German machine-gun bullets were "cracking" in the air above us, but
Pete didn't mind, and neither did we.

When the body was lowered into the grave, the flag having been
removed, we clicked our heels together, and came to the salute.

I left before the grave was filled in. I could not bear to see the
dirt thrown on the blanket-covered face of my comrade. On the Western
Front there are no coffins, and you are lucky to get a blanket to
protect you from the wet and the worms. Several of the section stayed
and decorated the grave with white stones.

That night, in the light of a lonely candle in the machine-gunner's
dugout of the front-line trench, I wrote two letters. One to Pete's
mother, the other to his sweetheart. While doing this I cursed the
Prussian war-god with all my heart, and I think that St. Peter noted
same.

The machine gunners in the dugout were laughing and joking. To them,
Pete was unknown. Pretty soon, in the warmth of their merriment, my
blues disappeared. One soon forgets on the Western Front.



CHAPTER IX

SUICIDE ANNEX

I was in my first dugout and looked around curiously. Over the door of