entanglements, kneeled an Italian. His left arm was hanging down limp,
and his right arm was raised beseechingly, and he was crawling toward
them slowly. A little farther back, half hidden by the kneeling man,
something kept stirring on the ground. There three wounded men were
trying to creep toward their own trench, pressing close to the ground.
One could see very clearly how they sought cover behind corpses and now
and then lay motionless so as to escape discovery by the foe. It was a
pitiful sight--those God-forsaken creatures surrounded by death, each
moment like an eternity above them, yet clinging with tooth and nail to
their little remnant of life.

"Come on! Isn't there a rope somewhere?" an old corporal called down
into the trench. "I'm sorry for the poor devil of an Italian. Let's pull
him in!"

The machine guns interrupted him. The kneeling man beside the wires
listened, started as if to run, and fell upon his face. The earth behind
him rose in dust from the bullets and the others beyond raised
themselves like snakes, then all three gave a short leap forward and--
lay very still.

For a moment Captain Marschner stood speechless. He opened his lips, but
no sound came from his throat. At last his tongue obeyed him and he
yelled, with a mad choking fury in his voice:

"Lieutenant Weixler!"

"Yes, sir," came back unconcernedly.

Captain Marschner ran toward the lieutenant with clenched fists and