The Cartographer Of No Man's Land: A Novel - Plot & Excerpts
. . so quiet that Angus could hear the men’s every breath up and down the line—faces white in the dark, expressions blank. Snowflakes drifted down from a steel-gray sky, then swirled and lifted in the puff of a breeze. The silence was so raw, so unfamiliar, that it stripped him down and left him naked. Then earth and sky shattered. The mines blew beneath the German trenches. Towering fountains of earth shot skyward. The Allied guns opened up—a thousand shells every twenty seconds. The steady concussion fused into an iron wall of sound. Its thundering vibration likely trembled a cup of tea in the faint dawn of a London kitchen; made old men in suspenders, reaching for collar and tie, pause and look up through curtained windows. In trench and dugout it compressed all thought—of home, of laughter, of sorrows, of chances missed and chances taken—into a whispered prayer. There was a catch in the shell fire as the guns angled up, then the signal and the hurtling rush forward. All thought fled.
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