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Managing Engineering, Procurement, Construction,
and Commissioning Projects
Managing Engineering, Procurement,
Construction, and Commissioning Projects
Avinashkumar V. Karre
Author All books published by WILEY-VCH are carefully
produced. Nevertheless, authors, editors, and
Avinashkumar V. Karre publisher do not warrant the information
Worley Group Inc. contained in these books, including this book,
4949 Esssen Lane to be free of errors. Readers are advised to keep
70809 Baton Rouge LA in mind that statements, data, illustrations,
United States procedural details or other items may
inadvertently be inaccurate.
Cover Image: © nostal6ie/Shutterstock
Contents in this book are solely based on Library of Congress Card No.: applied for
the author’s extensive work experience
and knowledge. If part of the book or British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
some contents match with the external A catalogue record for this book is available
source, it would be considered merely a from the British Library.
coincidence.
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Contents
Preface xi
1 Introduction 3
1.1 What Is EPCC Industry 3
1.2 Types of Projects 4
1.2.1 Cost of a Project 5
1.2.2 Purpose of a Project 7
1.2.3 Engineering Needs 8
1.2.4 Licensors Need 8
1.2.5 Profit Based 8
1.2.6 Schedule Based 9
1.3 Function of Different Disciplines 9
1.4 Different Phases of the Project 11
1.5 Importance of Chemical Process Engineers 14
1.6 Interaction with Operating Industry or Customers 15
1.7 Interaction with Vendors 15
1.8 Workshare with Multiple Offices 17
1.8.1 Importance of Workshare 17
1.8.1.1 Low-Cost Services 17
1.8.1.2 Labor Shortages 18
1.8.1.3 Level the Workload 18
1.8.1.4 Time Differences in Countries 18
1.8.2 Types of Workshares 19
1.8.2.1 Workshare with an Individual 19
1.8.2.2 Workshare a Piece of a Project 19
1.8.2.3 Workshare Part of the Engineering Team 19
vi Contents
Questions 147
Answers 149
Acronyms 153
Appendix 155
References 175
Index 177
xi
Preface
Part I
Managing Engineering, Procurement, Construction, and Commissioning Projects: A Chemical Engineer’s Guide,
First Edition. Avinashkumar V. Karre.
© 2023 WILEY-VCH GmbH. Published 2023 by WILEY-VCH GmbH.
3
Introduction
is received by the EPCC, the project is classified into several categories as mentioned
below, and further planning and manpower loading is estimated by the EPCC. Multi-
ple EPCC companies could be required for grassroot projects where the capabilities
and size of a single EPCC may not be sufficient. This is done to meet the desired
project timeline within the planned budget. The type of project is determined by
following categories:
1. Cost of a project
2. Purpose of a project
3. Engineering needs
4. Licensor’s involvement
5. Profit based
6. Schedule based
Engineering No. of
Example of a team size process
Project types Cost involved project (No. of engineers) engineers
some of the utilities are cooling water and instrument air. The tank farm area lead
process engineer is required to communicate with the main process area team where
the raw material and products are designed.
Grassroot projects are larger in size and might not be handled by the customers
or a single EPCC. Multiple EPCC companies are involved, and the project is
strategically divided into sections. For example, a large tank farm area is handled
by an independent EPCC who has expertise in the tank design, the 2nd EPCC is
handling the main reaction, purification, and separation of the processing plant, and
the 3rd EPCC industry could be handling design of utility services (utilities such
as cooling towers and boilers). A unit lead process engineer supervises all the
engineering activities for a unit and there are multiple unit lead process engineers.
Each unit lead process engineer is required to communicate with all the disciplines,
customers, all the EPCCs involved, and interconnecting areas to make sure smooth
transfer of engineering information.
Megaprojects are much larger in size compared to grassroot projects. They are
often rare and involve installation of a brand new plant, e.g. a refinery complex. Mul-
tiple EPCC companies are involved, similar to grassroot projects, the megaprojects
are also divided strategically into sections. Preplanning, communication, coordina-
tion, and consistency among all the EPCCs are key parameters for the successful
completion of megaprojects.
