Paths of Glory by Humphrey Cobb

into their hands, unbuttoned the flaps of the pockets which held the bombs, then one by one, with Roget leading, they climbed the parapet and made quickly for the opening in the wire, crouching. They crawled into the lane and followed it as it led them obliquely away from the front line for a few metres. Half-way through the wire, the lane turned at right angles and led them obliquely in the other direction. Just when they thought they should be coming out of it, they found themselves wired in. Roget started to swear.
    â€œKeep quiet,” Didier whispered. “It’s only a block in the lane. Follow me. We can crawl through here.” He went off down a slight incline, wriggling under the wire, laboriously detaching the barbs from his uniform when it got caught. As soon as he was clear, he raised himself on his knees and looked around, then made for a nearby shell-hole. Standing in the shell-hole, he examined his surroundings with care, noting the position of the wood behind him and its relationship to his own and the German line. He was looking attentively at the moon when Roget and Lejeune joined him.
    â€œWho are those two?” asked Roget, pointing to two figures already occupying the shell-hole and apparently asleep.
    â€œCan’t you smell? They’re dead.”
    Lejeune went over to them.
    â€œTirailleurs,” he reported.
    â€œCome on then!” said Roget, getting up and starting to walk off briskly, as he thought, towards the German front. He was feeling very fine indeed, very brave and very clever. The cognac had given him a sense of being disembodied and immune. He wished he had a rifle, for he wanted to lead a bayonet charge, a bayonet charge by moonlight. The idea appealed to him immensely. . . .
    â€œHey! Not that way!” said Didier. “You’ll be back in our wire again in a minute. This is the way over here. Keep the moon on your right. And crawling. We’re not in the Champs Elysées.”
    â€œWell, those two are,” said Roget, laughing at his own joke.
    â€œAnd we’ll be joining them soon, if we keep on making all this noise,” Lejeune added, shooting the lieutenant a glance.
    Roget oriented himself and moved off over the lip of the shell-hole, Didier and Lejeune falling in behind him so that he made the point, they the wings, of an inverted V. Roget continued to set a fast pace, even when crawling, so fast, in fact, that Didier pulled himself up to him twice and caught him by the ankle. The last time, he drew level with him and whispered in his ear:
    â€œNot so fast. We’re getting near their wire. I think that’s it over there. Yes, now you can see it. Take it slowly, a few metres at a time, and then stop and listen. They may have a patrol out too. And if they’re doing any wiring, they’re sure to have a covering party out here somewhere.”
    Roget belched.
    â€œAnd cut that out too. You make a devil of a lot of noise. Watch where you’re going, and don’t kick tins and things.”
    â€œWho d’you think you’re talking to?”
    â€œYou. If you can’t run a patrol properly, I will. I know my business, and I’m not going to have my head blown off just because you don’t.”
    â€œYou’ll hear more about this later.”
    Didier said nothing, and Roget started off again, bearing a little to the right. Didier waited for Lejeune to come up with him. There were several corpses scattered about and they stank.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” Lejeune whispered.
    â€œPlenty. Roget’s drunk and doesn’t give a———. We’ll be lucky to get out of this without a mess of some kind.”
    â€œHow about . . .?”
    â€œNo. He may sober up.”
    Roget was working along the German wire now, with Lejeune behind him and Didier a couple of metres off on the flank. The Pimple loomed on their left, an enormous-looking bulk, cutting cleanly into the moonlit