John turned to Lofty. ‘The bastard’s had a nip at every dugout. ‘He’ll be pissed as a newt before we hop-over.’
‘I don’t blame him,’ Lofty said. ‘I wouldn’t have his job if you paid me. Stuck out in front on his tod, it’s a quid to a bloater he’ll attract all Fritz’s attention. You’d need to be pissed.’
Too bloody true, John thought, then said, ‘Remember, we hop-over at 0012 hours, on the dot. Get your gear ready and make sure everyone has plenty of bombs.’ He hurried after the company commander.
The hop-over went according to plan, but the rest of the stunt did not. The Germans were determined, well prepared, and their wire was mostly uncut by the British bombardment. The attack had been called off at dawn, and a much depleted unit had retreated to Sausage Valley to reorganise. Three m
