The Black Capsules

A muddy field depot in northern France on a cold grey April dawn, wet sleet falling, patches of snow on the clay, on duckboards of wet planks long rows of matt black capsule-shaped steel cylinders nineteen centimetres across and fifty-seven centimetres long, evenly rounded at both ends, a short stubby hexagonal cap at each end, fine scratches and small pale chips in the paint, the steel surfaces plain and unmarked, behind them a long row of wide-mouthed steel tubes set slanting into the clay, thin wires strung between them, stacked sandbags, two men in khaki wool greatcoats, puttees and plain steel helmets seen from directly behind, one carrying a cylinder on his shoulder.