It was an awe-inspiring spectacle. To the right of the road the ammunition column men on mules were hauling to the various artillery dumps large and small shells, fodder for hungry guns that were to give us victory the next day. As we passed these men they wished us the "best of luck," shouting some friendly remarks such as "We are working like h--- for you boys; see that you give Fritz h--- to-morrow!"
We left the main road and started across open fields until we reached at right angles the Arras-Bethune road, directly opposite was the entrance of the Aux Reitz communication trench. A few hundred yards to our left, along the Arras-Bethune road stood once the little village of La Targette, and on the opposite side, Neuville St. Vaast. Now nothing remained but masses of fallen masonry caused by the continuous bombardments both by the Allies when these towns were occupied by the Germans, and then by the Huns when they were driven back, and the Allies occupied them.
The Aux Reitz communication trench was what we called an ingoing communication trench. The leading platoon had started up the communication trench--my platoon came next. As I was crossing the road at the head of my platoon, now in single file, I formed a mental picture of what I saw before me. It was about 10 P.M. and pitch dark. Our shells were bursting in the German trenches and wire entanglements. On our right forward flank, the Germans were signalling by means of green rockets. They were an exceedingly pretty and spectacular display of fireworks, as these green rockets would go up and, after attaining a certain height, they would burst and a tail of green stars would appear.
The Germans very often use their golden spray rocket for the S.O.S. signal, but they are liable to change from time to time, as is also our habit.
Here and there I could see fires where the German ammunition dumps had been blown up by our shell fire. Then I would suddenly hear the quick hissing sound of German shells upon our right and left flanks along the Arras-Bethune road. The Huns were shelling our back area.
Our battalion scout officer, Lieutenant B----, who had preceded us, was directing each platoon from the top of the communication trench, past the various intersections of the C.T.[1] Lieut. B---- was very much exposed and in a more dangerous position than any of us who were in the trench, but he did not seem to mind it. I could hear above me the swish, swish, swish of the German shells and the rat-tat-tat of their machine guns. As the machine gun bullets struck the top of the trench above us, small clods of earth would fall in our midst.