Almost mechanically Malcolm broke into a run. In front and on either side other men were surging onwards, their bayonet-tips describing erratic curves as they lurched over the still-trembling ground. Showers of dust beat upon their faces. Farther ahead masses of solid rock and earth were falling with a succession of thuds, while, where Messines Ridge had been, was a riven mound of disintegrated Soil, over which a dense cloud of black smoke rolled sullenly in the sultry night air.