“Bleeding rain again,” said Armstrong.

The flooded shell craters ahead shimmered as the rain moved over them in waves. They waited for the waves of artillery to come.

“How long now?” asked Tate.

“Anytime.”

It seemed like only a fraction of a second between them hearing it roaring up behind and then the shells actually hitting. The earth thundered up ahead, just yards away. Great convulsions of mud and wood and water leapt and then heaved down. Harry realized that he had dived back. His hands clawed into the earth, which was cold and liquid. There didn’t seem to be anything solid to hold on to. He watched the line of artillery boom down again. Summerfield next to him was screaming. His mouth stretched into silent words. Harry couldn’t hear a thing. There was just the eruption of the barrage. The sky sounded like it was rending ahead.

Lieutenant O’Kane blew his whistle, only much of the artillery seemed to be falling short. They were told to advance and, within seconds, told to get back.

“Flaming hokey cokey,” shouted Armstrong in Harry’s ear. Harry laughed, though he didn’t know why. Above the bellow of the bombardment he could hear his own heart pounding in his ears. His whole head felt like it was throbbing. His throat was dry and his eyes smarted. He looked across at Francis, who looked back to Harry. Was that fear finally in Francis’s eyes?

“Go on!” screamed Sergeant Foy.

Harry stepped forward, the ground giving beneath his feet, pulling him down into panic. They edged on, crouching, stumbling, cursing the artillery, which too often was falling short. It seemed to be all around them rather than ahead. Earth pitched and splinters zipped. It was all churning and sharp and black smoke billowing. Instinct told him to run away from it, but which way to run?

“Two hundred and fifty yards,” yelled O’Kane.

“Are you pacing it?”

“Thirty minutes gone.” Summerfield tapped his wristwatch.

They had worked out the mathematics as they had waited on the tapes. Based on the advance rate of the barrage, Harry had calculated that it would take them eighty minutes to reach the enemy line. Looking forward, through the barrage, there was just leaping mud and a sharp line of trees beyond the rise in the distance. Could this really go on for another fifty minutes? At this moment, it seemed impossible.

“Your watch must have stopped,” he shouted back.