The signal station proved to be infantry headquarters. It was the summit of the pass, the mountains opening like a great V in front through which further mountains appeared, with that one endless road curling up like a white snake. There was a considerable noise of firing going on and we were just in time to see the French take a steep crest,--an unbelievable sight. We lay on our stomachs miles behind them and through glasses watched puffs of cotton wool, black and white, sprout out of a far-away hill, followed by a wavering line of blue dots. Presently the cotton wool sprouted closer to the crest and the blue dots climbed steadily. Then the cotton wool disappeared over the top and the blue dots gave chase. Now and then one stumbled and fell. Breathless one watched to see if he would get up again. Generally he didn’t, but the line didn’t stop and presently the last of it had disappeared over the crest. The invisible firing went on and the only proof that it wasn’t a dream was the motionless bundles of blue that lay out there in the sun.-- It was the first time I’d seen men killed and it left me silent, angry. Why “go out” like that on some damned Serbian hill? What was it all about that everybody was trying to kill everybody else? Wasn’t the sun shining and the world beautiful? What was this disease that had broken out like a scab over the face of the world?--why did those particular dots have to fall? Why not the ones a yard away? What was the law of selection? Was there a law? _Did_ every bullet have its billet? Was there a bullet for the Colonel?--For _me_?--No. It was impossible! But then, why those others and which of us?-- I think I’ve found the answer to some of those questions now. But on that bright November day, 1915, I was too young. It was all in the game although from that moment there was a shadow on it. 9 “Don” battery went into action first. The Headquarters moved up close to the signalling station--and I lost my kitten--but “Don” went down the pass to the very bottom and cross-country to the east, and dug themselves in near a deserted farmhouse on the outskirts of Valandovo. “Beer” and “C” batteries came up a day or two later and sat down with “AC.” There seemed to be no hurry. Our own infantry were not in the line. They were in support of the French and with supine ignorance or amazing pluck, but anyhow a total disregard of the laws of warfare, proceeded to dig trenches of sorts in full daylight and in full view of the Bulgar. We shouldn’t have minded so much but our O.P. happened to be on the hill where most of these heroes came to dig.