About 100 yards ahead of us is a crossroad and the Boche is shelling it. Bud and I didn't realize where we were, and all alone, mud over our shoe tops where we stopped. We worked on the car for one and a half hours, falling in the mud every time a German shell came through the air. We got eleven holes in our car from that morning, and a piece of shell went right through an inch rod on the front of the car. I'll show you a picture of that. We were the first in the section to get hit, and how we escaped alive is the wonder of every one who has seen the car, and we are always the center of attraction when we stop along the road or at the postes. I have a piece of shell that went through the car--a souvenir. We were in the most dangerous part of the whole woods--French guns on every side of us, but of course we didn't know--and those were what the Germans were after. When we finally decided we couldn't get the car to run we made for a nearby dugout, and a Frenchman there told us we had our nerve. I left Bud there and walked back to this post--about three and one-half miles--got another car and towed our own back--that was our baptism of fire, and it was plenty. We got our car fixed up that day and worked all that night and the next day. That night we were dead, and the damn Germans shelled B---- again, and we had to get out twice during the night and run for a nearby quarry, and no one who has not been through it can imagine the feeling of being awakened by hearing a shell go over your head, and almost before you can get into your shoes and out of a place another drops near by. It's a thousand times worse than being on a shelled road because you can see a shell hit the road and invariably another follows--wait for the second one to land and then beat it--some sport. I'm at P. J. Left now, our most advanced post with the exception of one about a mile from here, which we make only at night, as the Germans can see the road from their first lines. They must have seen us on the road--some plane of theirs--as they have been shelling here ever since we arrived. We're in the dugout now and I don't expect to find my car when I come out at the rate the shells are landing around here. Now for the attack. Sunday we were at Post 4--a piece of shell just landed on my helmet. I'm just at the entrance of the dugout--got to stop--it's getting too warm. Friday, 1:50 P.M.--Just got out of P. J. Left. They shelled it from 12 o'clock yesterday until 9:30 last night. Blew up everything in sight but our dugout; killed a couple of the brancardiers; blew up the kitchen, and you should have seen what was left of our car--everything was hit on the darn thing but the air in the tires.