About fifty yards down the slope lay the Turkish trenches--they were dark against the snow, and now and then a black figure like a devil showed for an instant and disappeared.

The Turks clearly expected an infantry attack, for they were sending up calcium rockets and Very flares.

The Russians were battering their line and spraying all the hinterland, not with shrapnel, but with good, solid high-explosives.

The place would be as bright as day for a moment, all smothered in a scurry of smoke and snow and debris, and then a black pall would fall on it, when only the thunder of the guns told of the battle.
Peter felt very sick.

He had not believed there could be so much noise in the world, and the drums of his ears were splitting.