it was the colonel, and it struck him that at a word from that man he and his fellows might be hurried to death as if to execution. Every minute, orderlies rode at speed up to the group.

Presently, an order came to the battery. It opened fire again, this time deliberately, without haste, at 2500 yards and in a slightly different direction. Again the subaltern appealed to the captain for information.

"Infantry advancing. We've only got a screen there. Sixth Corps coming into action on our right. We're filling the gap between it and the Second Corps. Enemy are trying to break through."

"Oh," said the subaltern, "we're in for a hot time, I suppose." He said it carelessly, without any idea of what was coming.

"We most certainly are," said the captain. The emphasis of the reply startled the subaltern and made him uneasy. He devoted himself to his guns in an effort to banish the anxiety that threatened him. The gun crews were working with unhurried precision.

1-the-batterySide 11 / 21Kapittelside 11

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-6ea3440908044b09befd2312c288fadd
# book_title: The Battery
# chapter_id: 1-the-battery
# chapter_title: The Battery
# book_page: 11 / 21
# chapter_page: 11
# language: en
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As he relaxed from the strain of those few furious minutes, the subaltern felt suddenly hungry. He remembered that he had filled a pocket with biscuits and munched at one while he gazed idly along the battery. Fitfully, his mind returned to the brief activity of his guns, and he contemplated the recollection with comfort. Never had he lost mastery over himself. He was a man tried and proved.

With vague, dull curiosity, he watched the group by the wood on the hill above him. Members of it moved to and fro. He noticed one figure standing with both hands up to his face, elbows sticking out, examining something through his glasses. The subaltern wondered whether it was the colonel, and it struck him that at a word from that man he and his fellows might be hurried to death as if to execution. Every minute, orderlies rode at speed up to the group.

Presently, an order came to the battery. It opened fire again, this time deliberately, without haste, at 2500 yards and in a slightly different direction. Again the subaltern appealed to the captain for information.

"Infantry advancing. We've only got a screen there. Sixth Corps coming into action on our right. We're filling the gap between it and the Second Corps. Enemy are trying to break through."

"Oh," said the subaltern, "we're in for a hot time, I suppose." He said it carelessly, without any idea of what was coming.

"We most certainly are," said the captain. The emphasis of the reply startled the subaltern and made him uneasy. He devoted himself to his guns in an effort to banish the anxiety that threatened him. The gun crews were working with unhurried precision.

Page 12 / 21

A man kneeling behind the wagon drew out the long projectile, set the fuse, passed the shell to his mate at the gun; the breech was closed, the lever pulled, and the gun spoke with an exactly equal interval between rounds. They might have been feeding a machine in a factory, so regular, so unemotional was the operation. Behind the wagon, the ground was littered with empty canvas cartridge bags. Behind the gun, the flung-back brass cartridge cases piled into a heap. In front, the air was blurry with gases. Away to the right, a new series of reports broke out; more batteries had evidently come into action. Coalescing all individual sounds, the general clamour of the battle swelled in surges of hideous noise from one deep-toned, continuous roar. The subaltern became habituated to it and scarcely noticed it.

Happening to look round, he saw a howitzer battery coming into the field. A few minutes later, the regular sequence of its detonations told him it had got to work. It was evident that troops were being hurried up to meet the threatened attack. Along the hillside to the right, a line of infantry was strung out, advancing towards the wood. Another followed it. When he turned again, he saw more infantry entering the field and deploying. He caught a glimpse of the road filled with brown caps that just showed above the hedges. Almost immediately, the battery ceased fire; only the periodic discharges of the howitzers continued. The battery commander was kneeling over a map spread on the ground. Up by the little wood, a heliograph flashed rapidly; a little further on, a couple of men were flag-wagging with vigour. A crisis was approaching. Behind him, the infantry commenced to advance.

On his left front, a couple of horsemen spurred their horses up the flank of the bare hillside.

1-the-batterySide 12 / 21Kapittelside 12

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-6ea3440908044b09befd2312c288fadd
# book_title: The Battery
# chapter_id: 1-the-battery
# chapter_title: The Battery
# book_page: 12 / 21
# chapter_page: 12
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
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A man kneeling behind the wagon drew out the long projectile, set the fuse, passed the shell to his mate at the gun; the breech was closed, the lever pulled, and the gun spoke with an exactly equal interval between rounds. They might have been feeding a machine in a factory, so regular, so unemotional was the operation. Behind the wagon, the ground was littered with empty canvas cartridge bags. Behind the gun, the flung-back brass cartridge cases piled into a heap. In front, the air was blurry with gases. Away to the right, a new series of reports broke out; more batteries had evidently come into action. Coalescing all individual sounds, the general clamour of the battle swelled in surges of hideous noise from one deep-toned, continuous roar. The subaltern became habituated to it and scarcely noticed it.

