TWENTY-FIVE
Able to lay down witheringly accurate fire at a rate of 15-20 rounds per minute.
Slowly the rising sun burnt away the last shreds of mist and the men of the Royal Durhams now had a clear view across the canal and the flat lands beyond, the woods and copses, the telegraph poles on the railway lines, the handful of red-tiled buildings at the road junction ahead, and the church tower at Baudour, all plainly visible.
Wilfred Whitehead checked his watch yet again—waiting was always the worst part—and then he closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer, imploring for the strength and courage to face the day, and praying that Kathleen should find future happiness if he should fall, and then he recited 'The Lord’s Prayer' to himself. Our Father, which art in Heaven, Hallowed by Thy
