Coningsby Dawson,
The Test of Scarlet: A Romance of Reality
“ In our narrow valley, where batteries were lined up like taxi-cabs on a stand, shells of every kind and calibre began to fall—whizz-bangs, incendiary, high explosive, gas. Shooting at random over so small an area so densely packed, it was almost impossible not to hit something. As darkness thickened, the night became lurid with burning gun-pits and ammunition. Against the dancing flames men could be seen, running, gesticulating and working like fiends to put the fires out. High above the whistling of the shells we heard the ominous throb of planes, and bombs commenced dropping. ”
