ally falling. To the west
and north another nameless cluster of farm dwellings was in flames. Huge
clouds of smoke rolled up like a smudge against the background of blue
sky.

The ground under the trees in the wood was covered with small bits of
white paper. I could not account for their presence until I examined
several of them and found that these were letters from American mothers
and wives and sweethearts--letters--whole packages of them, which the
tired, dog-weary Marines had been forced to remove from their packs and
destroy in order to ease the straps that cut into aching grooves in
their shoulders. Circumstances also forced the abandonment of much other
material and equipment.

Occasional shells were dropping in the woods, which were also within
range from a long distance, indirect machine gun fire from the enemy.
Bits of lead, wobbling in their flight at the end of their long
trajectory, sung through the air above our heads and clipped leaves and
twigs from the branches. On the edge of the woods we came upon a hastily
dug out pit in which there were two American machine guns and their
crews.

The field in front of the woods sloped gently down some two hundred
yards to another cluster of trees. This cluster was almost as big as the
one we were in. Part of it was occupied by the Germans. Our machine
gunners maintained a continual fire into that part held by the enemy.

Five minutes before five o'clock, the order for the advance reached our
pit. It was brought there by a second lieutenant, a platoon commander.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, looking at the green brassard and
red "C" on my left arm.

"Looking for the big story," I said.

"If I were you I'd be about forty miles south of this place," said the
Lieutenant, "but if you want to see the fun, stick around. We are going
forward in five minutes."

That was the last I saw of him until days later, when both of us,
wounded, met in the hospital. Of course, the first thing he said was, "I
told you so."

We hurriedly finished the contents of the can of cold "Corned Willy"
which one of the machine gunners and I were eating. The machine guns
were taken down and the barrels, cradles and tripods were handed over to
the members of the crew whose duties it was to carry them.

And then we went over. There are really no heroics about it. There is no
bugle call, no sword waving, no dramatic enunciation of catchy commands,
no theatricalism--it's just plai