ment, seemed dangerously unreserved. Actually
a few twigs, scattered bits of green, make an impenetrable veil against the prying airmen.
We opened a wooden door and descended into
one of the redoubts. Half a dozen men, scrupulously clean, unlike the trench Tommies, sprang
to attention in a circle about the breech of a
howitzer. The gun was as clean as its grooms—wickedly beautiful and capable. The colonel
muttered orders to a sergeant who nodded to the
artillerymen. One lifted a projectile from a compartment in the wall. Others inserted the charge
behind it, and a corporal closed the breech. The
sergeant entered a cubicle at one side where a
desk squatted beneath a telephone instrument.
He bent over a piece of paper pinned to the wall,
and from it rattled off a series of numbers like a
football signal.
In response the neat men elevated the gun's great nose with an impudent ease.
The sergeant glanced up.
All ready? Lower your screen."
A soldier released a cord. From before the mouth of the gun a shrubbery screen fell away with a slight rustling.
The colonel glanced at us.
“Maybe you'd better put your fingers in your ears.
I noticed that every one in the small chamber
