The Chaplain led the way, then came the officers of the section, followed by two of the men carrying a wreath. Immediately after came poor Pete on the flag-draped stretcher, carried by four soldiers. I was one of the four. Behind the stretcher, in fours, came the remainder of the section. To get to the cemetery, we had to pass through the little shell-destroyed village, where troops were hurrying to and fro. As the funeral procession passed, these troops came to the "attention," and smartly saluted the dead. Poor Pete was receiving the only salute a Private is entitled to "somewhere in France." Now and again a shell from the German lines would go whistling over the village to burst in our artillery lines in the rear. When we reached the cemetery, we halted in front of an open grave, and laid the stretcher beside it. Forming a hollow square around the opening of the grave, the Chaplain read the burial service. German machine-gun bullets were "cracking" in the air above us, but Pete didn't mind, and neither did we. When the body was lowered into the grave, the flag having been removed, we clicked our heels together, and came to the salute. I left before the grave was filled in. I could not bear to see the dirt thrown on the blanket-covered face of my comrade. On the Western Front there are no coffins, and you are lucky to get a blanket to protect you from the wet and the worms. Several of the section stayed and decorated the grave with white stones. That night, in the light of a lonely candle in the machine-gunner's dugout of the front-line trench, I wrote two letters. One to Pete's mother, the other to his sweetheart. While doing this I cursed the Prussian war-god with all my heart, and I think that St. Peter noted same. The machine gunners in the dugout were laughing and joking. To them, Pete was unknown. Pretty soon, in the warmth of their merriment, my blues disappeared. One soon forgets on the Western Front. CHAPTER IX SUICIDE ANNEX I was in my first dugout and looked around curiously. Over the door of same was a little sign reading, "Suicide Annex." One of the boys told me that this particular front trench was called "Suicide Ditch." Later on I learned that machine gunners and bombers are known as the "Suicide Club."