Happening to look round, he saw a howitzer battery coming into the field. A few minutes later, the regular sequence of its detonations told him it had got to work. It was evident that troops were being hurried up to meet the threatened attack. Along the hillside to the right, a line of infantry was strung out, advancing towards the wood. Another followed it. When he turned again, he saw more infantry entering the field and deploying. He caught a glimpse of the road filled with brown caps that just showed above the hedges. Almost immediately, the battery ceased fire; only the periodic discharges of the howitzers continued. The battery commander was kneeling over a map spread on the ground. Up by the little wood, a heliograph flashed rapidly; a little further on, a couple of men were flag-wagging with vigour. A crisis was approaching. Behind him, the infantry commenced to advance.

On his left front, a couple of horsemen spurred their horses up the flank of the bare hillside.

Page 13 / 21

The infantry passed the battery as they advanced, the company that had remained in column to avoid the guns deploying into line. Another line of supports followed, and behind them yet another. They went steadily up the hill, the two scouts from the battery passing through them as they galloped back. The subaltern thrilled with a sense of imminent danger. As yet he had seen no shell burst. Now it was going to begin. The howitzer battery still fired over the heads of the advancing troops.

Up and up went the first line. The subaltern watched it with a throbbing heart. It opened its ranks as it went, and, when nearly at the crest, broke into a steady run. It reached the summit and, for a moment, showed black against the sky. Now? Nothing. The line disappeared over the hill. The second line mounted, doubled, showed against the sky, and instantly a crowd of smoke-puffs leaped into the air above it. He saw tiny figures knocked all ways to the ground, and immediately afterwards a run of sharp crashes came to his ears. The line disappeared over the hill, leaving behind figures that lay still and figures that tried to crawl out of the way of the third line. He watched them, fascinated, through his glasses. The third line advanced, undaunted. The smoke-puffs broke out again before it reached the summit and continued while it passed. When it had gone, the subaltern noted an increase in the number of prostrate figures.

Behind him, more infantry gathered in the field, but no more advanced. The hostile shrapnel continued to burst over the empty hillside. Presently it ceased. From the other side of the hill arose a furious, feverish crackling, noticeable even in the general uproar. The battery waited for it knew not what.

1-the-batterySide 13 / 21Kapittelside 13

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-6ea3440908044b09befd2312c288fadd
# book_title: The Battery
# chapter_id: 1-the-battery
# chapter_title: The Battery
# book_page: 13 / 21
# chapter_page: 13
# language: en
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The infantry passed the battery as they advanced, the company that had remained in column to avoid the guns deploying into line. Another line of supports followed, and behind them yet another. They went steadily up the hill, the two scouts from the battery passing through them as they galloped back. The subaltern thrilled with a sense of imminent danger. As yet he had seen no shell burst. Now it was going to begin. The howitzer battery still fired over the heads of the advancing troops.

Up and up went the first line. The subaltern watched it with a throbbing heart. It opened its ranks as it went, and, when nearly at the crest, broke into a steady run. It reached the summit and, for a moment, showed black against the sky. Now? Nothing. The line disappeared over the hill. The second line mounted, doubled, showed against the sky, and instantly a crowd of smoke-puffs leaped into the air above it. He saw tiny figures knocked all ways to the ground, and immediately afterwards a run of sharp crashes came to his ears. The line disappeared over the hill, leaving behind figures that lay still and figures that tried to crawl out of the way of the third line. He watched them, fascinated, through his glasses. The third line advanced, undaunted. The smoke-puffs broke out again before it reached the summit and continued while it passed. When it had gone, the subaltern noted an increase in the number of prostrate figures.

Behind him, more infantry gathered in the field, but no more advanced. The hostile shrapnel continued to burst over the empty hillside. Presently it ceased. From the other side of the hill arose a furious, feverish crackling, noticeable even in the general uproar. The battery waited for it knew not what.

Page 14 / 21

Slightly wounded men began to trickle down the hillside. One passed close to the subaltern, lurching unsteadily; he was bleeding profusely from a wound in the head. He stopped, swaying from side to side, and looked at the lieutenant with a glare of idiocy. "Hell," he said with somber simplicity, "Hell," and then went on without waiting for a reply. The lieutenant was inexpressibly shocked; it made him feel ill. He turned and saw the wounded man walking like one blind, hands out, across the field. The single word "Hell" rang in his ears. He nibbled at another biscuit to steady his stomach. "Pretty rotten, that," he said to himself, trying to classify the feeling to get rid of it. "Rotten."

