rm
in our observation tree. In this _abri_ you are safe from splinters and
shrapnel but a direct hit would wipe us out. In the tree you are exposed
to direct hits and splinters from nearby bursts but at least you can see
the whole show. It's the highest point around here and overlooks the
whole sector."

I sensed that the captain expected a busy evening and looked forward
with no joy to possible interference from a questioning visitor, so I
chose the tree.

"All right," he said, "you've got helmet and gas masks, I see. Now how's
your watch? Take the right time off mine. We have just synchronised ours
with headquarters. Zero is one o'clock. You had better start now."

He called for an orderly with a German name, and the two of us left.
Before I was out of the room, the captain had returned to his
mathematics and was figuring out the latest range variations and making
allowances for latest developments in wind, temperature and barometer.
The orderly with the German name and I plunged again into the trees and
brought up shortly on the edge of a group of men who were standing in
the dark near a large tree trunk. I could hear several other men and
some stamping horses off to one side.

The party at the foot of the tree was composed of observers, signal
linemen and runners. All of them were enlisted men. I inquired who were
to be my comrades in the tree top and three presented themselves. One
said his name was Pat Guahn, the second gave his as Peter Griffin and
the third acknowledged Mike Stanton. I introduced myself and Griffin
said, "I see we are all from the same part of Italy."

At twenty minutes to one, we started up the tree, mounting by rudely
constructed ladders that led from one to the other of the four crudely
fashioned platforms. We reached the top breathless and with no false
impressions about the stability of our swaying perch. The tree seemed to
be the tallest in the forest and nothing interfered with our forward
view. The platform was a bit shaky and Guahn put my thoughts to words
and music by softly singing--

"Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree top,
When the shell comes the runners all flop,
When the shell busts, good-bye to our station,
We're up in a tree, bound for damnation."

The compass gives us north and we locate in the forward darkness an
approximate sweep of the front lines. Guahn is looking for the flash of
a certain German gun and it will be his duty to keep his eyes trained
thr