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and scuffle, a guttural grunt and a gasp; and turned to see William,
with a hand to his cheek, lying prone at the feet of his assailant. She
rounded on the man like a lion, and perhaps, with her suffragette
training behind her, would have landed him a cuff in his turn; but as
she raised her arm it was caught from behind and she found herself
suddenly helpless in the grasp of a second grey-clad soldier—who,
when he heard his comrade's hail, had come running out of the
house.
"Let me go," she cried, wriggling in his grasp as she had
wriggled aforetime in the hands of a London policeman, and kicking
him deftly on the shins as she had been wont to kick Robert on his.
For answer he shook her to the accompaniment of what sounded
like curses—shook her vehemently, till her hat came off and her hair
fell down, till her teeth rattled and the landscape danced about her.
When he released her, with the final indignity of a butt with the knee
in the rear, she collapsed on the grass by her husband's side in a
crumpled, disreputable heap. There for a minute or two she lay
gasping and inarticulate—until, as her breath came back and the
landscape ceased to gyrate, she dragged herself up into a sitting
position and thrust back the hair from her eyes. William, a yard or
two away, was also in a sitting position with his hand pressed
against his cheekbone; while over him stood the assailants in field-
grey, apparently snapping out questions.
"I don't understand," she heard him protest feebly, "I tell you I
don't understand. Griselda, can't you explain to them that I don't
speak French?"
"Comprends pas," said Griselda, swallowing back tears of rage.
"Comprends pas—so it's not a bit of good your talking to us. Parlez
pas français—but that won't prevent me from reporting you for this
disgraceful assault. You cowards—you abominable cowards! You're
worse than the police at home, which is saying a good deal. I
wonder you're not ashamed of yourselves. I've been arrested three
times and I've never been treated like this."
At this juncture one of the men in field-grey seized William by
the collar and proceeded to turn out his pockets—extracting from
their recesses a purse, a pipe, a handkerchief, a fountain pen, and a
green-covered Cook's ticket. He snapped back the elastic on the
Cook's ticket, and turned the leaves that remained for the journey
home.
"London," he ejaculated suddenly, pronouncing the vowels in
un-English fashion as O's.
"London!" his companion echoed him—and then, as if moved by
a common impulse, they called on the name of Heinz.
There was an answering hail from the farmhouse kitchen,
whence issued promptly a fattish young man with a mug in his hand,
and a helmet tilted on his nose. With him the assailants of William
and Griselda entered into rapid and throaty explanations; whereat
Heinz nodded assentingly as he advanced down the garden path to
the gate, surveying the captives with interest and a pair of little
pigs'-eyes. Having reached the gate he leaned over it, mug in hand,
and looked down at William and Griselda.
"English," he said in a voice that was thicker than it should have
been at so early an hour of the morning; "English—you come from
London? ... I have been two years in London; that is why I speak
English. I was with a hairdresser in the Harrow Road two years; and
I know also the Strand and the Angel and Buckingham Palace and
the Elephant." (He was plainly proud of his acquaintance with
London topography.) "All of them I know, and when we arrive in
London I shall show them all to my friends." He waved his hand
vaguely and amiably to indicate his grey-clad companions. "You
come from London, but you shall not go back there, because you are
now our prisoners. I drink your damn bad health and the damn bad
health of your country and the damn bad health of your king."
He suited the action to the word and drained his mug; and
having drained it till it stood upright upon his nose, proceeded to
throw it over his shoulder to shatter on the brick path. Whether from
natural good temper or the cheering effect of potations his face was
wreathed in an amiable smile as he crossed his arms on the bar of
the gate and continued to address his audience—
"We shall take you to our officer and you will be prisoners, and
if you are spies you will be shot."
There was something so impossible about the announcement
that William and Griselda felt their courage return with a rush.
Moreover, though the words of Heinz were threatening the aspect of
Heinz was not; his fat young face with its expansive and slightly
inebriated smile was ridiculous rather than terrifying, even under the
brim of a helmet. William, thankful for the English acquired during
the two years' hairdressing in the Harrow Road, admonished him
with a firmness intended to sober and dismay.
"This is not a time for silly jokes. I am afraid that you do not
realize the seriousness of the situation. I shall feel it my duty to
make a full report to your superiors—when you will find it is no
laughing matter. My wife and I, proceeding quietly to the station,
have been grossly and violently assaulted by your two companions.
We gave them no provocation, and the attack was entirely uncalled
for. I repeat, I shall feel it my duty to report their conduct in the very
strongest terms."
