it must be on the nerves of the enemy is beyond conception. We do not
wonder that in these latter days they fall on their knees and yell
"_Kamerad_!"

As a rule a charge takes place just before dawn, when the gray cold light
of morning is struggling up from the East. All night we are occupied
according to our individual temperaments. Some are able to sleep even in
such a racket. The great majority of us are writing letters. There are
always a few last things to be said to the home-folks, a few small
possessions we want to will in special ways. We hand our letters to an
officer or to some special chum. If this is to be our last time over--if it
is to be our last charge--the officer or chum will see to it, if he lives,
or the stretcher-bearers or the chaplains, if he doesn't, that the small
treasures go back home to the old folks.

Just before dawn there is a difference in the character of the shelling.
The heavy shells are falling farther back on German reserves and lighter
artillery is being used on the enemy front line. The position lies some
three hundred yards from the enemy front.

The light shells sweep close overhead as they go by our trench. We have to
hug the sides close; sometimes the vacuum is so great that it will carry
off a cap; if we are not careful it may suck up a head or lift us
completely off our feet.

This curtain of fire continues for hours; it varies in direction now and
then, but never in intensity. There is a controlling force over this
tremendous bombardment. To my mind the most important man on the
battle-field is he who holds the ordering of the bombardment--the
observation officer. He must know everything, see everything, but must