Chapter Twenty-Seven
From the German lines came a massive artillery fire across the crest of Fille Morte. Stars of heat and light crashed down on the Earth, scattering death all around.
On the left of me, one of the bearers under my command is sliced in two. Severed at the waist, he is tossed thirty or forty feet into the air, spinning like a top, his arms stretched wide open, a flying Christ, blessing us.
This is the most awful terror a man can endure.
Something is stuck in my throat. I cough and can’t stop. I have a bag with field dressings and a supply of morphine. Before I realize what I’m doing, I put half a grain under my tongue.
A few moments later, the fear ebbs away. Although it’s cold and the mud bubbles round me, I feel warm and content.
There’s a monster swimming in that
