TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston

men and a Lewis gun. Kendle was half kneeling
against some broken ground; I remember seeing him
push his tin hat back from his forehead and then raise
himself a few inches to take aim. After firing once he
looked at us with a lively smile; a second later he
fell sideways. A blotchy mark showed where the
bullet had hit him just above the eyes.

The circumstances being what they were, I had no
justification for feeling either shocked or astonished by
the sudden extinction of Lance-Corporal Kendle. But
after blank awareness that he was killed, all feelings
tightened and contracted to a single intention—to
"settle that sniper" on the other side of the valley. If
I had stopped to think, I shouldn't have gone at all.
As it was, I discarded my tin hat and equipment,
slung a bag of bombs across my shoulder, abruptly
informed Fernby that I was going to find out who was
there, and set off at a downhill double. While I was
running I pulled the safety-pin out of a Mills' bomb;
my right hand being loaded, I did the same for my
left. I mention this because I was obliged to extract
the second safety-pin with my teeth, and the grating
sensation reminded me that I was halfway across and
not so reckless as I had been when I started. I was
even a little out of breath as I trotted up the opposite
slope. Just before I arrived at the top I slowed up and
threw my two bombs. Then I rushed at the bank,
vaguely expecting some sort of scuffle with my ima-
gined enemy. I had lost my temper with the man who
had shot Kendle; quite unexpectedly, I found myself
looking down into a well-conducted trench with a
great many Germans in it. Fortunately for me, they
were already retreating. It had not occurred to them
that they were being attacked by a single fool; and
Fernby, with presence of mind which probably saved