Then on the horizon to the west, silhouetted against the sun, Hadleman saw the cavalry. Three divisions of them, tiredly organising themselves into formation squares on the other side of the great fields of corn that were growing wild out here in the wastes. The engineers laughed and made expressions of amazement.

Hadleman’s own troops started to speculate that this must be some kind of diversion, until Hutchinson quietened them. He and Hadleman realised the truth at once, that this was the crucial attack they’d been waiting for. It had taken all day to bring the horsemen up to the line. This offensive had been seen as the one opportunity this war had offered for an old-fashioned set-piece action, and those in charge had leapt at it.

There came the sound of a distant bugle and the horses formed up. A sabre was raised, then dropped, and they accelerated forward.

The Norfolks watched in awe as the hundreds of horsemen raced through the corn, a great cry erupting from them. ‘They must think that they’ve got a chance,’ Hutchinson whispered. ‘Maybe they can see something we can’t.’

The noise made them all wince as it started up, the regular clatter of machine-guns.

At first, it seemed that maybe it was only an isolated post, that perhaps the German line ahead that the cavalry were supposed to overrun contained an isolated weapon.

But then the rattle became a great roar and the air around the cavalry darkened with metal.

The first line of horses crumpled, their riders flying off their backs as they fell, some of them riding them down into a crumbling mass of man, animal and corn.

The second, third, fourth, line fell as the guns scythed back and forth across the field. The momentum of the charge continued, hundreds of men spinning off the backs of their mounts, the bodies of those in front tripping and hindering the ones who came behind until the whole field was a mist of noise and metal and flying blood.

‘Retreat, for Christ’s sake,’ Hutchinson was whispering. ‘Why does nobody give the order? Why don’t they⁠ —’

The first whistle sounded overhead and the soldiers threw themselves to the ground, their hands grabbing their metal helmets.

‘Christ!’ screamed Hutchinson. ‘This is the one! This is the one Dean⁠ — Christ!’

The shell landed noiselessly, for Hadleman, the sound too loud and close for him to hear. At least, that was his memory of it.

Hutchinson died instantly.

When the noise ended, Hadleman was lying in a pile of dead people, his head ringing from something distant.

He pushed his way out, shouldering corpses off of him, and immediately choked on the air, his eyes streaming. He slapped for the gasmask at his neck, and found that, along with half his pack, it had been dragged off him.