Right here I began to have luck. Just see how this worked out.
First a rushing party was organized whose duty it was to rush the
crater made by the mine explosion and occupy it before the Germans
got there. Sixty men were selected, a few from each company, and
placed where they were supposedly safe, but where they could get up
fast. This is the most dangerous duty an infantryman has to do,
because both sides after a mine explosion shower in fifty-seven
varieties of sudden death, including a perfect rain of machine-gun
bullets. The chances of coming out of a rushing party with a whole
hide are about one in five.

Well, for a wonder, I didn't get drawn for this one, and I breathed
one long, deep sigh of relief, put my hand inside my tunic and
patted Dinky on the back. Dinky is my mascot. I'll tell you about
him later.

On top of that another bit of luck came along, though it didn't
seem like it at the moment. It was the custom for a ration party to
go out each night and get up the grub. This party had to go over
the duck walk and was under fire both going and coming. One of the
corporals who had been out on rations two nights in succession
began to "grouse."

Of course Sergeant Page spotted me and detailed me to the
"wangler's" duty. I "groused" too, like a good fellow, but had to
go.

"Garn," says Wellsie. "Wot's the diff if yer gets it 'ere or there.
If ye clicks, I'll draw yer fags from Blighty and say a prayer for
yer soul. On yer way."