"Do? Stick 'em, matey, stick 'em! You've learnt to use yer b'ynet, 'aven't
yer? Well, stick 'em ... kill 'em! Don't use yer rifle ... the flash would
give you away, and then ye'd be a corpse."

I felt I was a corpse already. I felt that if there was any killing to be
done that night he would have to do it, not I.

We crept more cautiously now. My comrade did not tread on sticks. I
whispered to him for the last time: "What are we out here for, anyway?"

Then he explained. He was a good-hearted chap. "Don't yer know w'ot
listenin'-post is? W'y, there's a couple of us fellows hout at intervals
all along the line. We get as close to the enemy parapet as is possible. We
watch and listen, lyin' flat on the ousey ground hall the while. We are
the heyes of the harmy. The Germans raid us on occasions. Were these posts
not hout, the raids would be more frequent. They'd come hover and inflict
severe casualties on hour men. They can't see the Boche. We can. Should one
Boche, or five 'undred try to come hover that parapet, one of us must
immediately set hout and run back to hour trenches and give the warnin' for
hour boys to be ready. The other one of us stays back 'ere, and with cold
steel keeps back the rush."

I nodded. "What happens afterward to the man who stays back here?"

"Mentioned in despatches ... sometimes," Tommy returned casually.

I thought over the matter. Tommy whispered further.

"Oh, yer needn't be a bit nervous. There's two of us lads about every forty