Beneath us towards the Piave, which glimmers indistinctly in the east, the fireworks of our troops on guard in the trenches shower forth. Occasionally a ray with a parachute falls more slowly and vividly illuminates a small tract beneath us. A few flashes and unexpected streaks tell us that our artillery is firing prohibited shots. The sky about us is thick with the flashes of many shrapnel which shoot up in the air like fireworks. An anti-aircraft battery is firing at us. The rain of fire approaches and recedes according to the moment, and occasionally the explosion of a well-aimed shot is heard as it hisses past the plane. The pilot changes his course so as not to be hit. I am curious to know who is firing. I bend forward in my seat and beneath us in our territory, I see the parting flashes of several anti-aircraft shots which have begun a barrage fire. Immediately after, in the direction of Treviso I see huge flashes on the ground as if large projectiles had fallen on the city. Now I understand! Our batteries are not firing against us, for they have certainly been informed by the observation posts that an Italian plane is flying over them, but their fire is directed against the enemy planes which are bombarding Treviso. We must be on the alert, for evidently there are many enemy planes about, and I should not care to run into a plane with the cross designed on it. We are passing over Montello, all bent and shriveled, which reminds me of the configuration of the Carso. At the foot of the mountain I recognize Giavera and almost on the banks of the Piave, Narvesa shimmers. We are about to enter enemy territory. The broad flow of the Piave, which separates into various currents among the whitish masses of the islands, clearly outlines to us the flow of its impetuous waters. The supports torn from the bridge of the Priola arise towards us like the stumps of a mutilated arm and farther down, the river widens its course towards the Grave di Pappadopoli and the sector of the front where the Bersaglieri of the 8th Regiment are stationed. Even Bottecchia recognizes the places in which he fought recently and points out to me Isola Maggiore, separated from Isola Caserta by a short, narrow current. All these strips of land which formerly were nought but unformed heaps of stones, now have a history, and on every one of them both the belligerent nations have tried to establish defenses, to construct outposts and small stations for machine guns.