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Bruce by Albert Payson Terhune
page 84 of 152 (55%)
begin to whimper. Learn not to bother to duck when the rifles get
to jabbering--for you'll never hear the bullet that gets you.
Study the nocturnal habits of machine-guns and the ways of
snipers and the right time not to play the fool. And keep saying
to yourself: 'The bullet ain't molded that can get ME!' Mean it
when you say it. When you've learned those few things, the rest
of the war-game is dead easy."

"Except," timidly amended old Sergeant Vivier, the gray little
Frenchman, "except when eyes are--are what you call it, no use."
"That's right," assented Mahan. "In the times when eyes are no
use, all rules fail. And then the only thing you can do is to
trust to your Yankee luck. I remember--"

"'When eyes are no use'?" repeated the recruit. "If you mean
after dark, at night--haven't we got the searchlights and the
starshells and all that?"

"Son," replied Mahan, "we have. Though I don't see how you ever
guessed such an important secret. But since you know everything,
maybe you'll just kindly tell us what good all the lights in the
world are going to do us when the filthy yellow-gray fog begins
to ooze up out of the mud and the shell-holes, and the filthy
gray mist oozes down from the clouds to meet it. Fog is the one
thing that all the war-science won't overcome. A fogpenetrator
hasn't been invented yet. If it had been, there'd be many a husky
lad living today, who has gone West, this past few years, on
account of the fogs. Fog is the boche's pet. It gives Fritzy a
lovely chance to creep up or, us. It--"

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