Then the orders came. The gun teams dashed up, and in a few moments the battery was moving at speed to its left across the meadows. Its route was a diagonal line toward the ridge. It went in all haste. Its half-depleted wagons had been replaced by full ones from the first-line units.

The subaltern felt that he was rushing towards a crisis. He was strangely exhilarated as he galloped towards a line of trees that rose to the ridge at right angles. A gate showed in the line of trees, and beyond the gate, a road. The battery slackened speed, dashed through the gate, vehicle after vehicle, turned to the right towards the ridge. The road was narrow, walled with high hedges and overhanging elms. It mounted to a shrub-filled notch on the height, where the battery was halted. The half-filled wagons that now composed the first line drew into cover. The battery commander and several men rode on. The battery waited, screened by the wooded crest of the hill. From the unseen landscape in front arose an appalling tumult of sound, like the noise of a colossal conflagration: the roar of flames and the crackle of burning woodwork, enormously magnified.

1-the-batterySide 14 / 21Kapittelside 14

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-6ea3440908044b09befd2312c288fadd
# book_title: The Battery
# chapter_id: 1-the-battery
# chapter_title: The Battery
# book_page: 14 / 21
# chapter_page: 14
# language: en
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Slightly wounded men began to trickle down the hillside. One passed close to the subaltern, lurching unsteadily; he was bleeding profusely from a wound in the head. He stopped, swaying from side to side, and looked at the lieutenant with a glare of idiocy. "Hell," he said with somber simplicity, "Hell," and then went on without waiting for a reply. The lieutenant was inexpressibly shocked; it made him feel ill. He turned and saw the wounded man walking like one blind, hands out, across the field. The single word "Hell" rang in his ears. He nibbled at another biscuit to steady his stomach. "Pretty rotten, that," he said to himself, trying to classify the feeling to get rid of it. "Rotten."

Then the orders came. The gun teams dashed up, and in a few moments the battery was moving at speed to its left across the meadows. Its route was a diagonal line toward the ridge. It went in all haste. Its half-depleted wagons had been replaced by full ones from the first-line units.

The subaltern felt that he was rushing towards a crisis. He was strangely exhilarated as he galloped towards a line of trees that rose to the ridge at right angles. A gate showed in the line of trees, and beyond the gate, a road. The battery slackened speed, dashed through the gate, vehicle after vehicle, turned to the right towards the ridge. The road was narrow, walled with high hedges and overhanging elms. It mounted to a shrub-filled notch on the height, where the battery was halted. The half-filled wagons that now composed the first line drew into cover. The battery commander and several men rode on. The battery waited, screened by the wooded crest of the hill. From the unseen landscape in front arose an appalling tumult of sound, like the noise of a colossal conflagration: the roar of flames and the crackle of burning woodwork, enormously magnified.

Page 15 / 21

Suddenly the battery moved on again. Quickly it mounted the crest and dipped down the other side. Another gate on the right, and in a moment the battery was racing at full speed across a stubble field. A hundred yards ahead galloped the commander. To their left was open country full of sound. Above them, over the ridge on their right, a series of sharp explosions broke out. The subaltern heard them without heeding. He shouted encouragement to his men as they dashed across the field, though his voice was barely audible to himself. He was in a whirlwind of excitement. Life hung on every second.

"Halt!" The guns stopped, were unlimbered and reversed in an instant. The teams raced back to cover. The wagons dashed up beside their guns. Around them, a few shells burst harmlessly on the ground, like drops announcing a storm. Then it broke. Overhead, the sky collapsed with a fearful crash. The subaltern saw a myriad of dust spouts leap from the stubble, saw his most trusted sergeant fall like a sack across the gun trail. Another tearing crash overhead. He turned to hear an order megaphoned from the sergeant-major at the end of the line: "Guns in action—just below church." He whipped out his glasses, focused quickly on the church, and saw a row of pinpoint flames flicker along a hedge. A moment later, the air in front of him was shaken by a group of crashes, followed at once by a long, high-pitched drone. Above it he heard the megaphone: "3350 yards—corrector 140."

1-the-batterySide 15 / 21Kapittelside 15

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-6ea3440908044b09befd2312c288fadd
# book_title: The Battery
# chapter_id: 1-the-battery
# chapter_title: The Battery
# book_page: 15 / 21
# chapter_page: 15
# language: en
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Suddenly the battery moved on again. Quickly it mounted the crest and dipped down the other side. Another gate on the right, and in a moment the battery was racing at full speed across a stubble field. A hundred yards ahead galloped the commander. To their left was open country full of sound. Above them, over the ridge on their right, a series of sharp explosions broke out. The subaltern heard them without heeding. He shouted encouragement to his men as they dashed across the field, though his voice was barely audible to himself. He was in a whirlwind of excitement. Life hung on every second.

