“The Germans are always sending up flares,” I remarked. “You send up none. How about it?” “It cheers them. They’re downhearted!” said one of the group. “You wouldn’t deny them their fireworks, would you, sir?” “That shows who is top dog,” said another. “They’re the ones that are worried.” I had heard of trench exhaustion, trench despair, but there was no sign of it in a regiment that had been through all the hell and mire that the British army had known since the war began. To no one had Neuve Chapelle meant so much as to these common soldiers. It was their first real victory. They were standing on soil won from the Germans. “We’re going to Berlin!” said a big fellow who was standing, palms downward to the fire. “It’s settled. We’re going to Berlin.” A smaller man with his back against the sandbags disagreed. There was a trench argument. “No, we’re going to the Rhine,” he said. “The Russians are going to Berlin.” (This was in March, 1915, remember.) “How can they when they ain’t over the Balkans yet?” “The Carpathians, you mean.” “Well, they’re both mountains and the Russians have got to cross them. And there’s a place called Cracow in that region. What’s the matter of a pair of mountain ranges between you and me, Bill? You’re strong on geography, but you fail to follow the campaign.” “The Rhine, I say!” “It’s the Rhine first, but Berlin is what you want to keep your mind on.” Then I asked if they had ever had any doubt that they would reach the Rhine. “How could we, sir?” “And how about the Germans. Do you hate them?” “Hate!” exclaimed the big man. “What good would it do to hate them? No, we don’t hate. We get our blood up when we’re fighting and when they don’t play the game. But hate! Don’t you think that’s kind of ridiculous, sir?” “How do they fight?” “They take a bit of beating, do the _Boches_!” “So you call them _Boches_!” “Yes. They don’t like that. But sometimes we call them Allemands, which is Germans in French. Oh, we’re getting quite French scholars!” “They’re good soldiers. Not many tricks they’re not up to. But in my opinion they’re overdoing the hate. You can’t keep up to your work on hate, sir. I should think it would be weakening to the mind, too.” “Still, you would like the war over? You’d like to go home?” They certainly would. Back to the barracks, out of the trenches. They certainly would. “And call it a draw?” “Call it a draw, now! Call it a draw, after all we’ve been through--” “Spring is coming. The ground will dry up and it will be warm.” “And the going will be good to Berlin, as it was back from Paris in August, we tell the _Boches_.” “Good for the Russians going over the Carpathians, or the Pyrenees, or whatever those mountains are, too. I read they’re all covered with snow in winter.”