Flammenwerfer was all very well, a good German weapon: it could burn a
man alive at twenty yards. But this accursed flaming English thermite
could catch you at four miles. It wasn't fair.

The three German trench mortars were all still firing. When would the
English batteries find what they were looking for, and this awful
thing stop? The night was cold and smelly.

Fritz shifted his feet in the foul mud, but no warmth came to him that
way.

A gust of shells was coming along the trench. Still they had not found
the minnewerfer! Fritz moved from his place altogether to see if he
could find some place where the parapet was not broken. And as he
moved along the sewerlike trench he came on a wooden cross that marked
the grave of a man he once had known, now buried some days in the
parapet, old Ritz Handelscheiner.

``Lucky devil,'' said Fritz.

The Master of No Man's Land

When the last dynasty has fallen and the last empire passed away, when
man himself has gone, there will probably still remain the swede. [The
rutabaga or Swedish turnip.]

There grew a swede in No Man's Land by Croisille near the Somme, and
it had grown there for a long while free from man.

It grew as you never saw a swede grow before. It grew tall and strong