I could only get half way, my Sergeant was
killed and my Corporal hit. We lay down; luckily it was high roots and
we were out of sight; but they had fairly got our range, and the bullets
kept knocking up the dirt into one's face and all round. We just lay
doggo for about half an hour, and then the fire slackened, and we
crawled back.
I was pleased with my troop, under bad fire. They used the most awful
language, talking quite quietly, and laughing all the time, even after
the men were knocked over within a yard of them. I longed to be able to
say that I liked it, after all one has heard about being under fire for
the first time. But it is beastly. I pretended to myself for a bit that
I like it, but it was no good. But when one acknowledged that it was
beastly, one became all right again and cool.
After the firing had slackened we advanced again a bit, into the next
group of houses, the edge of the village proper. I can't tell you how
muddling it is. We did not know which was our front, we did not know if
our own troops had come round us on the flanks, or whether they had
stopped behind and were firing into us. And besides, a lot of German
snipers were left in the houses we had come through, and every now and
then bullets came singing by from God knows where. Four of us were
talking in the road when about a dozen bullets came with a whistle. We
all dived for the nearest door, and fell over each other, yelling with
laughter.
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