Alvah Bessie on Artillery

“Ahead, muffled by distance, was the sound of artillery in the night- always more terrifying than it is by day, though less effective.”

“We looked at each other, and back across the river. There were explosions in the town itself now; the first Fascist shells were landing in the city and there was the smoke of fires. From directly over our heads, on the crest of the hill, there came swift, violent reply that deafened us and we dropped onto the ground. Our own artillery was answering. "Nice to know we got a couple pop-guns of our own," I said. "This is no place to be," said Luke. "They'll be throwing the stuff over here in a minute."”

“From somewhere the enemy artillery awoke and the shells came over- you could count them as they came. And then you couldn't count them; they fell in no regular order, one-two-three, but with a conscious knowledge of where we were- to left, to right, ahead, behind, crashing like enormous garbage cans heaved by gigantic men. The broken earth fell on us, the cracked rock spattered against the unbroken stone of the hillsides. The growing night was loud in our ears, and the men, ordered up the right slope of the ravine, were huddled in a long line against the hillside, crouching, sitting, lying flat. My rifle was smashed to pieces in my hand.”