He felt as he spoke that the reproof would have carried more
weight had it been delivered in a standing position; but his head still
reeled from the stinging cuff it had received and he felt safer where
he was—on the ground. It annoyed him that the only apparent
effect of his words upon Heinz was a widening of his already wide
and owlish smile.
"Oh, you'll report their conduct, will you?" he repeated
pleasantly and thickly. "And who will you report it to, old son?"
William stiffened at the familiarity, and the tone of his reply was
even colder and more dignified than that of the original rebuke.
"To the nearest police authority; I shall not leave Belgium until
my complaint has been attended to. If necessary I shall apply for
redress to the British Consul in Brussels."
The expansive smile on the face of Heinz was suddenly ousted
by an expression of infinite astonishment. His fat chin dropped, his
little eyes widened, and he pushed back his helmet, that he might
stare the better at William.
"Say it again," he demanded—slowly and as if doubtful of his
ears, "You shall apply to the British Consul—the British Consul at
Brussels?"
"Certainly," William assured him firmly; and Griselda echoed
"Certainly." The threat they judged had made the desired
impression, for so blank and disturbed was the countenance of Heinz
that his two companions broke into guttural questioning. The former
hairdresser checked them with a gesture and addressed himself
once more to William.
"I think," he announced, "you are balmy on the crumpet, both
of you. Balmy," he repeated, staring from one to the other and
apparently sobered by the shock of his own astonishment. Suddenly
a gleam of intelligence lit up his little pig's-eyes—he leaned yet
further over the gate, pointed a finger and queried—
"You do not read the newspapers?"
"As a rule I do," William informed him, "but we have not seen
any lately—not since we left England."
"And how long is it since you left England?"
William told him it was over three weeks.
"Three weeks," the other repeated, "three weeks without
newspapers ... and I think you do not speak French, eh?"
"My wife," William answered, "understands it—a little. But we
neither of us speak it." His manner was pardonably irritated, and if
he had not judged it imprudent he would have refused point-blank
to answer this purposeless catechism. Nor was his pardonable
irritation lessened when amusement once more gained the upper
hand in Heinz. Suddenly and unaccountably he burst into hearty
laughter—rocked and trembled with it, holding to the gate and
wiping the tears from his cheeks. Whatever the joke it appealed also
to his comrades, who, once it was imparted between Heinz's
paroxysms, joined their exquisite mirth to his own. The three stood
swaying in noisy merriment, while Griselda, whitefaced and tight-
lipped, and William with a fast disappearing left eye awaited in acute
and indignant discomfort some explanation of a jest that struck
them as untimely. It came only when Heinz had laughed himself out.
Wiping the tears once more from his eyes, and with a voice still
weakened by pleasurable emotion, he gave them in simple and
unpolished language the news of the European cataclysm.
"I tell you something, you damn little ignorant silly fools. There
is a war since you came to Belgium."
Probably they thought it was a drunken jest, for they made no
answer beyond a stare, and Heinz proceeded with enjoyment.
"A War. The Greatest that ever was. Germany and Austria—and
Russia and France and Belgium and England and Servia."
He spoke slowly, dropping out his words that none might fail of
their effect and ticked off on a finger the name of each belligerent.
"Our brave German troops have conquered Belgium and that is
why we are here. We shall also take Paris and we shall also take
Petersburg and we shall also take London. We shall march through
Regent Street and Leicester Square and over Waterloo Bridge. Our
Kaiser Wilhelm shall make peace in Westminster Abbey, and we shall
take away all your colonies. What do you think of that, you damn
little fools?"
There are statements too large as there are statements too wild
for any but the unusually imaginative to grasp at a first hearing.
Neither William nor Griselda had ever entertained the idea of a
European War; it was not entertained by any of their friends or their
pamphlets. Rumours of war they had always regarded as foolish and
malicious inventions set afloat in the interest of Capitalism and
Conservatism with the object of diverting attention from Social
Reform or the settlement of the Woman Question; and to their ears,
still filled with the hum of other days, the announcement of Heinz
was even such a foolish invention. Nor, even had they given him
credence, would they in these first inexperienced moments have
been greatly perturbed or alarmed; their historical ignorance was so
profound, they had talked so long and so often in terms of war, that
they had come to look on the strife of nations as a glorified scuffle
on the lines of a Pankhurst demonstration. Thus Griselda, taught by
The Suffragette, used the one word "battle" for a small street row
and the fire and slaughter of Eylau—or would have so used it, had
she known of the slaughter of Eylau. And that being the case,
Heinz's revelation of ruin and thunder left her calm—disappointingly
so.