"Halt!" The guns stopped, were unlimbered and reversed in an instant. The teams raced back to cover. The wagons dashed up beside their guns. Around them, a few shells burst harmlessly on the ground, like drops announcing a storm. Then it broke. Overhead, the sky collapsed with a fearful crash. The subaltern saw a myriad of dust spouts leap from the stubble, saw his most trusted sergeant fall like a sack across the gun trail. Another tearing crash overhead. He turned to hear an order megaphoned from the sergeant-major at the end of the line: "Guns in action--just below church." He whipped out his glasses, focused quickly on the church, and saw a row of pinpoint flames flicker along a hedge. A moment later, the air in front of him was shaken by a group of crashes, followed at once by a long, high-pitched drone. Above it he heard the megaphone: "3350 yards--corrector 140."

Page 16 / 21

The men worked desperately at the guns, like sailors in a blinding storm. The shrapnel beat down among them like hail, ringing on the shields. "Section control." The subaltern gave the order. "Fire!" The whole battery fired rapidly, his guns among the first. With his glasses he watched the distant hedge below the church, and saw a crowd of smoke-puffs burst over it even as the flame points flickered again. He shouted an adjustment of the corrector, his voice lost in the crash of hostile shells. Again the shrapnel droned, kicking up dust around him. He ignored it. He saw a man roll over with a shell in his hands. He sprang to him, seized the shell, and thrust it into the breech without losing a second. The guns fired rapidly. Away to his right, he heard the quick detonations of their guns and again the crash of bursting shrapnel. He looked again at the distant hedge. It was a duel between that battery and his.

Extinction was the portion of whichever failed in speed and accuracy. With a savage thrill, he saw a tall shaft of flame spurt up behind the hedge.

A shell, which he claimed as his, had plumped into an ammunition wagon and exploded. Wrought to fever pitch, the artillerymen loaded and fired. A cloud of dust hung around each gun, obscuring the view, stabbed every few seconds by a sharp tongue of flame. Down the hillside, the smoke from shrapnel that had burst too low drifted close to the ground like steam from a passing locomotive. Away in the distance, along that hedge, which was all the men in the battery heeded now, a cloud of smoke gathered, growing thicker with every instant. Beneath it, the pinpoint flames flickered with ever longer intervals between flashes. Over the battery on the hill, the shrapnel burst with less and less noise, less and less accuracy. The subaltern exulted; they were getting the upper hand. He shouted encouragement. His two guns fired faster than ever, raining shells at the hedge. Suddenly he realized the enemy's shrapnel had ceased.

1-the-batterySide 16 / 21Kapittelside 16

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-6ea3440908044b09befd2312c288fadd
# book_title: The Battery
# chapter_id: 1-the-battery
# chapter_title: The Battery
# book_page: 16 / 21
# chapter_page: 16
# language: en
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The men worked desperately at the guns, like sailors in a blinding storm. The shrapnel beat down among them like hail, ringing on the shields. "Section control." The subaltern gave the order. "Fire!" The whole battery fired rapidly, his guns among the first. With his glasses he watched the distant hedge below the church, and saw a crowd of smoke-puffs burst over it even as the flame points flickered again. He shouted an adjustment of the corrector, his voice lost in the crash of hostile shells. Again the shrapnel droned, kicking up dust around him. He ignored it. He saw a man roll over with a shell in his hands. He sprang to him, seized the shell, and thrust it into the breech without losing a second. The guns fired rapidly. Away to his right, he heard the quick detonations of their guns and again the crash of bursting shrapnel. He looked again at the distant hedge. It was a duel between that battery and his.

Extinction was the portion of whichever failed in speed and accuracy. With a savage thrill, he saw a tall shaft of flame spurt up behind the hedge.

A shell, which he claimed as his, had plumped into an ammunition wagon and exploded. Wrought to fever pitch, the artillerymen loaded and fired. A cloud of dust hung around each gun, obscuring the view, stabbed every few seconds by a sharp tongue of flame. Down the hillside, the smoke from shrapnel that had burst too low drifted close to the ground like steam from a passing locomotive. Away in the distance, along that hedge, which was all the men in the battery heeded now, a cloud of smoke gathered, growing thicker with every instant. Beneath it, the pinpoint flames flickered with ever longer intervals between flashes. Over the battery on the hill, the shrapnel burst with less and less noise, less and less accuracy. The subaltern exulted; they were getting the upper hand. He shouted encouragement. His two guns fired faster than ever, raining shells at the hedge. Suddenly he realized the enemy's shrapnel had ceased.

