Suddenly all was quiet as the big guns fell silent. The men knew that the sights were being re-aligned to a mere fifty yards ahead of them in order to create fox-holes for their cover. The tension in the trenches was electric. A pale faced Private Ashton was looking definitely the worse for wear.

"Are you O.K. lad?" asked Bennett.

"To be honest Sarge, I'm crapping conkers! I think my number will come up today"

"Tommyrot! You won't die," the Sergeant told him. As an afterthought he smiled and added," That's the last thing you'll do!"

"How can you joke at a time like this Sarge?"

"When better, son? You'll be fine," the Sergeant assurred him.

"There's a rumour going round that there's to be an armistice soon. Is that right Sarge? I mean, if it's true, why are we going over the top? it's crazy!"

Trying to calm the lad, Bennett told him, "I don't know about that son, but what I do know is that we've got Fritz well and truly on the run. They're outnumbered, low on ammunition and demoralised as hell."

"I know how they feel!" Ashton moaned.

"Ah rubbish! Get through this one last big push and there'll be a nice big parade waiting for is all when we get back to Blighty."

"A parade? said the Private. "A bloody parade? I'm not doing all this for a poxy, bloody parade!"

Sensing his near hysteria the Sergeant calmly said, "Then do it for us Pete, lad. Do it for your mates. We've got to look out for each other just a while longer yet."

This appeal to Private Ashton's conscience brought about a look of resignation of the lad's previously strained face.