"I think," she said loftily, in answer to his question, "that you
are talking absolute nonsense."
There are few men who like to be balked of a sensation and
Heinz was not among them. He reddened with annoyance at the lack
of success of his bombshell.
"You do not believe it," he said. "You do not believe that our
brave German troops have taken Belgium and will shortly take Paris
and London? Very well, I will teach you. I will show you. You shall
come with us to our officer and you shall be shot for spies."
He came through the gate and clambered into his saddle, his
companions following suit; William and Griselda instinctively
scrambled to their feet and stood gazing up in uncertainty at the
three grey mounted men.
"Get on," said Heinz with a jerk of his head down the valley;
and as William and Griselda still stood and gazed his hand went clap
to his side and a sword flashed out of its sheath. Griselda shrieked in
terror as it flashed over William's head—and William bawled and
writhed with pain as it came down flat on his shoulder.
"Get on," Heinz repeated—adding, "damn you!" and worse—as
the blade went up again; and William and Griselda obeyed him
without further hesitation. Their heads were whirling and their
hearts throbbing with rage; but they choked back its verbal
expression and stumbled down the valley path—in the clutch of
brute force and with their world crumbling about them. It was a
most unpleasant walk—or rather trot; they were bruised, they were
aching from the handling they had received, and their breath came
in sobs from the pace they were forced to keep up. Did they slacken
it even for an instant and fall level with the walking horses, Heinz
shouted an order to "Hurry, you swine!" and flashed up his
threatening sword; whereupon, to keep out of its painful and
possibly dangerous reach, they forced themselves to a further effort
and broke into a shambling canter. The sweat poured off them as
they shambled and gasped, casting anxious glances at the horses'
heads behind them; and their visible distress, their panting and their
impotent anger, was a source of obvious and unrestrained
gratification to Heinz and his jovial companions. They jeered at the
captives' clumsy running and urged them to gallop faster. When
Griselda tripped over a tussock and sprawled her length on the
grass, they applauded her downfall long and joyously and begged
her to repeat the performance. The jeers hurt more than the
shaking, and she staggered to her feet with tears of wretchedness
and outraged dignity running openly down her nose—seeking in vain
for that sense of moral superiority and satisfaction in martyrdom
which had always sustained her en route to the cells of Bow Street.
She hated the three men who jeered at her miseries and could have
killed them with pleasure; every fibre of her body was quivering with
wrath and amazement. Neither she nor William could speak—they
had no breath left in them to speak; but every now and then as they
shambled along they turned their hot faces to look at each other—
and saw, each, a beloved countenance red with exertion and damp
with perspiration, a pair of bewildered blue eyes and a gasping open
mouth.... So they trotted down the valley, humiliated, dishevelled,
indignant, but still incredulous—while their world crumbled about
them and Europe thundered and bled.
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER IX
One of the features of the interview that struck William later on was
this—during all the long minutes that it lasted Griselda had spoken
no words. For once the tumult and amazement of her soul was
beyond her glib power of expression and it was only as they came
into the open air that—for the first time since she had seen the
hostages die—she unclosed her lips and spoke.
"What are they going to do with us?" she asked. Her voice was
husky and uncertain, and the words came out in little jerks.
William gave the question no answer: for one thing because his
ignorance of their destiny was as thorough as his wife's; for another
because speech, by reason of Heinz's firm grip on his collar, was so
difficult as to be almost impossible. The man had his knuckles thrust
tightly between shirt and skin; William purpled and gasped as he
trotted down the street with a collar stud pressing on his windpipe.
Behind him when he started came Griselda and her guard; as he
could not twist his head to look over his shoulder he had no
suspicion that the couples had parted company, and it was not until
his captor turned him sharply to the right down a by-road leading to
the station that he discovered, in rounding the corner, that his wife
and her escort were no longer following in his footsteps. The
momentary sidelong glimpse he caught of the road gave him never a
sight of Griselda; she had vanished without word or sign. For a
moment he could hardly believe it and walked on stupidly in silence;
then, the stupor passing, his terror found voice and he clamoured.
