oles to bury an ox? One can see them coming:
zzz--boom! There is time to get out of the way.

Arrived at the edge of the woods, we separate as scouts. We
are ordered to advance. But, mind you, they already have our
range. The artillery makes things hum. My bugler, near me, is
killed instantly; he has not said a word, poor boy! I am
wounded in the leg. It is about two o'clock. As I cannot drag
myself further, a comrade, before leaving, hides me under
three sheaves of straw with my head under my knapsack. The
shells have peppered it full of holes, that poor sack. Without
it--ten yards away a comrade, who had his leg broken and a
piece of shell in his arm, received seven or eight more
wounds.

I stayed there all day. In the evening the soldiers of the
101st took me into the woods, where there were several French
wounded and a German Captain, wounded the evening before. He
was suffering too, poor wretch. About midnight the French
soldiers came to seek those who were transportable. They left
only my comrade, myself and the German Captain. There were
other wounded further along, and we heard their cries. It was
dreary.

These wounded men passed two whole days there without help. On the third
day the Germans arrived and the narrator gave himself up for lost. But
the German Captain, with whom the Frenchmen had divided their food and
drink, begged that they be cared for. Ultimately they were taken to the
German camp and their wounds attended to. But in a few minutes the camp
became the centre of a violent attack, and again it looked as if the
last day of the wounded prisoners had come.

Suddenly the Germans ran away and left everything. An hour later, when
the firing ceased, they returned, carried away the wounded of both
nationalities on stretchers, crowded about twenty-five of them into one
wagon (the narrator's broken leg was not stretched out, and he
suffered,) and all the way the wagon gave forth the odor of death. All
day they rode without a bite to eat. At 1 o'clock at night they reached
the village of Cuvergnon, where their wounds were well attended to. The
following day the Germans departed without saying a word, but the
villagers cared for the wounded, both friends and enemies, and in time
the American automobiles carried them to Neuilly.

It is a paradise [added the wounded man.] Now we are saved.
But w