Page 17 / 21

Through the hedge he saw a cloud of dust rise; their enemy was retiring at speed. He altered the range and hurled shells into the dust cloud until it disappeared. "Battery control—stand fast." The guns fell silent.

The subaltern turned to survey the wreckage of his battery. The ground was littered with dead and dying men. A wagon lay on its side, being righted even as he watched. Men pulled a body from underneath. Every vehicle in the line, guns and wagons, was pockmarked with splashes of lead. The shield of one gun had been neatly perforated by a shell, and its crew lay sprawled around it as if scattered by the explosion, their clothing still on fire. The subaltern stood staring when the lieutenant who never carried cigarettes approached. He opened his mouth to speak, no doubt to ask for a cigarette, when his expression turned to a sickly smile and he pitched forward. The subaltern whirled in a flash of savage anger. This was murder. They had finished fighting...

"Infantry advancing across stream—1800 yards," came the sergeant-major's stentorian voice. The subaltern understood as he ran back to his guns; it was the duty of the battery to repel the infantry. The duel with the other battery had been but an episode. He looked down into the valley and saw it filled with small grey figures. A stream divided the mass. They were advancing rapidly, in rushes, seemingly without opposition. Some of the foremost had flung themselves down and were firing at the height. Below him, rising from points hidden by the fold of the ground, came the noise of fierce, sustained rifle fire. The battery went to work once more. Methodically, evenly, it sprayed the approaching horde with shrapnel. Other batteries, unseen, were helping too, for more shells burst over the enemy than they could account for. The vicious puffs of smoke multiplied. The subaltern watched their effect with cool interest.

It was like striking at a mass of ants; numbers fell, yet the multitude seemed undiminished. He hurled thunderbolts at them like a god, serenely unassailable. A feeling of half-contemptuous pity arose in him, but it did not interfere with his exact execution of duty. The men at the guns laughed.

1-the-batterySide 17 / 21Kapittelside 17

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# book_title: The Battery
# chapter_id: 1-the-battery
# chapter_title: The Battery
# book_page: 17 / 21
# chapter_page: 17
# language: en
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Through the hedge he saw a cloud of dust rise; their enemy was retiring at speed. He altered the range and hurled shells into the dust cloud until it disappeared. "Battery control--stand fast." The guns fell silent.

The subaltern turned to survey the wreckage of his battery. The ground was littered with dead and dying men. A wagon lay on its side, being righted even as he watched. Men pulled a body from underneath. Every vehicle in the line, guns and wagons, was pockmarked with splashes of lead. The shield of one gun had been neatly perforated by a shell, and its crew lay sprawled around it as if scattered by the explosion, their clothing still on fire. The subaltern stood staring when the lieutenant who never carried cigarettes approached. He opened his mouth to speak, no doubt to ask for a cigarette, when his expression turned to a sickly smile and he pitched forward. The subaltern whirled in a flash of savage anger. This was murder. They had finished fighting...

"Infantry advancing across stream--1800 yards," came the sergeant-major's stentorian voice. The subaltern understood as he ran back to his guns; it was the duty of the battery to repel the infantry. The duel with the other battery had been but an episode. He looked down into the valley and saw it filled with small grey figures. A stream divided the mass. They were advancing rapidly, in rushes, seemingly without opposition. Some of the foremost had flung themselves down and were firing at the height. Below him, rising from points hidden by the fold of the ground, came the noise of fierce, sustained rifle fire. The battery went to work once more. Methodically, evenly, it sprayed the approaching horde with shrapnel. Other batteries, unseen, were helping too, for more shells burst over the enemy than they could account for. The vicious puffs of smoke multiplied. The subaltern watched their effect with cool interest.

It was like striking at a mass of ants; numbers fell, yet the multitude seemed undiminished. He hurled thunderbolts at them like a god, serenely unassailable. A feeling of half-contemptuous pity arose in him, but it did not interfere with his exact execution of duty. The men at the guns laughed.

Page 18 / 21

Suddenly, without warning, the air above was rent by a triple crash, followed by the familiar drone and then another violent detonation. Gusts of smoke blew across the sky. A hail of shrapnel bullets kicked up dust and pattered on the guns. His cap was knocked from his head by an invisible hand. A gunner sprang up, performed a grotesque parody of a dervish dance, twirled with outstretched arms, and collapsed. Another sat for a second, hands to his head, then fell back. For a moment the gun crews faltered. The subaltern ran toward them, shouting. The diminished crews bent grimly to their task. The overhead crashes came now in one continuous roar; bullets rained down in heavy showers. The enemy artillery had their exact range. Where were they? He scanned the distance for gun flashes, saw none. The foe was invisible, snugly concealed. It would have done little good to spot them, for his orders were to fire on the infantry.