"Where's my wife?" he cried out and writhed instinctively to free
himself. His reward was a tightening of the German's strangle-hold,
some most hearty abuse and some even heartier kicks. Under the
punishment he lost his foothold and would have fallen but for
Heinz's clutch upon his collar; when the punishment was over he
was brought up trembling and choking. In that moment he suffered
the fiercest of torments, the fire of an ineffectual hate. He hated
Heinz and could have torn him; but he had been taught the folly of
blind wrestling with the stronger and, for Griselda's sake, he
swallowed his fury and cringed.
"Where is she?" he begged most humbly and pitifully as Heinz
thrust him forward again. "For mercy's sake tell me what you have
done with my wife—with my wife? ... If you will only let me know
where she is? That's all—just to let me know."
He was answered by the silence of contempt and a renewed
urge along the road; he obeyed because he could do no other,
whimpering aloud in the misery of this new and sharpest of
misfortunes. As he pled and whimpered terrible thoughts came
hurrying into his brain; all things were possible in these evil times
and among these evil men—and there was a dreadful, hideously
familiar phrase anent "licentious soldiery": a phrase that had once
been just a phrase and that was now a present horror beating hard
in his burning head. He stumbled on with the tears running down his
cheeks, and discovered suddenly that he was whispering under his
breath the name of God—all things else having failed him. He did
not realize that he was sobbing and shedding great tears until
halfway along the road when a German soldier met them. The man
as he passed turned his head to laugh at the sight of a face
grotesque and distorted in its wretchedness; whereupon there flared
up again in William that new sense of blood and breed and with it an
instant rush of shame that he had wept before these—Germans! He
gulped back his tears, strove to stiffen his face and clenched his
hands to endure.
He had need in the hours that came after of all his powers of
endurance alike of body and of mind. The day that already seemed
age-long was far from being at its height when Griselda was taken
away from him and all through the heat till close upon sundown he
was put to hard physical toil. Level with the village the railway line
had been torn up and the little wayside station was a half-burnt
mass of wreckage; a detachment of retreating Belgians had done
their best to destroy it, had derailed an engine and half a dozen
trucks and done such damage as time allowed to a stretch of the
permanent way. In its turn a detachment of Germans was hard at
work at removal of the wreckage and repairs to the line; and into
their service they had pressed such villagers as had not fled at their
approach. A cowed, unhappy band they toiled and sweated, dug,
carried loads and levelled the broken soil; some stupidly submissive,
some openly sullen to their captors, some pitiably eager to please:
all serfs for the time being and all of them ignorant of what the next
hour might bring forth of further terror or misfortune.
To this captive little company William Tully was joined, handed
over by Heinz to its taskmaster—to become of them all the most
pitiable, because for the first time in all his days set to bend his back
and use his muscles in downright labour of the body. What to others
was merely hardship, to him became torment unspeakable; he
wearied, he sweated, he ached from head to heel. When he pulled
at heavy wreckage he cut his soft clumsy fingers; when he dragged
a load or carried it he strained his unaccustomed back. His hands
bled and blistered and the drops of perspiration poured off him;
when he worked slowly because of his weariness or lack of skill,
authority made no allowance for either and a blow often followed a
curse. Sometimes incomprehensible orders were shouted at him and
he would run to obey confusedly, for fear of the punishment meted
out without mercy to the dilatory—guessing at what was required of
him, sometimes rightly and sometimes wrongly. The day remained
on his mind as an impression of muddled terror and panic intense
and unceasing.
When he thought he was not being watched he would lift his
head from his toil and strain his eyes this way and that in the hope
of a glimpse of Griselda. Unspeakably greater than his fear for
himself was the measure of his fear for his wife. He knew that
somewhere she must be held by force in the same way that he was
held, otherwise she would have sought him out long ere this, and,
even if not allowed to approach or speak would have managed to
see him and make him some sign that his heart might be set at rest.
His brain was giddy with undefined horror and once or twice he
started and raised his head imagining that Griselda was calling to
him. Once when he looked up his eye caught the bluff towering over
the valley and he remembered with an incredulous shock that it was
only yesterday that he and his wife, stretched out on the turf, had
watched the galloping of the ants of soldiers beneath it—that it was
not a day since they had listened indifferently to the mutter of guns
in the distance and talked with superior detachment of manoeuvres
and the folly of militarism. Side by side on the short-cropped turf
they had watched unmoved and listened without misgiving. Only
yesterday—nay, only this morning when the sun rose—the world was
the world and not hell.
