I could not see it very clearly, or at least the
general thought my eyes were wandering too much to the right.
"I will drop a shell there," he said, and then turned to a telephone
operator who was crouched in a hole in the wall, and gave an order to
him.
The man touched his instrument and spoke in the mouthpiece.
"C'est la batterie?"
There was a little crackling in the telephone, like twigs under a pot,
and it seemed as though a tiny voice were speaking from a great
distance.
"Now!" said the general, pointing towards the crest.
I stared intently, and a second later, after a solitary thunderstroke
from a heavy gun, I saw a shell burst and leave a soft white cloud at
the very spot indicated by the old man at my side. I wondered if a few
Germans had been killed to prove the point for my satisfaction. What
did it matter--a few more deaths to indicate a mark on the map? It
was just like sweeping a few crumbs off the table in an argument on
strategy.
In another hole to which the general took me was the officers' mess--
about as large as a suburban bathroom. At the end of the dining-table
the captain was shaving himself, and laughed with embarrassment at
our entry. But he gave me two fingers of a soapy hand and said
"Enchante" with fine courtesy.
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