Following the services our next work was a trip to Vilcey-sur-Trey, some four kilometers away, at the eastern approach of Death Valley. Emerging from the dugout our plans were quickly outlined. Taking advantage of the regular two-minute intervals between falling shells, we planned to first let one come over, then make a quick dash up the front street and get out into the shelter of Death Valley before the next one fell. Rev. Mr. Muggins, Y. M. C. A. secretary, a very estimable and highly respected man, shook his head. "Chaplain, you can hardly make it." "How about it, Corporal?" I said to Plummer. "Sure, we can make it," he replied. "Let's go," I said, and quickly slid into the side-car. We let a shell come over, saw where it burst, then dashed up the street. Skillfully avoiding heaps of brick and mortar scattered along the way, quicker than it takes to tell, we traversed two blocks and reached a point just opposite the ruined church. Here we rushed full into an ugly crater, our machine fouled and our way was blocked! We knew a German gun across those fields was even then trained on this spot and would pay its respects in about one minute. Plummer tried to kick and shake life into the machine; I did the praying. Just before lay ruins of the old church. I thought of the countless times Holy Mass had been offered there, and humbly I asked God to spare me and my boy, to turn aside from us the stroke of death--but, "Not my will but Thine be done." "Boom!" Across the fields came the sickening report! Ordering Plummer to throw himself to the ground, I was in the act of alighting, and was partly free of the machine, when the shell burst, about one hundred feet away. My right arm seemed to burn; but I was alive, and flat on the ground. Breathlessly we waited, like a boxer in his corner, until the next shell came over. This struck about a block away. At once we sprang to our feet and rushed into the shelter of Death Valley. Plummer was unhurt; but I was slightly bleeding from right arm and left leg. They were but scratches; and most humbly I thanked God for sparing us. "Well, Chaplain, they winged you this time," said good Captain Cash, Abilene, Texas, Medical Corps, when I reported. My right forearm was broken, but nothing serious enough to make me an ambulance case. CHAPTER VII THE GREATER LOVE I never recall those really worth while times without being reminded of a certain Lieutenant whose name I do not feel at present free to reveal. The attending circumstances were so deeply pathetic, and his confidence in me of a nature so sacred, I will but narrate the details without divulging his identity.