oles full of water, with
here and there a slowly twirling body, a white face shining hideously in
the damp night air. To the south a wavering mass of searchlights flitted
over the sky. Archie guns were raising a fierce distant clamour, the
white puffs from their bursting shrapnel showing like gigantic snowballs
in the glare, but no trace of the Fritz airmen was visible. A series of
violent concussions and the faint high-up throb of aero engines were the
only indications of his gambols.

Then silent filing along a poor system of filthy trenches ... the other
battalion was relieving. Posting of men, reliefs....

To stand there in the night, suffering acutely from the cold, unmoving,
staring fascinated across the little stretch of desolation between the
lines and to watch fanciful shadows until the mind falls prey to
apprehensive imagination construing the posts and wiring into great
fantastic grey-cloaked figures. Then at the turn of the head--WHAT is
that? In one frenzied movement the rifle is levelled across the parapet,
first pressure of the trigger taken and the shadowy bulk watched. Five
long minutes of intense scrutiny--it MOVED, or was it mere fancy? There
again--crack!! And the figure has not fallen ... so through the
darkness, until day reveals a shrivelled form tangled up on the wire
where it died days ago.

Parts of the area were simply connected shell-holes, outposts, the
occupants of which might for hours at a stretch be completely isolated
from the remainder of their battalion, and, receiving no visit from
anyone, have not the merest inkling of what was going on outside of what
lies before their own limited vision.

The failure of water supply reaching these outposts increased an already
severe existence. Someone would go "over the top," crawl to and fill
water-bottles up at the nearest shell-hole. A body or limb might be at
the bottom--who cares! The water is rank, putrid, evil-smelling; but the
fierce, mad craving for drink is not to be denied.

A shell found one of the small advanced posts, killed a few outright and
gashed a long tear into the abdomen of the one survivor. He languished
there alone with the dead for eight hours--they had been "lost." He was
found, removed, died before reaching a Casualty Clearing Station.
Inexorable law of Chance.

Fritz sent over gas shells night and day, hampering rationing parties,
and enforcing prolonged agony inside the hot respirators. Gas, heavier
than air, h