"Yes, there's one or two round here. We buried one over there
yesterday: 'e fell ter bits when we moved 'im."

I went on. Soon I was back in the ditch beside the wounded men. I had
successfully dodged the sniper by following along the bottom of the
bed of the stream. With me I brought two stretcher-squads, and they
had a haversack containing, as I thought, splints and bandages. But
when I opened it, it had only some field dressings in it and some
iodine ampoules.

I soon found that the man's arm was not only septic, but broken and
splintered.

"Got a pair of scissors?" I asked.

One man had a pair of nail-scissors, and with this very awkward
instrument I proceeded to operate. It was a terrible gash. His sleeve
was soaked in blood. I cut it away, and his shirt also.

I broke an iodine phial and poured the yellow chemical into his great
gaping wound. Actually his flesh stunk: it was going bad.

"Is it broke?" he asked.

"Be all right in a few minutes; nothing much." I lied to him.

"Not broke then?"

"Bit bent; be all right."