All of this was passing through Ollie Ogden’s mind as they tramped along and from time to time he could hear “Snooper” Jones grumbling to the men on either side of him, neither of whom paid the slightest attention to him, except occasionally to cast upon him a withering glance of scorn which was at the same time a storm warning which kept him silent for a time. Ollie’s contemplations were abruptly cut short as they seemed suddenly to jump right into the very maelstrom of battle. In quick succession, as though by a time clock process, the Germans from their rearmost heavy guns had planted half a dozen highly destructive shells right into the ranks of the advancing Americans, and simultaneously, as they skirted what they thought an uninhabited wood, machine gun nests had opened up a devastating fire upon them. It was not until later that they realized that their quick advance had brought them directly upon the rear guard of the German army which, encumbered as it was by the huge paraphernalia which it carried with it in its flight, could not move nearly so rapidly as did the pursuers. The fighting was as bitter as any during the war, and over ground that already was littered with the bodies of dead Huns—victims of terrific shrapnel fire poured into their lines as they fled. Every inch of ground was bitterly contested up to the point where the licked Germans saw it was useless to hold out further. To silence this fire it was necessary for the Americans to pick off the snipers and stalk and capture or demolish the machine gun nests. Bullets fell about them like hail. Into the very thick of this Tom Walton and George Harper saw a man rush forth, rapidly set up a tripod on top of which was a black box affair, and start turning a crank. He was a moving picture operator, officially designated with the American Expeditionary Forces and especially assigned with that brigade—one of scores of intrepid, courageous fellows who under circumstances of the greatest stress seemed to show the greatest calm. These were the men who were preserving to future generations the living, moving history of America’s participation in the World War, and a dozen times a day when the panorama of battle was swiftly moving they fearlessly and without the slightest evidence of outward concern, risked their lives in the performance of their duty. Buck Granger once had remarked that this particular operator must bear a charmed life. Truly it had seemed so, for time and again the lads had seen him stand forth, motionless except for the regular rhythm of his right hand which turned the crank of the camera—a challenge and a target for every German sniper and machine gunner within range. And yet he had escaped, up to the present, without a scratch.