So he fired, his two guns as fast as the depleted crews could serve them. The rest of the battery carried on in like manner. He did not know how many guns remained in action; he could not spare a moment to look. His attention was fixed on the swarm of advancing figures. The hail of shrapnel was a constant agony at the back of his mind; he ignored it resolutely.

Suddenly a horse pitched and rolled at his feet, kicking violently. It startled him; he had not seen it approach. A man disentangled himself from the struggling animal, stood up, and shot it dead with his revolver. It was the captain.

"In command—target the infantry—section control—carry on," he panted, and ran to his place at the end of the line.

The battery commander was dead, then! The thought flashed through his mind, but was lost in the urgent tasks of the moment. He shortened the range and adjusted the corrector, aiming at the nearer edge of the approaching infantry. A moment later, three or four men came sprinting up and reported themselves. The subaltern heard without emotion that more had started but would never arrive. He detailed them to the guns. The rate of fire increased.

1-the-batterySide 18 / 21Kapittelside 18

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-6ea3440908044b09befd2312c288fadd
# book_title: The Battery
# chapter_id: 1-the-battery
# chapter_title: The Battery
# book_page: 18 / 21
# chapter_page: 18
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

Suddenly, without warning, the air above was rent by a triple crash, followed by the familiar drone and then another violent detonation. Gusts of smoke blew across the sky. A hail of shrapnel bullets kicked up dust and pattered on the guns. His cap was knocked from his head by an invisible hand. A gunner sprang up, performed a grotesque parody of a dervish dance, twirled with outstretched arms, and collapsed. Another sat for a second, hands to his head, then fell back. For a moment the gun crews faltered. The subaltern ran toward them, shouting. The diminished crews bent grimly to their task. The overhead crashes came now in one continuous roar; bullets rained down in heavy showers. The enemy artillery had their exact range. Where were they? He scanned the distance for gun flashes, saw none. The foe was invisible, snugly concealed. It would have done little good to spot them, for his orders were to fire on the infantry.

So he fired, his two guns as fast as the depleted crews could serve them. The rest of the battery carried on in like manner. He did not know how many guns remained in action; he could not spare a moment to look. His attention was fixed on the swarm of advancing figures. The hail of shrapnel was a constant agony at the back of his mind; he ignored it resolutely.

Suddenly a horse pitched and rolled at his feet, kicking violently. It startled him; he had not seen it approach. A man disentangled himself from the struggling animal, stood up, and shot it dead with his revolver. It was the captain.

"In command--target the infantry--section control--carry on," he panted, and ran to his place at the end of the line.

The battery commander was dead, then! The thought flashed through his mind, but was lost in the urgent tasks of the moment. He shortened the range and adjusted the corrector, aiming at the nearer edge of the approaching infantry. A moment later, three or four men came sprinting up and reported themselves. The subaltern heard without emotion that more had started but would never arrive. He detailed them to the guns. The rate of fire increased.

Page 19 / 21

How long this phase lasted, the subaltern never knew. Time lost its ordinary measure in that nightmare where he constantly shortened the range, hurling unavailing thunder at an inexorably advancing flood. He remembered a moment of agony when he realized they were running out of ammunition, then the intense relief when the first-line ammunition wagons raced up and stopped beside the guns. Under a pall of smoke from bursting shells, he saw his gun crews dwindling, each man doing the work of two or three. Once a heavy explosion on the ground caught his attention; soon others followed. Choking fumes—black, then yellowish—drifted over him. A howitzer battery had joined the enemy, firing high-explosive shells. Exasperated, he scanned the distance for some hint of the guns, but saw no sign. They were being overwhelmed, as they themselves had overwhelmed another battery, by enemies they could not even locate.

Suddenly—he never knew how—the word reached him: "You are in command." He ran to the end of the line and found the sergeant-major crouched behind the wagon limber, blood running from a gash across his face. Close by lay the bodies of those who had commanded before him.

"Four guns still in action, sir," said the sergeant-major. "Brigade commander's orders: 'Hold your ground.'"

"How long ago?" asked the subaltern.

"Some time," came the reply. "Not sure, but I think the colonel and his staff are all dead, sir."

The subaltern looked down the line of guns and frowned at the tiny clusters of gunners.

"Where's the observation party?"

"At the guns, sir."

