the plain below flicker like a picture in a cinematograph.

From time to time an officer would rise and peer down into the great
plain, shading his eyes with his hands, and shout something at them,
and they would turn quickly in the trench and rise on one knee. And
at the shout that followed they would fire four or five rounds
rapidly and evenly, and then, at a sound from the officer's whistle,
would drop back again and pick up the cigarettes they had placed in
the grass and begin leisurely to swab out their rifles with a piece
of dirty rag on a cleaning rod. Down in the plain below there was
apparently nothing at which they could shoot except the great shadows
of the clouds drifting across the vast checker-board of green and
yellow fields, and disappearing finally between the mountain passes
beyond. In some places there were square dark patches that might
have been bushes, and nearer to us than these were long lines of
fresh earth, from which steam seemed to be escaping in little wisps.
What impressed us most of what we could see of the battle then was
the remarkable number of cartridges the Greek soldiers wasted in
firing into space, and the fact that they had begun to fire at such
long range that, in order to get the elevation, they had placed the
rifle butt under the armpit instead of against the shoulder. Their
sights were at the top notch. The cartridges reminded one of corn-
cobs jumping out of a corn-sheller, and it was interesting when the
bolts were shot back to see a hundred of them pop up into the air at
the same time, flashing in the sun as though they were glad to have
done their work and to get out again. They rolled by the dozens
underfoot, and twinkled in the grass, and when one shifted his
position in the narrow trench, or stretched his cramped legs, they
tinkled musically. It was like wading in a gutter filled with
thimbles.