The Subaltern imagined the long wait while the shells shrieked over the
heads of the infantry towards an enemy as yet unseen. Then the enemy
shells would begin to feel their way to the thin brown line of trenches,
and under cover of their fire the infantry, now deployed into fighting
formations, would "advance." Then our men would begin firing, firing
with cool precision. The landscape would soon be dotted with grey ants.
Machine-guns would cut down whole lines of grey ants with their
"plop-plop-plop." Shrapnel would burst about whole clouds of grey ants,
burying them in brown clouds of dust. Finally, the directing brain would
decide that it was time to cut and run. The artillery fire would be
increased tenfold, and under cover of it the brown ants would scamper
from the trenches and disappear into the green depths of the woods. Soon
the firing would cease. The retreating party would have got safely,
cleanly away, having gained many precious hours for the main body, and
having incidentally inflicted severe losses on the enemy. The latter,
have nothing left to do but to re-form (thus losing still more time),
would then continue his pursuit weaker and further from his opponent
than he had been before.

At last, striking a clearing, the town of Villiers Cotterets was
reached. There was nothing to distinguish it from a score of other small
agricultural centres through which the Column had passed. The only thing
the Subaltern remembers about this town is that he handed a French
peasant woman there a couple of francs on the odd chance that she would
bring back some chocolate. She did not.

On the further side of the town the Brigade Transport, with steaming
cookers, was massed ready to give the troops a midday meal. This was an
innovation greatly appreciated. Such a thing as a meal in the middle of
the day had not occurred since the days of Iron.