Many thousands had fallen already before the shells and shrapnel of the invisible foe, but there had been no check.
The cannon crossed a brook, and, unlimbering, again opened a tremendous fire.

To one side and on a hill here, a man whom the commander watched closely was signaling.

John knew that he was directing the aim of the battery and the French, like the Germans, were killing by mathematics.
He rode his cycle to the crest of a little elevation behind the battery and with his newfound coolness began to use his glasses again.

Despite the thin, whitish smoke, he saw men on the horizon, mere manikins moving back and forth, apparently without meaning, but men nevertheless.

He caught, too, the outline of giant tubes, the huge guns that were sending the ceaseless rain of death upon the French.
He also saw signs of hurry and confusion among those manikins, and he knew that the French shells were striking them.