"Range-takers? Horse-holders?" He had to shout above the unending roar of shells.

"At the guns. Every available man is in action, except those with the horses under cover."

The subaltern took in the situation, glancing at the advancing infantry. Despite the battery's efforts, the nearer troops had pushed close and were now hidden by a fold in the ground. From that fold came a furious rifle fire and, he fancied, shouts and cries. With despair in his heart, he resolved to hold his ground. Veiled in dust and smoke, his four guns fired irregularly but rapidly.

A sudden turmoil of sound erupted on his right, almost behind him.

1-the-batterySide 19 / 21Kapittelside 19

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-6ea3440908044b09befd2312c288fadd
# book_title: The Battery
# chapter_id: 1-the-battery
# chapter_title: The Battery
# book_page: 19 / 21
# chapter_page: 19
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

How long this phase lasted, the subaltern never knew. Time lost its ordinary measure in that nightmare where he constantly shortened the range, hurling unavailing thunder at an inexorably advancing flood. He remembered a moment of agony when he realized they were running out of ammunition, then the intense relief when the first-line ammunition wagons raced up and stopped beside the guns. Under a pall of smoke from bursting shells, he saw his gun crews dwindling, each man doing the work of two or three. Once a heavy explosion on the ground caught his attention; soon others followed. Choking fumes--black, then yellowish--drifted over him. A howitzer battery had joined the enemy, firing high-explosive shells. Exasperated, he scanned the distance for some hint of the guns, but saw no sign. They were being overwhelmed, as they themselves had overwhelmed another battery, by enemies they could not even locate.

Suddenly--he never knew how--the word reached him: "You are in command." He ran to the end of the line and found the sergeant-major crouched behind the wagon limber, blood running from a gash across his face. Close by lay the bodies of those who had commanded before him.

"Four guns still in action, sir," said the sergeant-major. "Brigade commander's orders: 'Hold your ground.'"

"How long ago?" asked the subaltern.

"Some time," came the reply. "Not sure, but I think the colonel and his staff are all dead, sir."

The subaltern looked down the line of guns and frowned at the tiny clusters of gunners.

"Where's the observation party?"

"At the guns, sir."

"Range-takers? Horse-holders?" He had to shout above the unending roar of shells.

"At the guns. Every available man is in action, except those with the horses under cover."

The subaltern took in the situation, glancing at the advancing infantry. Despite the battery's efforts, the nearer troops had pushed close and were now hidden by a fold in the ground. From that fold came a furious rifle fire and, he fancied, shouts and cries. With despair in his heart, he resolved to hold his ground. Veiled in dust and smoke, his four guns fired irregularly but rapidly.

A sudden turmoil of sound erupted on his right, almost behind him.

Page 20 / 21

"Outflanked?" he shouted above the din. The sergeant-major nodded.

At that same moment he saw a swarm of brown infantry emerge over the fold in front. Disaster followed upon disaster. A high-explosive shell engulfed one of his precious guns in a blinding flash. A man with a soot-blackened face ran up to report that the ammunition supply was nearly exhausted; only the limber ammunition remained.

The subaltern looked at the beaten infantry surging back towards them. His jaw hardened.

"Call up the teams," he shouted.

The sergeant-major signaled toward the hill. Moments later the limbers came racing across the shell-torn field. The survivors of the battery gave a sigh of relief as they fired off their last shells.

Far off upon a height, the divisional artillery commander watched them through his glasses. "Why isn't that battery withdrawn?" he asked irritably. He turned to give an order, then stopped. "No. It's too late," he said. He continued watching.

The guns were limbered up in a storm of shells. The subaltern threw himself onto a horse that came to hand. The detachments waited for the order to retire.

"The battery will advance—in line!—Gallop!" he yelled.

He spurred his horse straight at the infantry. Behind him, his three remaining guns bumped and leaped across the uneven stubble as they raced forward. They tore through the approaching infantry as though the men were phantoms, regardless of any who fell before their charge. Overhead, the shrapnel bursts slackened. They plunged into a depression and up the far slope of a low ridge, where one or two brown-clad soldiers lay prone, firing rapidly.

"Halt! Action front! Target the infantry! Point blank!" shouted the subaltern.

1-the-batterySide 20 / 21Kapittelside 20

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-6ea3440908044b09befd2312c288fadd
# book_title: The Battery
# chapter_id: 1-the-battery
# chapter_title: The Battery
# book_page: 20 / 21
# chapter_page: 20
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

"Outflanked?" he shouted above the din. The sergeant-major nodded.

