Sub-Lieutenant Delpos demonstrated to me by means of a periscope the use they might make of that pile of stones. He was a daring but prudent tactician and went on the principle that everything ought to be used to spare the men’s lives, and that we should not neglect to take advantage of any incident in the terrain. “Lieutenant, here’s an order.” The battalion intelligence officer handed him a paper written in pencil: “Chief of battalion of the company of machine guns. A reconnaissance of aeroplanes signals that the enemy are installing gas-throwing or liquid fire machines behind the pile of stones in front of your lines. Blow it up with several bombs on the ends to scatter it. Ask for volunteers.” “See what I told you. The Germans lose no time in utilizing the advantages of the terrain. See, behind that pile of stones they are installing their gas machines. They think they’re sheltered, but nothing is from our aeroplanes. Oh, the aeroplanes!” A man from the engineers, who have received a similar order, comes with the explosives. He looks at the emplacement through a loophole, and turns to us whistling and shaking his head: “_Mince!_ That’s not going to be easy. One might be able to manage it at night, but by day ... that’s going to be a real bird trap.” “What! What! What’s to stop your sticking your melinite sausage in that doghouse? Lend me your peephole. I’m going to see how it stands.” It was Grizard mixing in the conversation; he had already taken the two bombs from the engineer’s hands, which he let go with evident satisfaction. “We ought to put one in each end of the buffet. Don’t worry, Lieutenant. That’s a fine job and will be well done.” Grizard turns to his companion Marseille who is draining his two litre canteen without trouble. “Oh, there, you. This will be a fine chance for a ballad. We’re going to play a trick on our neighbor opposite.” And then, as Marseille gave his opinion only by a look without letting go the neck of his canteen: “Come, leave some until we get back. We’ll be thirsty.” The two volunteers got ready for their expedition at once. They each took a bomb and put it in their jacket pockets; protected their heads by a shield which they pushed ahead, and climbed up the bank, crawled under the barbed wire, and disappeared in the shell holes. They had covered their heads with muddy canvas. If they remained motionless, three yards away one could not tell them from the ground. Through periscopes we watched them advance. The lookouts in the enemy trench had not seen them yet. Not a shot. Absolute quiet. The “doghouse” is thirty yards from our lines. Sliding along carefully as they must, ten minutes are necessary to get there. The time will seem long; longer for us than for them.