"Only one more, that is, to double your sentries and reinforce your firing-line trench. If you can make any obstacles or entanglement tricks in front of your line, the brigadier will be very glad." "I’ll see to that." "Thank you, sir, good-morning." "Good-morning, Jones," and out jumped the brigade-major in continuance of his task. When he had gone, the colonel sent for his company commanders. The situation was explained, and all were instructed to strengthen the line, erect more entanglements, and use every means in their power to embarrass the enemy’s advance. Nothing, of course, could be done during the day. The enemy was only three hundred yards distant from the first line of trenches. But for the next three nights all were busy. Fifty yards in front of their trenches deep pits were dug. The earth was removed, and over the deep gaps thin sticks were laid or wedged into the sides. Green sods, which had been carefully cut, were neatly laid across the sticks, so as to disguise the pits and resemble the general lay of the ground. Behind these death-traps low barbed wire entanglements were fixed. Some loose brushwood and other green stuff aided in the disguise of these lures. Finally, the higher entanglements were strengthened in such a way as to make the complete scheme a death-making obstacle of no mean order. Many of the trenches were also screened by a few dummy earthworks to draw the enemy’s fire, and thus minimise the casualty roll. Every man was given 250 rounds, all rifles thoroughly cleaned, bayonets grimly sharpened to a razor-like standard, and sentries doubled. These preparations were continued all along the line. Behind, in the reserve area, reinforcements were prepared at a central point to enable the G.O.C. to throw them forward where required. These arrangements, of course, were an indication to the rank and file that something was on. That was all they knew, for in this war the Allies had learned the need of secrecy and the folly of allowing war correspondents to publish the orders of the day. This system is wise, though annoying to the soldier and civilian with an inquiring turn of mind. It makes the soldier feel like a chessman on a board—a mere atom to be moved forward to death, or back into cover at the will of the master-hand. It is the German system, and a splendid one, for published orders and war correspondents are the curse of an army. South Africa proved that. Intelligence agents of the Boers used to cable back the illuminating paragraphs which had been sent by "Our Special Correspondent." The new system naturally upsets the podgy club critics, who like to direct the affairs of Britain from behind the cover of roast-beef and whisky. "K," however, is a master-hand in dealing with this type. He knows his job, and he has the will to overrule the clubman and the crowing cocks at our parish pumps. But we must get on with the killing business.