‘Kid! You’re all right, kid?’ he cried eagerly.

He was all right. As Bourne lifted the limp body, the boy’s hat came off, showing half the back of his skull shattered where the bullet had come through it; and a little blood welled out on to Bourne’s sleeve and the knee of his trousers. He was all right; and Bourne let him settle to earth again, lifting himself up almost indifferently, unable to realize what had happened, filled with a kind of tenderness that ached in him, and yet extraordinarily still, extraordinarily cold. He had to hurry, or he would be alone in the fog. Again he heard some rifle-fire, some bombing, and, stooping, he ran towards the sound, and was by Minton’s side again, when three men ran towards them, holding their hands up and screaming; and he lifted his rifle to his shoulder and fired; and the ache in him became a consuming hate that filled him with exultant cruelty, and he fired again, and again. The last man was closest to him, but as drunk and staggering with terror. He had scarcely fallen, when Bourne came up to him and saw that his head was shattered, as he turned it over with his boot. Minton looked at him with a curious anxiety, saw Bourne’s teeth clenched and bared, the lips snarling back from them in exultation.

‘Come on. Get into it,’ Minton cried in his anxiety.

And Bourne struggled forward again, panting, and muttering in a suffocated voice.

‘Kill the buggers! Kill the bloody fucking swine! Kill them!’

All the filth and ordure he had ever heard came from between his clenched teeth; but his speech was thick and difficult. In a scuffle immediately afterwards a Hun went for Minton, and Bourne got him with the bayonet, under the ribs near the liver, and then, unable to wrench the bayonet out again, pulled the trigger, and it came away easily enough.

‘Kill the buggers!’ he muttered thickly.

He ran against Sergeant Tozer in the trench.

‘Steady, ol’ son! Steady. ’ave you been ’it? You’re all over blood.’

‘They killed the kid,’ said Bourne, speaking with sudden clearness, though his chest heaved enormously. ‘They killed him. I’ll kill every bugger I see.’

‘Steady. You stay by me. I want you. Mr Finch ’as been ’it, see? You two come as well. Where’s that bloody bomber?’

They searched about a hundred yards to the right, bombing a dug-out from which no answer came, and again they collided with some small party of Huns, and, after some ineffective bombing, both sides drew away from each other. Jakes, with about ten men, had apparently got into the third line, and after similar bombing fights with small parties of Germans had come back again.

‘Let’s ’ave a dekko, sir,’ said Sergeant Tozer, taking Mr Finch’s arm.

‘It’s all right,’ said the young man, infuriated; but the sergeant got his arm out of the sleeve, and bandaged a bullet-wound near the shoulder. They were now convinced they could not go on by themselves. They decided to try and get into touch with any parties on the left. It was useless to go on, as apparently none of the other companies were ahead of them, and heavy machine-gun fire was coming from Serre. They worked up the trench to the left, and after some time, heard footsteps. The leading man held up a hand, and they were ready to bomb or bayonet, when a brave voice challenged them.