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Updated: June 22, 2025


"We shall have to rise," shouted my companion. "Look up there." I looked up, and thousands of feet above us was a small speck. "Bosche plane," said he. "Hold tight!" And I did.

"As Bosche seems to be going easy, and our artillery has shut up shop, let's lie down," and with that he threw himself on the bed. I sat on the box, which served as a table, smoking. Half an hour went by. Things were livening up a bit. We began to hum a tune or two from the latest revue. Suddenly we were brought to our feet by a crashing sound that was absolutely indescribable in its intensity.

Another came over seeming to strike the spot I had just vacated. I decided to keep the ruins between myself and the gentle Bosche. Scenes were very scarce, no matter where one looked it was just ruins, ruins, ruins. I wandered on until I came to a long black building, evidently put up by the Huns. It was quite intact, which to me seemed suspicious. It might hide a German sniper.

Compliments began to fly, and he told the Bosche in plain language what he thought of him for leaving it there. His remarks were too pointed for expression in cold print. The next to come along was an engineering officer. He could faintly discern me in the darkness. "Hullo," he said. "Are you the ?" "No," I replied. "I'm sorry I can't help you. I haven't the least idea where they are.

Several times while I was watching, I noticed one of the men mark upon his rifle with the stub of a pencil. I asked why he did it. "That, monsieur," he replied, "is a mark for every Bosche I shoot. See," he said, holding the butt-end for me to look at, and I noticed twenty-eight crosses marked upon it. Snatching it up to his shoulder he fired again, and joyfully he added another cross.

You see, we are only about seventy yards from the Bosche trenches here " "I know," explains the T.M.O.; "that is why I came." "But it is most important," continues the platoon commander, still quoting glibly from an entirely imaginary mandate of the C.O., "that no retaliatory shell fire should be attracted here. Most serious for the whole Brigade, if this bit of parapet got pushed over.

The Bosche opened a machine-gun on me. At that moment there was a violent convulsion of the ground, and with a tremendous explosion the mine went up. It seemed as if the whole earth in front of us had been lifted bodily hundreds of feet in the air. Showers of bombs exploded, showing that it had been well under the German position.

Presently the bombs began to arrive, passed from hand to hand. Wagstaffe returned, this time along the trench. "We shall have a tough fight for it," he said. "The Bosche bombers know their business, and probably have more bombs than we have. But those boys on our right seem to be keeping their end up." "Can't we do anything?" asked Bobby feverishly.

"The whole Division," explains Captain Wagstaffe to Bobby Little, "should be able to get up into some sort of formation about the Bosche third line before any real fighting begins; so it does not very much matter whether we start first or fiftieth in the procession." Captain Wagstaffe showed himself an accurate prophet. We move on.

It has been thrust forward from the Bosche lines to within a hundred yards of our own a great promontory, a maze of trenches, machine-gun emplacements, and barbed wire, all flush with or under the ground, and terribly difficult to cripple by shell fire. It has been a source of great exasperation to us a starting-point for saps, mines, and bombing parties.

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