We have no more cartridges.

We fix bayonets, our ears filled with that endless, undefined murmur which comes from their mouths and the hollow rolling of the flood that marches.
A shout spreads behind us: "Orders to fall back!" We bow down and evacuate the trench by openings at the back.

There are not a lot of us, we who thought we were so many.

The trench is soon empty, and we climb the hill that we descended in coming.

We go up towards our 75's, which are in lines behind the ridge and still thundering.