He knew though, engrossed by his private agony, he did not
give it much heed, that all the afternoon there was heavy traffic on
the road that ran through the village, traffic going this way and that;
now and again through the clatter of the work around him its rumble
came to his ears. Noisy cars went by and heavy guns, regiments of
infantry and once or twice a company of swift-moving horse that
sped westward in a flurry of dust. As the hot, industrious hours
crawled by even his terror for Griselda was swallowed up in the
numbing and all-pervading sense of bodily exhaustion and ill-being,
in the consciousness of throbbing head, parched mouth and
miserable back. At midday when the captives were doled out a ration
of meat and bread he lay like a log for the little space during which
he was allowed to rest; and, resting, he dreaded from the bottom of
his soul the inevitable call back to work. With it all was the hopeless,
the terrifying sense of isolation; he was removed even from his
fellow-sufferers, held apart from them not only by the barrier of their
alien speech but by his greater feebleness and greater physical
suffering. Only once during those sun-smitten and aching hours did
he feel himself akin to any of the men around him—when a flat-
capped, sturdy young German soldier, taking pity on his manifest
unfitness for the work, muttered some good-natured,
incomprehensible encouragement and handed him a bottle to drink
from. The sharp taste of beer was a liquid blessing to William's dry
tongue and parched throat; he tilted the bottle and drank in great
gulps till he choked; whereat the flat-capped German boy-soldier
laughed consumedly but not unkindly.
It must have been well on in the afternoon—for the shadows
were beginning to lengthen though the sun burned hotly as ever—
when over the noises of the toil around him and over the rumble of
traffic on the road the persistent beat of guns became loud enough
to make itself noticeable. All day William had heard it at intervals;
during his brief rest at midday it had been frequent but distant; now
it had spurted into sudden nearness and was rapid, frequent,
continuous. A little group of his fellow-toilers looked up from their
work as they heard the sound, drew closer together and exchanged
mutterings till an order checked them sharply; and even after the
order was rapped out one square-shouldered, brown-faced
countryman continued to stare down the valley with stubbornly
determined eyes.
William's eyes followed the countryman's, and for a moment
saw nothing but what he had seen before—cliffs, the river and the
hot blue sky, without a feather of cloud to it; then, suddenly, away
down the valley, there puffed out a ball of white smoke, and before
it had faded another. The man with the stubborn eyes grunted
something beneath his breath and turned again to his work; William,
continuing to gaze curiously at the bursting puffs, was reminded of
his duties by a louder shout and the threat of a lifted arm. He, too,
bent again and with haste to his work; to look up furtively as the
thunder deepened and see always those bursts of floating cloud
down the valley or against the hot horizon.
He knew, or rather guessed, in after days when his sublime
ignorance of all things military had been tempered by the
newspapers, by daily war-talk and by actual contact with the soldier,
that the sudden appearance of those bursting puffs had indicated
some temporary and local check to the advancing German divisions,
that a French or Belgian force must have pushed or fought its way
across the triangular plateau between the Meuse and its tributary;
must have driven before them the Germans in the act of occupying
it, must have brought up their guns and commanded for the
moment a stretch of the lateral valley and the line of
communications along it. It was not left long in unmolested
possession thereof; nearer guns answered it swiftly from all
directions, from other heights and from the valley; shells whined
overhead, from time to time the ground shook, and it dawned upon
William, as he looked and listened, that what he saw was a battle.
At first he was more impressed by the thought than he was by
the actuality—since the effects of the conflict were not in the
beginning terrible. True there was something threatening in the
near-by thudding of a German battery when first it made itself
heard. But such harm as it inflicted was unseen by William, and for
the space of an hour or so it drew no returning fire and the village
stood untouched and undamaged. But as the evening drew in the
thunder deepened and quickened; both sides, it would seem, had
brought up reinforcements, and guns opened fire from new and
unexpected places, from heights, from behind garden walls. Down
the road along which William had been urged with ungentleness by
Heinz a gun-team clattered and jingled at breakneck speed; it pulled
up close to the railway line, not fifty yards from the spot where the
prisoners were working in the shadow of a clump of young trees; the
gun was placed swiftly in position, the horses were led away and
after a momentary interval the men began to fire—steadily, swiftly,
on the order. William watched them with his mouth wide open till
reminded smartly of his idleness; they were so swift, precise and
machine-like. It required an effort of the imagination to remember
what they were doing.
