Steadily, hour by hour, in absolute silence, the work went on.  There was no talking, but (under extenuating circumstances) smoking was permitted.  Periodically, as the star-shells burst into brilliance overhead, the workers sank down behind a parapet, or, if there was no time, stood rigid—­the one thing to avoid upon these occasions is movement of any kind—­and gave the snipers a chance.  It was not pleasant, but it was duty; and the word duty has become a mighty force in “K(1)” these days.  No one was hit, which was remarkable, when you consider what an artist a German sniper is.  Possibly the light of the star-shells was deceptive, or possibly there is some truth in the general rumour that the Saxons, who hold this part of the line, are well-disposed towards us, and conduct their offensive operations with a tactful blend of constant firing and bad shooting, which, while it satisfies the Prussians, causes no serious inconvenience to Thomas Atkins.

At a quarter-past one a subdued order ran round the trenches; the men fell in on the sheltered side of the plantation; picks and shovels were checked; rifles and equipment were resumed; and the party stole silently away to the cross-road, where the three shells were timed to arrive at two-fifteen.  When they did so, with true Teutonic punctuality, an hour later, our friends were well on their way home to billets and bed—­with the dawn breaking behind them, the larks getting to work overhead, and all the infected air of the German graveyard swept out of their lungs by the dew of the morning.

As for that imperturbable philosopher, Box, he sat down with a cigarette, and waited for Cox.

XVII

THE NEW WARFARE

The trench system has one thing to recommend it.  It tidies things up a bit.

For the first few months after the war broke out confusion reigned supreme.  Belgium and the north of France were one huge jumbled battlefield, rather like a public park on a Saturday afternoon—­one of those parks where promiscuous football is permitted.  Friend and foe were inextricably mingled, and the direction of the goal was uncertain.  If you rode into a village, you might find it occupied by a Highland regiment or a squadron of Uhlans.  If you dimly discerned troops marching side by side with you in the dawning, it was by no means certain that they would prove to be your friends.  On the other hand, it was never safe to assume that a battalion which you saw hastily entrenching itself against your approach was German.  It might belong to your own brigade.  There was no front and no rear, so direction counted for nothing.  The country swarmed with troops which had been left “in the air,” owing to their own too rapid advance, or the equally rapid retirement of their supporters; with scattered details trying to rejoin their units; or with despatch riders hunting for a peripatetic Divisional Headquarters.  Snipers shot both sides impartially.  It was all most upsetting.