At that same moment he saw a swarm of brown infantry emerge over the fold in front. Disaster followed upon disaster. A high-explosive shell engulfed one of his precious guns in a blinding flash. A man with a soot-blackened face ran up to report that the ammunition supply was nearly exhausted; only the limber ammunition remained.

The subaltern looked at the beaten infantry surging back towards them. His jaw hardened.

"Call up the teams," he shouted.

The sergeant-major signaled toward the hill. Moments later the limbers came racing across the shell-torn field. The survivors of the battery gave a sigh of relief as they fired off their last shells.

* * * * *

Far off upon a height, the divisional artillery commander watched them through his glasses. "Why isn't that battery withdrawn?" he asked irritably. He turned to give an order, then stopped. "No. It's too late," he said. He continued watching.

* * * * *

The guns were limbered up in a storm of shells. The subaltern threw himself onto a horse that came to hand. The detachments waited for the order to retire.

"The battery will advance--in line!--Gallop!" he yelled.

He spurred his horse straight at the infantry. Behind him, his three remaining guns bumped and leaped across the uneven stubble as they raced forward. They tore through the approaching infantry as though the men were phantoms, regardless of any who fell before their charge. Overhead, the shrapnel bursts slackened. They plunged into a depression and up the far slope of a low ridge, where one or two brown-clad soldiers lay prone, firing rapidly.

"Halt! Action front! Target the infantry! Point blank!" shouted the subaltern.

Page 21 / 21

Ahead, a swarm of grey-clad soldiers, no more than a hundred yards away, came rushing towards them, bayonets gleaming. Working like madmen, the artillerymen reversed the guns, loaded, aimed, and fired. Again and again the guns spoke. The crews worked as men possessed, eager only to take a toll for their own lives. The shells, fused to zero, burst almost at the muzzles, their bullets tearing through the grey ranks and mowing them down. The attackers seemed to melt away. From behind him, the subaltern heard a loud cheer; the beaten brown infantry had rallied and were surging back to the attack.

In front of his guns, the grey infantry hesitated, then turned and fled. The retreat spread. He exulted in their confusion. As his guns fired their last rounds, a line of brown infantry rushed past with a mighty shout, bayonets leveled. The grey infantry broke and scattered.

The subaltern looked around, wiping acrid smoke-grit from his eyes. Behind him, down the hillside where his battery had fought, masses of brown infantry were pressing forward. The tide had turned.

Far away, the divisional artillery commander lowered his glasses. "By God, that young man saved them!" he said. He wrote out an order and dispatched it.

The subaltern stood beside his silent guns, watching the fighting move away from him. He felt ravenously hungry and thirsty, but his water bottle was empty. He felt in his pocket for biscuits; there were none. He wiped his hand across his mouth, tasted biscuit dust, and cursed in bitter disappointment. He could not forgive himself for having eaten them, as it were, in his sleep.

Presently an order arrived, and he led the remnant of his battery out of action.

1-the-batterySide 21 / 21Kapittelside 21

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-6ea3440908044b09befd2312c288fadd
# book_title: The Battery
# chapter_id: 1-the-battery
# chapter_title: The Battery
# book_page: 21 / 21
# chapter_page: 21
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

Ahead, a swarm of grey-clad soldiers, no more than a hundred yards away, came rushing towards them, bayonets gleaming. Working like madmen, the artillerymen reversed the guns, loaded, aimed, and fired. Again and again the guns spoke. The crews worked as men possessed, eager only to take a toll for their own lives. The shells, fused to zero, burst almost at the muzzles, their bullets tearing through the grey ranks and mowing them down. The attackers seemed to melt away. From behind him, the subaltern heard a loud cheer; the beaten brown infantry had rallied and were surging back to the attack.

In front of his guns, the grey infantry hesitated, then turned and fled. The retreat spread. He exulted in their confusion. As his guns fired their last rounds, a line of brown infantry rushed past with a mighty shout, bayonets leveled. The grey infantry broke and scattered.

The subaltern looked around, wiping acrid smoke-grit from his eyes. Behind him, down the hillside where his battery had fought, masses of brown infantry were pressing forward. The tide had turned.

* * * * *

Far away, the divisional artillery commander lowered his glasses. "By God, that young man saved them!" he said. He wrote out an order and dispatched it.

* * * * *

The subaltern stood beside his silent guns, watching the fighting move away from him. He felt ravenously hungry and thirsty, but his water bottle was empty. He felt in his pocket for biscuits; there were none. He wiped his hand across his mouth, tasted biscuit dust, and cursed in bitter disappointment. He could not forgive himself for having eaten them, as it were, in his sleep.

Presently an order arrived, and he led the remnant of his battery out of action.

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