Behind the Lines by W. F.; Morris Page B

6.30.’ But Cane will know all about it when he comes back.”
    Rawley sat down on the edge of the table thoughtfully. “Want any help?” he asked, nodding towards the note-book lying in front of Whedbee.
    â€œNo thanks, I’ve just finished. I would turn in and get some sleep if I were you. Reveille is at 4.30; breakfasts at 5.0, and officers’ kits have to be stacked ready outside the orderly room by five-thirty.”
    â€œWhy the hell do they always wait till the middle of the night to tell us these things!” growled Piddock. He rose wearily from his seat. “Come on, Rawley—to our virgin couches.” And he went out singing dolefully: ‘Signals have a jolly good t-i-ime, parley vous, signals have a jolly good t-i-ime, parley vous, signals have a jolly good time while poor ruddy gunners go up to the L-i-i-ne, inky, inky, parley-vous.”

CHAPTER VIII
    I
    The hard-working peasants of Ervillers had gone to bed that night as they had done for the previous week with some two hundred horses and two hundred men comfortably ensconced in their barns and orchards, but when next morning they plodded out to their fields, their barns and orchards were empty and the tiny square behind the church was bare of guns and wagons. B Battery had gone; and the smoking heaps of rubbish on the incinerators and the freshly turned earth on the filled-in latrines were the only marks of their passing.
    In the early morning sunlight the long column of guns and wagons uncoiled itself from the village and wound like a dark snake on to the long, straight, tree-bordered route nationale that switchbacked out of sight over the rolling down country. In that back area traffic was scarce, and the road unrolled itself ahead white and empty, except for a dusty rumbling motor lorry, and an occasional green car of a divisional supply officer speeding back to Amiens to buy forage. Women worked in the fields. Here the war was remote, though at the entrance of a long, cool avenue hung the black and red flag of an Army Headquarters, and one caught glimpses between the trees of a large flat-fronted château with rows of blistered white shutters closed against the glare.
    There was a long halt at midday, when horses were watered and the men ate their haversack rations sitting in groups on the roadside, or lay on their backs in the shade. Then, on again, the column moved on the right of the long, straight road with the tall trees set like palings on either side, while the white chalk dust drifted into eyes and nostrils and set like a mask on the sticky faces of those in the rear.
    It was soon after the resumption of the march that Rumbald trotted up beside Rawley and Piddock. “There’s a Zepp prowling about over there,” he said. “I suppose I ought to tell the Major.”
    â€œZepp!” cried Piddock in astonishment. “Holy smoke! Where?” He tilted his cap over his eyes and looked up.
    â€œIt’s behind that tree now,” said Rumbald. “You’ll see it in a minute. There! There it is—just passing to the right of that spire on the hill.” He pointed with his switch.
    Rawley looked and recognized the familiar bean-shaped bag of an observation balloon hanging motionless a few miles away.
    â€œBy gosh, yes!” cried Piddock with a grin. “Damned smart of you to spot it, Rumbald.”
    â€œI suppose the Major ought to know,” said Rumbald.
    â€œRather,” cried Piddock, with a wink at Rawley. “If you hadn’t spotted it it might have bombed us to Hades before we knew where we were.”
    Rawley was about to say something, but was silenced by a grimace. “That will amuse old Cane no end,” cried Piddock, as Rumbald trotted off importantly towards the head of the column.
    The appearance of the country changed rapidly as they drew nearer to the Line. The road became congested with traffic. Long dusty convoys of lorries passed ceaselessly.