"Killing," he said to himself, "those men are killing!" And he
found himself wondering what their faces looked like while they
killed? Whether they liked doing it? ...
He supposed later (when that first ignorance of things military
was a little less sublime) that the firing from the immediate
neighbourhood of the village had at first inflicted but little damage
on the opposing forces on the heights; at any rate it remained
practically unanswered till close upon sunset, the French or Belgian
gunners concentrating their fire upon enemies nearer, more
aggressive, or more vulnerably placed. Perhaps (he never knew for
certain) they had got the better, for the time being, of those other
more aggressive or more vulnerable opponents; perhaps they had
received reinforcements which had enabled them to push higher up
the valley or had at last been punished by a fire hitherto ineffectual;
whatever the cause, as the sun grew red to the westward, a first
shell screamed on to the dusty road outside the village and burst in
a pother of smoke and flying clods. William heard the burst and saw
the cloud rise; he was still round-eyed when another shell screamed
overhead to find its billet in a garden wall a few yards behind the
battery, scattering the stones thereof and splintering the boughs of
an apple-tree. A shower of broken fragments came pattering about
the station; William was perhaps too much stupefied by pain and
weariness to understand the extent of his danger but several of his
fellows stirred uneasily and two of them threw down their spades
and started in headlong flight. They were brought up swiftly by the
threat of a bayonet in their path; one of them came back sullenly
dumb, the other whimpering aloud with a hand pressed to his face.
William saw that his cheek was bleeding where a flying fragment
had caught it. He was looking at the man as he nursed his torn face
and bemoaned himself when a third shell struck what remained of
the station roof.
William did not know whether he fell on his face instinctively or
was thrown by the force of the explosion; he remembered only that
as he scrambled to his feet, half-deafened and crying for help, he
saw through a settling cloud of dust the disappearing backs of some
three or four men who were all of them running away from him. He
was seized with a mortal terror of being left alone in this torment of
thunder and disaster; he believed he must be hurt, perhaps hurt to
the death, and a pang of rage and self-pity went through him at the
thought of his desertion by his fellows. He started after the
vanishing backs, calling out to them to wait, abusing and appealing,
and stumbling over ruin as he ran. The distant gunners had found
their enemies' range, and he had not made half a dozen yards when
he ducked to the threat of another shell that burst, as he thought,
close beside him. He cringed and shivered for a moment, covering
his eyes with his hands; then, finding himself uninjured, darted off at
an angle, still shielding his eyes and gasping out, "God, oh God—for
mercy's sake, oh God!" He knew in every fibre of his trembling body
that he was about to die, and his prayer was meant not only for
himself but for Griselda. As he ran on blindly, an animal wild and
unreasoning, a hand caught him above the ankle and he screamed
aloud with rage and terror at finding himself held fast.
"Let me go," he cried struggling; then, as the hand still gripped,
bent down to wrest himself free and looked into a face that he knew
—a young plump face with a budding moustache surmounted by a
flat German cap. It was twisted now into a grin of agony, but all the
same he recognized the face of the German boy-soldier who had
dealt kindly with him that afternoon in the matter of the bottle of
beer. He was lying on his back and covered from the middle
downwards with a litter of broken beam and ironwork blown away
from the ruin of the station. The effect of the recognition on William
was curiously and instantly sobering; he was no longer alone in the
hell where the ground reeled and men ran from him; he was no
longer an animal wild and unreasoning, but a man with a definite
human relationship to the boy lying broken at his feet. He began to
lift the wreckage from the crushed legs and talked as he did so,
forgetting that the wounded man in all likelihood understood not a
word of his English.
"All right, I'll get it off, I'll help you. You were good to me giving
me a drink, so I'll stay and help you. Otherwise I oughtn't to wait,
not a minute—you see, I must look for my wife. My first duty is to
her—she's my wife and I don't know where she is. But I won't leave
you like this because of what you did for me this afternoon." He
wrenched and tugged at the shattered and entangled wreckage till
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