When the light was gone I lay there fairly panting for breath.
"We'll have to work quickly," came the inspiring voice at my elbow, and
we did. We had not finished work before a new star shell was sent up.
[Sidenote: The repair work is finished.]
The repair work did not take many minutes, and we started back again. We
were halted several times by star shells, and after the second or third
time I began to reassure myself by saying that the Germans did not know
I was out there, that they had nothing against me individually.
Afterwards I heard one of the officers say that they were probably
suspicious because of the sudden cessation of the gun fire that
afternoon, and were looking for a raiding party to cross no-man's-land.
[Sidenote: The noise of the shells.]
During the time that I was at the front, it was the custom for men to
spend six days at the front, then go back to the village in which they
were billeted--always well beyond the firing line--and there rest for
about two weeks. By the end of my third day I had become quite
acclimated to the noise. One afternoon a scouting aeroplane must have
reported some fancied movement of troops in a village two or three miles
back of us, for the Germans started a heavy barrage which went singing
over our heads. The shells went high, but just the same they made
everyone uncomfortable for a few minutes. Fellows that have been on the
line, however, will tell you that you don't mind the noise of shell
fire--for you figure it out that the bullet that hits you is the bullet
you never hear--and while that doesn't seem a very comfortable thought,
you soon forget to think of danger.
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