When, after a three-day silence, our only six-inch battery was deliver — Artillery

"We looked at each other, and back across the river. There were explosions in the town itself now; the first Fascist shells were landing in the city and there was the smoke of fires. From directly over our heads, on the crest of the hill, there came swift, violent reply that deafened us and we dropped onto the ground. Our own artillery was answering. "Nice to know we got a couple pop-guns of our own," I said. "This is no place to be," said Luke. "Theyll be throwing the stuff over here in a minute."

"Солдатушки, бравы ребятушки, а кто ваши жёны? Наши жёны — пушки заряжёны, вот кто наши жёны."

"...если угодно знать, «Войну и мир» читал… Вот, действительно, книга. До самого конца прочитал — и с удовольствием. А почему? Потому что писал не обормот какой-нибудь, а артиллерийский офицер. У вас десятка? Вы со мной…"

"Ahead, muffled by distance, was the sound of artillery in the night- always more terrifying than it is by day, though less effective."

"An as their firin dies away the usky whisper runs From lips that avent drunk all day: "The Guns! Thank Gawd, the Guns!"

"The poorer the infantry, the more artillery it needs; the American infantry needs all it can get."